The Flight that Failed
One day I had been sketching the interior of the Marienkirche at Beeskow, a sentry with loaded rifle sitting by me in the silent church. He informed me that he also was an artist, but with his feet and not his hands, and that he had danced at the London Hippodrome. That night, after roll-call, the German, Lieutenant Stark, expressed a desire to see the drawing.
As it was dark, I practically impelled him for a few paces to the arc-lamp at the gate, at the very moment when three Captains courageously made an effort to pass through the building used as an office, which gives on to the garden, from whence access to the road would have been comparatively easy. A further diversion was created by a Lieutenant falling down in the court as if in a fit, though this was nothing but a feint. The office was occupied by Germans, however, and, softly and politely closing the door behind them, the trio turned back. Captain Brown, by reason of his great stature—he was six feet six inches—was readily recognized, and next morning the three officers were brought up for attempting to escape, and sentenced to three days’ confinement in the “Tower.”
Imprisonment in this old strong place, by the way, was not looked upon as a very grievous punishment. In fact, but for the disability of being deprived of the daily walk, it was an improvement on our ordinary condition. The prisoner had a room, a bed, a table, and a chair to himself; a lamp, which he could keep burning long after “lights out,” and meals sent up to him by a member of his mess punctually at the appointed times. Then, as librarian, I allowed certain latitudes in the supply of literature. To Captain Brown, as appropriate to his position, I sent Tighe Hopkins’ “Dungeons of Old Paris”; then, relenting, and remembering that he was a Scot and an Edinburgh man, I followed this up immediately by Stevenson’s “The Master of Ballantrae.”
THE LATE LIEUT. W. L. ROBINSON, V.C. (A FELLOW-PRISONER AT BEESKOW LAGER)
Another bid for freedom was made by Captain R., to whom for the purpose I lent a red neckerchief and a civilian cap, which had somehow escaped the authoritative eye and got through to me. R.’s scheme was to secrete himself under a table covered with a blanket, at which a quartette was playing a belated game of “Bridge” in the court under one of the lamps and in close proximity to the barbed fence, cut the wire, and lie hid in the shrubbery until such time as he might find opportunity of passing out of the gate.
We had just sat down to dinner, when the violent ringing of the Appell bell announced to us that the plot had been detected. Next morning I met a German soldier carrying a yard or two of barbed wire—like a line newly baited—with which to replace the cutting made by the Captain, and at parade a camp order was read notifying all concerned that no more tables or chairs would be permitted in the courtyard. Almost immediately thereafter, amid the groans of the British officers, began a ruthless cutting down of the few shrubs and saplings which adorned the yard and which could conceivably afford us any hiding.
Even Lieut. Kruggel’s sunflowers and creepers, which provided a hedge of privacy for his little cottage, had to be sacrificed, to his great distress and disgust. In the afternoon three pumpkins sat forlornly upon the three steps of the Lieutenant’s cottage, all that had been left to him of horticultural adornment!
On another evening in October an officer, disguised as a German Posten, boldly approached the gate with the somewhat optimistic hope that he would be permitted to pass out unchallenged. He was detected by the sentry, however, and came running back, taking off his disguise as he fled. When the guards ultimately reached his room for a search, he was playing “Patience.” Before making his venture he returned me his library book, which, I observed with interest, was the Iliad. Unhappily, there was to be no Odyssey for him on this occasion.
One morning at breakfast a civilian arrived in the dining-hall, accompanied by a sentry, to execute some repairs upon the gas stoves. He turned his back for a moment; the Posten is reported to have looked lovingly and longingly into a pot of rice, and lo, presto! a couple of pairs of pincers belonging to the plumber had disappeared. No trace of what they called the “tongs” being forthcoming before morning roll-call, a search was instituted, during which time, except for the senior officer of each room, we were excluded from our quarters. The pincers were discovered next day, but for two mornings we were deprived of our walks abroad.