I was speechless.
As we were marching through this delightful, clean little town, I suddenly heard “The Watch on the Rhine” being sung behind us loudly, gaily, and with zest, followed by the most beautiful soldier songs, and then “O Germany, high in honours!” We thought we were dreaming, but when we looked round with amazement we saw a troop of about fifty German soldiers who had been commandeered from the camp to the station to fetch our luggage.
Oh, how our hearts beat! In the midst of enemies, in spite of wounds and captivity, this flaming enthusiasm, this rapturous singing! I must confess that the English were extraordinarily tolerant, and the population always behaved in exemplary fashion. Silently, closely pressed together, they stood on both sides of the street. From all the windows fair little heads peeped at us, but not one contemptuous gesture, not one abusive word. They even seemed to enjoy listening to the old German melodies.
In camp thirty civilian prisoners were allotted a small wooden hut, which combined our bed, dining and sitting-room. A tiny palliasse, which lay on the floor, and two blankets made up our sleeping accommodation. My Captain begged me to put up with existing conditions, as he was unfortunately unable to give me a special room to myself.
The camp at Dorchester contained 2000 to 3000 prisoners and consisted partly of old race-horse stables and of wooden barracks. A hundred years ago German Hussars had been quartered in these same barracks, on the occasion of the visit of Field-Marshal Blücher!
The prisoners were extremely comfortable, as the food was good and plentiful, the treatment irreproachable, and there were many opportunities for sport.
Captain Mitchell and Major Owen especially deserved praise for the treatment of our men. Both were true old regulars, had been through many campaigns and battles, and knew how to handle troops. These two and the English Medical Officer presented the men with games, gymnastic outfits and a band, and did whatever they could for them. Special praise is due to the senior German prisoner, a Warrant Officer, from Munich. He was a merchant, and spoke English fluently. A most remarkable personality. He was really the soul and veritable guardian angel of the camp. Nothing was done without his approval and directions. He was the English Camp Commandant’s right-hand man, and without him I do not know what would have become of the English, who did not possess the slightest vestige of talent for organization. It was simply extraordinary how this Warrant Officer looked after our people and acted as go-between with the English. The English officers knew full well what a help he was to them. By the way, after my arrival in Dorchester, I had already sent in my petition to be transferred to an officers’ camp, for I knew that Mr. M—— had kept back my former one. After a fortnight it was returned from the War Office with the remark that the name of some one in England who knew me must be given. This was most unwelcome; but finally I wrote to my English acquaintances, and in as soon as three days I received their answer that they would willingly vouch for my identity. The papers again went to the War Office, and I patiently waited for my transfer.
But time passed, and I still remained at Dorchester, and when, a fortnight after our arrival, the other civilian prisoners were again moved to another destination, I was able to arrange that I should remain in the soldiers’ camp at Dorchester. However, I left my hut and moved into a small room over the stables, where I was warmly received by Sergeant-Major N.
Life in this small room was unique and full of intimate comradeship. My colleagues were, apart from N., a huge Bavarian infantry soldier of the Body Guards Regiment, whose nickname was “Schorsch,” and who acted as our cook; a nimble and clever private in the Hussars from Lorraine, a policeman by profession; and also two splendid rifle guards of gigantic stature, genuine blond Frisians. After a week we received a seventh guest. This was the sub-lieutenant H., the observer whom the English had fished out of the North Sea with his pilot, after they had been drifting about on the wrecked machine for over forty hours.
The comradeship in this room was ideal. The men had all been taken prisoners at the great retreat of the Marne, and, as was to be expected, these splendid fellows had only fallen into the enemy’s hands when severely wounded. They were of such fine disposition, and showed such burning love for their country, that my heart filled with pride and satisfaction. The evenings were especially pleasant. We contrived a rough game with a board and some pieces of cork, and gambled on petits chevaux regularly every night with childish delight.