It was all of no avail. At last the prisoners’ disease—home-sickness—held me in its grip, as it had held so many before me. The apathy of most dreadful despair, of entire hopelessness. Hopeless!
For hours I lay on the grass and stared with wide opened eyes into the sky, and my whole soul longed fiercely for the white clouds above, to wander off with them to the distant beloved country.
When an English airman soared quietly and securely in the blue firmament, my heart contracted with pain, and a wild, desperate longing set me shivering. My condition grew steadily worse. I became irritable and nervous, behaved brusquely towards my comrades and deteriorated visibly, both mentally and physically. This was quite unreasonable on my part, for I should have been satisfied that at least I had seen something of the hostilities, and had had many interesting experiences! So many fell wounded into the enemy’s hands during the very first days of the war; but the most to be pitied were those who had come from America at the beginning of the war, forsaking all their goods and chattels, all they held dear, to serve their Fatherland, and had been made prisoners through English treachery, before they had had a chance of drawing the sword.
We were greatly depressed owing to our being deprived of war news from German sources, and, though we naturally gave no credence to the lying reports of the English, yet, after a while, we felt the oppression of reading, week after week, nothing but abuse of Germany, tidings of defeats, revolution and famine over there. Uncertainty was our worst trial, and the announcement of Italy’s mean betrayal hit us particularly hard.
What triumph in the English papers!
At last I was no longer able to bear it. Something had to be done if I were to be saved from despair.
Day and night I planned, brooded, deliberated how I could escape from this miserable imprisonment. I had to act with the greatest calm and caution if I hoped to succeed.
For hours together I walked up and down in front of different parts of the entanglements, whilst I unostentatiously examined every wire and every stake. For hours together I lay in the grass in the vicinity of some of those spots that seemed favourable, feigning sleep. But all the time I was closely watching every object and noting the ways and habits of the different sentries. I had already fixed upon the spot where I had decided to climb the barbed wire. Now the question remained how to make headway after this obstacle had been overcome. We possessed neither a map of England nor a compass, no time-table, no means of assistance of any kind. We were even ignorant of the exact location of Donington Hall. I knew the road to Donington Castle, for I had fixed it in my memory on the day of our arrival. I had also heard through an officer, who had been taken by car to Donington Hall from Derby, that the latter lay about 25 to 30 miles away to the north, and that he had passed a long bridge before the car turned into the village. Next I made friends with a nice old English soldier, whom I presented occasionally with a few cigars, and invited to a glass of beer in the canteen. After we had met several times I asked him whether he did not find it very tedious to be tied to Donington, and whether he sometimes had a change?
“Oh yes,” he said, now and then he cycled to Derby to the cinema.
“What! Derby?” said I. “But that is too far for you. You are far too old for that!”