“Too old? I? No, sir! You don’t know an English Tommy if you can say that. When I am on my bike, I can race any young fellow, and in three to four hours I am in Derby!”
I had learned enough for that day. The next week I again met my old friend. We exchanged greetings, and I pressed into his hands a couple of cigars which I always carried about with me, though I do not smoke.
“Hallo, Tommy!” I began suddenly. “I was talking yesterday with a brother officer. I swore that Derby lies to the north of us, and he insists that it is to the south. If I win, you will get a good big jug of beer.”
My friend’s eyes glistened joyously, and he assured me on his sacred oath that I had won, and that Derby most certainly lay to the north of Donington Hall.
Now I knew.
And then and there I resolved to make common cause with a Naval-officer, Oberleutnant Trefftz, who knew England and spoke English remarkably well.
The 4th of July 1915 had been chosen for our escape. We had rehearsed it in every detail and made all our preparations.
On the 4th of July, in the morning, we reported ourselves sick.
At the morning roll-call, at ten o’clock, our names were entered on the sick-list, and on its completion the orderly sergeant came to our room and found us ill in bed.
Everything was working well.