“They are one of our mainstays on the farms in West Sussex,” Mr. Herbert Padwick, chairman of the West Sussex War Agricultural Committee, and vice-president of the Farmers’ Union, told me. “Some of them,” he said, “are themselves farmers, and the sons of farmers. Their work looks slow, but in the end, as a rule, we find it very thorough. They used to say, perhaps chaffingly, they wanted to produce the best crop we have ever had in England, because they were sure the Germans would take it. No doubt they really thought it at one time, but they are not, I think, under this illusion any longer.”
Daily News, Aug. 20, 1918.
Most of us have heard favourable comments from farmers and others as to the work of their German helpers. “I think they’ve done jolly well, and they deserve some encouragement,” said one man to me. The idea that all Germans are “Huns” vanishes on personal acquaintance. On the other side prejudices similarly vanish, and I remember seeing an account of how a German farmer took his prisoner helpers for a picnic. Evidently he was allowed considerable freedom with them. There were German Press protests against the picnic.
From the Daily News of September 28, 1918, I take the following:
Here is a “gleaning” worth setting beside those which “Kuklos” gave us yesterday. A West-country farmer of my acquaintance has a brother who is a prisoner in the hands of the Germans at a place not far from Stettin. Recently a number of German prisoners were sent to work on his farm, and among them was a German farmer from that very place. The German told him that he had English prisoners on his own fields in the Fatherland, so that quite possibly this curious exchange may be complete.
It may be mentioned, incidentally, that the English prisoner speaks well of his treatment in Germany. The German, for his part, assured my friend that while his prisoner-hands were not receiving excellent cider, like that which he himself was now allowed, they had plenty of good beer during the harvest.
I have often thought that a widespread distribution of prisoner workers throughout each belligerent country might do more than anything else to allay mutual misunderstanding. In all wars the tendency is to regard the enemies as terrible beings, scarcely even of human shape. To a considerable extent this is due to the fact that all the horror of war is attributed by civilians to the enemy. The soldiers of course know better. But when the civilian finds enemy prisoners good fellows to work with, he cannot often resist the proof of our common humanity. A village girl was telling me lately how the feelings of many had altered since German prisoners had been in the neighbourhood, and especially marked had been the effect upon those who had actually worked with them. “So you’ve changed your mind about them,” she said to a friend who worked with prisoners, and the friend had the courage to answer quite simply: “Yes, I have.” If we all have the courage to change our minds, the peace that comes will be real.
Some Other Prisoners.
There is often so much similarity in the complaints made on both sides that the sufferings would seem to be very similar. I happened once, in a private hotel, to get into conversation with some German women who had been taken prisoner in East Africa. They were scarcely “military prisoners,” but they were taken prisoner in the ordinary operations of war. With the women were three children. A young baby was wizened and pitiable, a little boy of between three and four had evidently had his whole body covered with boils or abscesses, a little girl of perhaps five would have been a charming little creature, but for a large abscess on her forehead and big swellings under the eyes. I asked how it was the children were in this condition. The Belgians, by whom these women were originally taken prisoner, would not, I was told, supply any milk for the children. It may be said that the Belgian officials should be consulted on this point, and I am well aware that prisoners’ statements need corroboration. Do we, however, apply this rule in other cases? Are we careful to investigate newspaper reports of the statements of prisoners who have been in German hands, and should we suggest that the evidence of German officials should also be taken? The women struck me as singularly quiet, and unhysterical, and I must add, fair-minded. There were officials at times, they said, who were more humane, and provided milk on the quiet. Did they make any protests, I asked. “At first we did,” they answered, “but we were always told ‘You are prisoners, and have nothing to say.’” The condition of the children certainly suggested that they had suffered severely from malnutrition. This may indeed have been unavoidable, and not the fault of any one. I had a little further chat with one of the group, a very quiet woman, whose rather drawn, set face showed that she had passed through hard times. It was a little pathetic to me to note how sincerely she was convinced of the superior virtues of her side. “In the earlier days of the war when we had English prisoners,” she said, “they were always well fed, even though we went short. Our Commandant always made a point of seeing that they were well provided for.” There was in the quiet, rather weary voice just a gentle shade of reproach, and that was all. I have not the slightest doubt that the woman was perfectly sincere. I made only the very obvious remark that it seemed to me there were good and bad on both sides, and that some officials behaved well, and some not well. It was a mistake to generalise and think all was ill on the other side and all was well on one’s own. She saw fairness in this view, I think. There was a mutual approach, and a growing kindliness. I felt then, and feel more strongly now, that kindness cannot grow out of merely aggressive patriotism.