Six students at Ruhleben passed the London University Matriculation examination in December, 1916. One of them took the Edinburgh papers as well later on. (Observer, August 26, 1917.) These are remarkable cases, for the strain of prolonged internment seems most of all to affect the power of concentrated attention.
The case of another successful student is recorded in the Daily News of June 2, 1918:
The distinction—probably unique—of graduating for the degree of Doctor of Music of Oxford University while a prisoner in enemy hands has been achieved by Mr. Ernest Macmillan, a young man with Edinburgh connections. Mr. Macmillan, who is the son of a clergyman in Toronto, was studying music in Germany when the war broke out, and since then he has been interned as a civil prisoner at Ruhleben. His answer to examination papers and his “exercise” (or composition) were sent from Ruhleben to Oxford.
That such things are possible at Ruhleben is a great tribute to English spirit and endurance. We must also not forget that they would clearly be wholly impossible if the Germans were actually barbarians.
A Friendly Enemy.
When Bishop Bury during his visit in November, 1915, asked what he might be allowed to say at Ruhleben, General Friedrich replied: “Please do all you can to hearten and cheer up your fellow countrymen. Appeal to their patriotism, speak to their manhood. You and they will have no one between you. There will be no official of the camp; no one to listen to you, no one to come between yourself and them. We trust you entirely with them, and you will understand, I am sure, that we do not wish to diminish anyone’s sense of nationality who is imprisoned or interned in Germany.” (“My Visit to Ruhleben,” p. 21.) The words, says Bishop Bury, “seemed to come straight from the heart of the speaker.” Some readers will be sceptical; but at least the words were acted on. The Bishop spoke about the armies and the war to the men, and told them of his own experiences in the war area, “just as I should have told them to my own countrymen in this country.” At his last address the British flag was run in on a cord and “God Save the King” was sung. The Bishop had no time to propose the omission of the second verse, but one is proud to know that those Englishmen, even amidst their excitement, spontaneously omitted it. The whole scene revealed what was finest on both sides. Bishop Bury told the German Staff that at the meeting “we all sang ‘Send him victorious.’ They smiled indulgently.”
War Terrorism.
A good many more things of a favourable character could be said. Unfortunately men who speak well of their German captors are accused of pro-Germanism, and they dare not speak. This is a rather terrible fact, but it is a fact. As one man said to me: “I have my living to get, and if my identity could be traced through any account I gave I should be ruined. My work has already been very materially affected, but in private conversation I shall continue to speak the truth, come what may.” War prejudice indeed desires one kind of story only, and victimises those who give it what it does not want. And so all along the line suppression begets suppression of the truths most needed to heal our ills. A woman teacher writes to me: “I think I have a fairly open mind myself to recognise good deeds of the enemy; but to tell such to my pupils is another matter, and I fear would be very impolitic seeing that I depend on my school for my daily bread.” And again the Editor of a provincial paper writes: “... but when one has to rely on the public for one’s living one has to think twice before expressing one’s views.”
Last Days at Ruhleben.
Mr. Desmond wrote of the coming of the Revolution at Dülmen (vide p. [61]), Mr. Sylvester Leon has told us something of the last days at Ruhleben (Herald, January 4, 1919). “The soldiers are with you,” said Mr. Powell to the interned men. “For with the triumph of the Revolution, that friendliness which had existed in the days of the old régime between the interned and many an individual German soldier now became general among the military of Ruhleben; the officers had flitted, or had capitulated to the new order of things with more or less grace; Councils of soldiers and workmen ruled in the towns of the Fatherland; the era of Social Democracy was dawning upon Central Europe.... It is but fair to admit that the Ruhleben Guard acted very loyally in the performance of their duty. For when they were given the option of returning to their homes they did not avail themselves of that opportunity, but volunteered to remain at their posts until the disbandment of the camp. It is of historic interest to note that the red flag—the symbol of the triumph of the Revolution—which flew from the flag-pole in the camp, had formerly done service in the cubicle of one of the interned. It was dyed red by another of the interned, a doctor of science and a member of our little camp school, and then given to the soldiers.... The first impression gained on a visit outside the camp was the terrible seriousness of the food question. No one who has once seen can ever forget the sight of the crowds of hungry women and school children standing outside the gates of Ruhleben, literally besieging the interned as they passed out.” For it was only the interned who had food to spare. The Ruhlebenites gave, they had the facts before them. And “the people of Spandau turned out in force to wish us ‘Godspeed’ on our departure for home; and the send-off they gave us was astonishing in its enthusiasm, arresting in its spontaneity, and touching in its obvious sincerity.”