From the same paper of April 11, 1918, I take the story told by a naval prisoner exchanged through Switzerland:
The sailor had one eye blown out and the other temporarily damaged by a shell in a concentrated fire which sank his destroyer in the battle of Jutland. He was picked up by an already overcrowded British boat after swimming about for an hour almost blind. Then a German destroyer ran alongside and took aboard the whole boatload.
The voice of an officer hailed from the deck: “Don’t forget the British way, lads, wounded first.” “He spoke such good English that I took him for a Scottie,” said my informant, “and I thought it was a British destroyer that had picked us up. I was hauled aboard, and I saw him look at my face and turn away. ‘What’s the matter, Jock?’ I said. ‘I’m not a Jock,’ says he, ‘I’m one of the Huns.’ ‘What, ain’t this a British ship?’ says I. ‘Throw me back into the sea, and let me take the chance of being picked up by one of ours.’ ‘It can’t be done, sonny,’ he says. ‘You’ve got to go to Germany. But you’ll be exchanged all right. You’re disabled.’ It seems he had a relative in London, and knew England well. All the time British ships were chasing us and shelling us; and he hung a lifebelt near me, and said: ‘If the British Fleet sink us that will give you a bit of a chance yet.’”
The following is from Lloyd’s News, May 12, 1918, under the heading of “Back from the dead”:
Three years ago a Twickenham resident, Mrs. Maunders, received official news from the War Office that her husband, one of “The Old Contemptibles,” had been killed in action.
Thrown on her own resources, and having a small family to keep, she struggled on, and a very good offer of marriage came along and was accepted. A few days before the wedding a letter came from the supposed dead husband, stating that he was badly wounded and left for dead on the battlefield, but was found by the enemy and nursed back to health.
The following is from a private letter: “I am happy to be able to tell you that through the German Flying Corps dropping a message, we heard of [my son’s] safety early in July. He writes to us and appears to be well and comfortable.... He was shot through the neck. He has happily quite recovered after being about four weeks in hospital. He has spoken only of kindness and attention from doctors and nurses.”
Again: “As you have probably heard by now, I am a wounded prisoner of war.... I myself got my shoulder rather badly smashed up by a machine gun which knocked me out, and I lay in a shell hole for about ten hours while our guns strafed like hell and I expected every moment to be blown to bits. However, I at last managed to crawl up and stagger along, and as I was in German lines, ran into a lot of Germans. They were awfully kind to me, gave me food and drink and bound up my wound, and then sent me along to the dressing station. I am at present in hospital in Belgium and expect to go to Germany almost directly. My address at the back will find me.” What follows from the same correspondent has some bearing on the feeding in hospitals. “You mentioned in your last letter whether you could send me anything. Well, dear old chap, if you are feeling an angel, plenty of good plain chocolate and other delicacies would be awfully welcome, also some Gold Flake cigarettes.” It was only “delicacies,” it will be observed, that were asked for. This was in the middle of 1917.
The next extract is from Common Sense, July 13, 1918:
“The following experience of an Ullet Road boy, Private Arthur Bibby (6th S.W.B.), who is now recovering from a severe wound, is recorded in the Ullet Road Church Calendar for July: