“The soup we get,” he would say, “is nothing but colored water.”
I myself never ventured to taste the afternoon soup. The color and odor were alike too repulsive. I believe it was rejected by all the Englishmen interned here.
In 1915 the economic conditions of Germany continued relatively favorable. There was, apparently, nothing alarming in the situation. Prisoners were permitted to give orders once each day for provisions of all kinds, and the orders would be filled to the extent the prisoner had money to pay for the same. But early in 1916 a significant change took place. The citizens were then placed upon strict rations, and in March notices were posted in the corridors of the jail to the effect that efforts to obtain victuals from outside were forbidden. The menu I have described thenceforward became inevitable for each and every one of us.
I at once communicated with the authorities in England–more particularly with Sir George Perley, Canadian High Commissioner in London, telling them of the situation to which we were reduced as regarded food. But we were restricted to such abbreviated formula that it was impossible to represent the situation as it actually existed–the situation, that is to say, of relative famine. Exceeding care had to be taken, or our letters would never have passed the censor. We each adopted what seemed to be the best measures in the circumstances to obtain relief from the painfully meagre prison fare. The postal service was, not unnaturally, very uncertain and irregular between the two countries. We entertained the hope, however, that at the end of three weeks, at the latest, foodstuffs would reach us from England. But it was three months ere the welcome parcels containing the much needed provisions were delivered at the jail. During that period of waiting we were able to realize something of the hunger the poor Poles suffered at all times, for with very few exceptions they were deprived of outside relief. It would require many volumes to faithfully relate the tortures of hunger these interned Poles went through. Many times I saw one of their number delve into a garbage can and extract therefrom potato peelings that had been cast there. The Poles would put salt upon the peelings and devour them with avidity.
Then, at about this time, a notice was posted on the wall in the little triangular yard notifying all whom it might concern that henceforth potato peelings must be deposited in a receptacle placed at the end of the corridor. The peelings, we were informed, now had a special value, and they were to be guarded as feed for the cattle, more particularly the cows. On the day this notice appeared, five or six of us–all British prisoners–were engaged in the kitchen cell preparing a stew. Suddenly the sergeant-major appeared in our midst. He was a quick-moving, nervous man; he invariably talked in a loud voice and gesticulated vehemently.
“Have you read the notice that has just been posted up?” he demanded. “From now on you will not be allowed to throw away the potato peelings, as you have been in the habit of doing. Fodder for the cattle has become very scarce and you must guard the potato peelings, all of you, and deposit them in the receptacle you will find placed for that purpose at the end of the corridor.”
The sergeant-major waited for a reply to, or a comment upon, the new order, but we kept our interest concentrated on the dishes in front of us and remained mute. He glared at the group and said: “Understand me, gentlemen; understand me well, for I hope you will not force me to inflict punishment upon you through disobedience of the new rule.”
Another period of silence followed and then one of the company stepped forward. He certainly had a keen sense of humor, and was not devoid of courage. “Mr. Sergeant-Major,” he said, “I beg your pardon, but I eat the peelings from all the potatoes I receive.”
We choked back the laughter the incident provoked, and the sergeant-major, at a loss to interpret the man’s observation, looked first at one and then another. But we maintained our gravity, and, apparently undecided whether to laugh himself at the joke or to give vent to wrath the sergeant-major turned on his heel and walked from the cell. I wonder–did he understand?
From June, 1916, to the date of my liberation, I received, in quantities just sufficient, provisions which were regularly forwarded to me from England, and sometimes from Canada. I have frequently been asked if the parcels which were directed to me from time to time arrived at their destination? To this I am able to reply, “Yes, in a general way.” It has been proved that the postal employés of Germany committed fewer thefts than were committed on the railways. I would sometimes receive a parcel which had been opened, and from which some of the contents had been extracted. Some parcels that I know were sent never reached me. It was easy for us to check the delivery of parcels as each contained a number.