I was on that day–Sunday, May 11, 1918–the only passenger bound for Holland. The train consisted of a locomotive and one coach. We halted at a small temporary station and my personal belongings were duly deposited in line. The arrival of “a prisoner of British nationality,” had been anticipated, and German inspectors of both sexes surrounded me and my baggage. The duty of the women was to examine female passengers, and as they had nothing to do in the present instance they remained as spectators, passive, but interested!
The inspection was very minute, and, I must add, was not intelligently executed. The non-commissioned officer charged especially to inspect my baggage proved himself to be an extremely stupid fellow. In one of my trunks he observed a small leather note-book bearing the gold-lettered inscription: “Tagebuch,” which means a diary. He put it on one side with the apparent purpose of confiscating it. I protested, and I asked why he wished to retain what was really a new note-book, as there was no writing in it? He replied that the little book “contained printing,” that his instructions were to confiscate everything written or printed.
What stupidity! I thought to myself. I again pointed out that the note-book contained not one word of writing, and that the only “printed matter” was the small engraved label on the cover. But this did not convince the stupid fellow. He failed to grasp the fact that the passing of this innocent, unspotted little note-book could not possibly menace the German Empire with dire calamity!
Lieutenant Block, who accompanied me and knew me well, was manifestly annoyed. I ventured to remark: “I exceedingly regret such procedure as this in the examination of my personal property, because under such a process you must necessarily confiscate all my shirts, all my collars, and all my cuffs.”
The man looked bewildered.
“I don’t understand you,” he said. “Why must I confiscate those articles?”
“Because, like the note-book, they each and every one have something printed thereon,” I said. “And what is more serious, instead of the printing being German, which you understand, the names printed on the shirts, collars, and cuffs, are those of English or American firms, which you may not understand.”
The inspector was embarrassed, even vexed. The color rushed to his face and he handed the note-book to Lieut. Block with a gesture as who would say: “Here, take it, and the responsibility that attaches to it. If you like to run the risk of leaving this Britisher in possession of the note-book, do so. I wash my hands of the possible danger!”
Lieut. Block returned the book to me without a moment’s hesitation.
A large number of photographs addressed to me either from Canada or from Belgium were confiscated, although they had previously passed the censorship in Berlin. A certain number of photographs, however, escaped the eagle-eye of the inspector. They included those which the reader will find illustrating this story. As to the other printed or written documents which I brought out of Germany, they were subjected in Berlin to a severe censorship. They were those documents which had been placed in sealed envelopes and checked by the chief censor. These were passed at the frontier without further examination.