CHAPTER V
MY JOURNEY TO CLAUSTHAL
In order to show up the general attitude of treatment of British prisoners, I must, however reluctantly, become more personal and relate the manner in which my wounds were treated. After all, one judges people by one’s personal experience of them, and no one can be responsible for the opinions of others. On my arrival from Munden my ankle was practically well, but the pain in my chest was growing worse daily. To add to this, I began to break out in abscesses, having eight at one time, when I was at my worst. These abscesses, since I had never had such a thing before, were probably due to the bad food at Munden and the very low condition I was reduced to, owing to much pain and very little sleep for some months. Yet, when we arrived at Bischofswerda, in so many ways such an excellent camp in comparison to others in Germany, there was no doctor there. A doctor did appear once in about fourteen days, and then he seldom had time to visit me, although I was quite bedridden at the time. After I had been there about six weeks I did get some attention from a French doctor who had been taken prisoner; but as the medicines he could get hold of were very limited, he was not able to do much.
I was still in bed at the end of June before the German doctor paid me a visit. I was then almost free from the abscesses, owing to having lived almost entirely on lettuce and green food, which I had been able to buy from the canteen; but his diagnosis as to the pain in my right side, back, and chest was rheumatism, since the ribs which had been so badly smashed were bound to be in a very delicate condition. He could not account for the amount of blood I brought up daily in my sputum, but said it was nothing, and that all I wanted was to get up and walk about. Well, I’m not a doctor, so I suppose he knew his job, and although very weak I made the effort, and gradually went about the camp like any one else. In July I started to play tennis, but soon found that any sort of violent exercise caused me to bring up far greater quantities of blood, besides giving great pain. All this time I could neither lie nor sleep on the right side, or at times even bear to have my tunic buttoned. Soon after the doctor advised me to get up and walk about, he gave me some stuff for rheumatism—aspirin, I think.
At the end of July 1915 this doctor left, and then a permanent doctor was appointed, who visited the camp daily between 10.30 and 12.30, Sundays excepted. To him I carried my aches and pains. Without examining me he looked up the report of the last doctor, and said, “Oh yes—rheumatism and gout”; he said the blood-spitting was nothing, and that I was not to take too violent exercise; and although I visited him on and off every few days I never got any change out of him.
About this time a traveller from a big firm of camera-makers arrived at the camp, and with the commandant’s permission several orders were given, so many of the officers being not only rather keen on photography, but wishing to be able to take and send home some snaps of everyday scenes in our prison camp. Three other fellows and myself bought a really good reflex camera, and a lot of very decent photos were taken with it. Unfortunately, as far as I was concerned, the camera only arrived the day before I was ordered away.
On September 3rd, 1915, I was ordered to pack up my trucks, as I was being removed to Clausthal in Hartz for medical treatment, and on the following morning off I went with my bag and baggage to Clausthal, under the guard of an officer and a man. I had a very pleasant journey up through Dresden, Leipzig, Munden, and Halle to Clausthal, situated in the Hartz Mountains, surrounded by very pretty country. We spent the first night at Munden, and reached Clausthal the following day. At some station between Leipzig and Munden we changed on to another line. The German officer took me to one of the men’s waiting-rooms, ordered some food, placed a guard over me, and left us—probably to go and get a good fat dinner himself somewhere. Shortly after he went a troop of about twelve French Tommies came in under guard, looking very bedraggled and miserable. They were made to sit down on the floor in a corner, and looked so pinched and thin that I determined, if possible, to help them if I could, should they happen to be short of food for the want of a little money; so I went over and spoke to them, but was immediately stopped by the guard, who explained that any sort of communication between prisoners was verboten.
Resuming my seat at the table, I began to puzzle out the problem, and after some time I solved the difficulty. Just before I left Bischofswerda a Russian officer who was with me in the sick-room had given me a box of Russian cigarettes, and by good luck I had them in my pocket. Everybody knows that Russian cigarettes have a hollow mouthpiece about an inch and a quarter long. Tearing a fifty-mark bill in half, and carefully rolling the two halves into the shape and size of the mouthpiece, I inserted the pieces into the mouthpiece of two cigarettes. It took some time to do this, since my hands had to work underneath the table, whilst I was apparently reading my book, which was lying open on the table. When the cigarettes were complete, I filled my case with Russian cigarettes, and offered one to each of the guards, keeping my thumb carefully on the two prepared cigarettes. They were accepted with gusto by the guard. When they had lit up, I asked permission to give some to the French prisoners, and having accepted them themselves they could hardly refuse. I distributed two or three; then offered the remaining two in the case to the most intelligent-looking, at the same time saying, “Cherchez.” To my disgust he looked absolutely blank. But when the German officer returned to take me away, he rose, saluted, and said, “Au revoir, mon lieutenant, et merci beaucoup.” The officer fortunately could not speak French and asked me what he said. I replied, “Only a respectful greeting from a private to an officer.”
I must pause a minute to describe our arrival at Munden, as it was a phenomenal sight to me. On approaching our old prison it appeared much the same as when we left it in April, but on entering a revelation was in store for me. To start with, the eating-hall was considerably cleaned up, many new tables and chairs provided, the tables covered with white oil-cloth, and pictures executed by different artistic, Russian officers, hung round the walls. Afterwards I visited the British officers and found there were four new ones, lately captured. But the room! Wonder of wonders! There were chests of drawers, a wardrobe, extra tables and chairs, only five or six beds in rooms that had held nine in our time, and only nine in those that had held seventeen! But it was in going out into the yard that I nearly fainted with surprise. To start with, there was a long wooden shed built out from the eating-hall, erected by the American Y.M.C.A., and very comfortably furnished with tables and chairs. This room acted as a sort of recreation-room on wet days. But the yard! What had been a sloppy sliding mess of mud and a few trees was transformed into a ripping garden; grand paths ran here and there, and I’ve seen many flower-beds at Hampton Court inferior to those at Munden, which were well kept and artistically laid out. To cap it all, the yard had been enlarged by wiring in the ground for two tennis-courts laid at the Boche expense, level cinder courts, with a good roller and all the rest of the paraphernalia necessary to a hard court. Also a dry canteen and store had been erected, both under the management of the officers, and things were running very smoothly and satisfactorily. I even saw some eggs.
My readers must forgive my divergence from my story, but it was such an astounding revelation to me to see what could be done with a really bad camp like Munden, and I desire particularly to draw attention to it, since it was entirely brought about by the American Ambassador, and so clearly pointed out the endeavours in certain German quarters to produce a good impression on the Americans. It was all eyewash from the beginning to end—eyewash for the Americans. In so far as the latrines were concerned, they were no better. No one could alter them, though even there the difference was very marked, since Munden at that time only held between five and six hundred instead of over a thousand prisoners.
To continue the account of my travels to Clausthal, the officer and man were exceedingly polite and very considerate, and heavily strafed some civilians who jeered at me, calling the usual “Schweinhund!” There was one humorous episode on the way up at Leipzig, where we had lunch. On the table was a Worcester Sauce bottle, on the printed red label of which had been pasted the words “Gott strafe England.” I nearly cried with laughter—real Worcester Sauce from England and “Gott strafe England!” It’s one of the richest jokes I’ve heard of. On pointing it out to the officer, he could not see the joke.