At Leipzig I was conducted to one of the German private mess-rooms. It was evidently a sort of general mess for any N.C.O. or private, as it was filled with all kinds of different regiments, Saxons, Prussians, and Bavarians, each lounging at different tables. I spent nearly two hours there, and had a very interesting time—interesting from the point of view of German interior dissensions. The Bavarians scowled at the Prussians and Saxons, and would not answer even if spoken to by either of these. It chanced that there were three long tables in the rooms, only two of them occupied by the Saxons, and the other by the Bavarians. I was conducted to their table by my guard and some food ordered for me. A little later on several Prussians entered, looked at the table of the Saxons and Bavarians, saw plenty of vacant places, but discussed openly that they were not going to feed at the same table with those fellows. Seeing me sitting at the third table, they came over and saluted and asked permission to be seated, which was of course cordially given; one of them even addressed me, asking when I had been taken prisoner. One would have thought that, if they objected to the sight of Bavarians and Saxons, they would have fumed at seeing one of the hated Englanders in their own mess; but no.

We arrived at Bischofswerda just after midnight. The next day I found things much the same as before, except that the ration given by the Boches had greatly diminished during my absence, also the amount and variety of the food we had previously been able to buy. Eggs had completely disappeared, and the bread had deteriorated very much. “Ha, ha!” I thought, “the Boches are feeling the pinch of the Mistress of the Seas,” so we cheerfully did without the things we had had. However, the parcels from home had been coming in well, in preparation for Christmas, so we did ourselves pretty well on the whole.

Within a few days of my return to Bischofswerda the cameras which we had purchased with the permission of the commandant were confiscated again. This was quite in keeping with everything else the Boches did. We would be allowed to buy things, and soon afterwards they would be taken away. In other words, as soon as they had got the money out of you, an order to confiscate would come from the commandant. He was very sorry, but his orders came from higher up! Such things as drawing-pens, fretwork, and small chip-carving tools, maps, spirit-stoves, and last, but not least, the camera. Of course the order never came from higher up, as I have certain information that cameras were allowed in other camps up till 1917.

The confiscation of articles legitimately bought in the canteen was only part of a system of petty measures practised against the prisoners. They soon discovered that, as far as the Britisher was concerned, nothing upset him so much or made him more disheartened than cutting off his baths. So for every little excuse possible, such as Russian, French, or British officers failing to give a smart enough salute to a German second lieutenant, the baths would be cut off for a day or two; or, failing that, football would be prohibited, or any sort of game the officers might be trying to amuse themselves with. Shorts would be confiscated. To do the latter a general search of the rooms was necessary. Of course, this always caused a certain amount of excitement, since everybody had something to hide—an electric torch, pieces of rope, money, and whatever the Boches might happen to be after at the time.

These searches took place periodically, about every six weeks, I should say. Sometimes everybody would be suddenly herded out of the buildings, and search made while all the prisoners were in the courtyard, in the hope of finding things forbidden carelessly left about. More often, when early morning parades came, the Boches would keep us outside and search the rooms whilst we were on parade; and very successful they were, but not generally with the British. Very few British officers were discovered with forbidden articles. A suit of mufti clothes or two was about all, and a few newspaper cuttings; but the Russians and sometimes the French would have whole escaping outfits caught in a single haul. Probably this was due to the fact that the camp was surrounded with spies, and as the Russians were all together, and not mixed up with the British as at Munden, the chances of betrayal from outside the British community were nil. We very often had French officers mixed in with us, but seldom any Russians. There is absolutely no harm in my stating here that the Russians were infested with spies, and they knew it and talked about it quite openly. One or two of them were marked out for destruction after the war.

There were numerous attempts to escape from the end of 1915 to the middle of 1916; but, curiously enough, when all the arrangements were complete, and the attempt ready to be made, the Boche guard would suddenly be doubled, or a Boche raid made on that particular room at the last moment, and probably all the paraphernalia caught. It happened too many times for coincidence.

One of the few bright spots of my time at Bischofswerda were the periodical visits of the Rev. Mr. Williams, who came once every three or four months to the camp, and held Divine service for us. I don’t think any of us were particularly religious, but Mr. Williams was always so bright and hopeful. One could not help catching a little of his cheerfulness, and I think I can speak for all of us in saying that we looked forward to his visits very much and felt the better for his coming. Also we sincerely hope that on the conclusion of peace the authorities at home will recognise and befittingly reward his services, since no man ever carried forward work under more difficult and disagreeable circumstances—slighted and distrusted by the German civilians, leading a life of complete isolation in the enemy’s country, exceedingly short of food. Indeed, on his latter visits to us, he usually had had no food for twenty-four hours. One day, when we got permission for him to take a meal with us, pending the arrival of the train to take him to another camp, he ate with much gusto some eggs from home, the first he had seen for many months. Notwithstanding all the obstacles put in his way, he still passes from camp to camp on this kindly pilgrimage.

CHAPTER VI
COURT-MARTIALLED AND INSULTED

I have now reached a point in my narrative which dates us back to a few days before Christmas 1915, when we learned that the German canteen was to be done away with, from which hitherto we had been able to get so much food, in order to augment both our parcels from home and the greatly diminished Boche rations, and that hereafter we should be more or less dependent on our parcels. Some of my readers may find this quite an interesting point, as it indicates the period when the Boches really began to feel the shortage of foodstuffs. So many people continually ask me, “Are the Germans really as short of food as the papers say?” My reply to this is, “Yes, only a jolly sight harder up than the papers say.”

The old canteen was finally abolished with the advent of New Year’s Day 1916; and since the woman and her husband who had hitherto run the canteen also ran the whole show, they had a terrific amount of stuff to remove—all the kitchen utensils necessary to run a mess for three hundred and fifty officers. We had a little hand in the removal, as I will explain. Early in the morning of Christmas Day a Canadian officer came to me and asked me for the loan of my big basket before mentioned, also for some money, as he knew me to be in possession of a certain amount. His idea was to get into the basket, let himself be carried down by a couple of the British orderlies, and deposited outside the kitchen door with some dozens of other packages, amongst them a couple of baskets of similar type full of linen and plates. Accordingly we got him into the basket, called up the orderlies, and gave them orders where to deposit the baskets. All went well; the orderlies carrying the basket passed the sentries without trouble, since most of the orderlies had been detailed to help the canteen people remove their stuff. A couple of large pantechnicons were standing at the guard-room gate, being rapidly filled with the packages, when my basket’s turn came. It was evidently too heavy, and unfortunately a Boche orderly came out of the kitchen that moment and offered to give a hand. Just as he was about to lift it the Canadian officer wriggled or made some movement. Anyway, the Boche suggested looking inside in case of a cat or something being there, though he had absolutely no suspicion of a prisoner whatever. Proceeding to the kitchen to fetch the key, as it was padlocked, they discovered that the basket did not belong to the canteen people at all. Immediately they started to cut it open, and inside of course they discovered the “Jack-in-the-box,” who rose up with a wild yell. The Boches nearly died from heart failure.