“But what’s taught?”
“Irish first and foremost. There used to be daily drills; but it has been put a stop to. There’s not much doubt that they still hold military classes in the huts. There appear to be all sorts of other classes—book-keeping, shorthand, and lots of commercial things. There’s a sprinkling of educated chaps among the others. Let’s see what else? There’s football and that kind of thing. There are shops of sorts, too. A young chap can knock a bit of fun out of things. The people who find conditions hardest are elderly cultivated men, and, of course, it must be the devil for fathers of families, who must be wondering whether their people are starving or not.”
“What are the rations like?”
“The same as the soldiers, and if anybody goes short it’s the soldiers. There’d be such a fuss otherwise. At first the Tommies cooked for them; but they made such a fuss they were allowed their own cooks, and the military cooks were left to do their worst among their own people. There are a good many food complaints, chiefly from chaps who never had a square meal in their lives before. Their people send parcels, to the sorrow of the censors, who have to probe into cakes and gape into pots of jam for messages. And some devoted mothers send meat, which goes bad.”
“To the still greater sorrow of the censors?”
“The fellows have built their own chapel and furnished it, and services are held by an interned priest.”
“I suppose letters are censored?”
“Every one of them. It’s the devil’s own job. I gave a hand for a bit. I found it stupefying. Of all the letters I opened, only one remained in my mind five minutes after. It was an in-going letter, a love letter from a girl, a school teacher. This delightful writer had ideals and liked nice things, and he, it seemed, was rather uncouth. She was telling him what he must be dressed in, and how he must look when he came first to see her after release. There were pages of the letter full of tender urgings and gentle reasonings. A fellow feels rather guilty having to put his nose into a thing like that.”
I nodded my head.
“One thing the letters did, they proved how thoroughly the rank and file were under the whip of the leaders. On the days of the out-going mail some leading spirit seemed to order what opinion was to be expressed on this or that event, for in most of the letters there was a single well-turned sentence blooming like a rose in the desert of illiteracy. The brain reeled finding the same thing, said more or less correctly, over and over again. Oh, and another thing these letters did was to make one realise how real a thing religion was to a good many of these people.”