THE LATE LIEUT. W. L. ROBINSON, V.C. (A FELLOW-PRISONER AT BEESKOW LAGER)
Another bid for freedom was made by Captain R., to whom for the purpose I lent a red neckerchief and a civilian cap, which had somehow escaped the authoritative eye and got through to me. R.’s scheme was to secrete himself under a table covered with a blanket, at which a quartette was playing a belated game of “Bridge” in the court under one of the lamps and in close proximity to the barbed fence, cut the wire, and lie hid in the shrubbery until such time as he might find opportunity of passing out of the gate.
We had just sat down to dinner, when the violent ringing of the Appell bell announced to us that the plot had been detected. Next morning I met a German soldier carrying a yard or two of barbed wire—like a line newly baited—with which to replace the cutting made by the Captain, and at parade a camp order was read notifying all concerned that no more tables or chairs would be permitted in the courtyard. Almost immediately thereafter, amid the groans of the British officers, began a ruthless cutting down of the few shrubs and saplings which adorned the yard and which could conceivably afford us any hiding.
Even Lieut. Kruggel’s sunflowers and creepers, which provided a hedge of privacy for his little cottage, had to be sacrificed, to his great distress and disgust. In the afternoon three pumpkins sat forlornly upon the three steps of the Lieutenant’s cottage, all that had been left to him of horticultural adornment!
On another evening in October an officer, disguised as a German Posten, boldly approached the gate with the somewhat optimistic hope that he would be permitted to pass out unchallenged. He was detected by the sentry, however, and came running back, taking off his disguise as he fled. When the guards ultimately reached his room for a search, he was playing “Patience.” Before making his venture he returned me his library book, which, I observed with interest, was the Iliad. Unhappily, there was to be no Odyssey for him on this occasion.
One morning at breakfast a civilian arrived in the dining-hall, accompanied by a sentry, to execute some repairs upon the gas stoves. He turned his back for a moment; the Posten is reported to have looked lovingly and longingly into a pot of rice, and lo, presto! a couple of pairs of pincers belonging to the plumber had disappeared. No trace of what they called the “tongs” being forthcoming before morning roll-call, a search was instituted, during which time, except for the senior officer of each room, we were excluded from our quarters. The pincers were discovered next day, but for two mornings we were deprived of our walks abroad.
Ragging the Commandant
There is a piece of music of amazing eccentricity and extravagance, yclept “By Heck,” by Henri. It is what is known as a “Fox Trot,” and, as recorded for the gramophone, is played by the Metropolitan Band. We were sufficiently mischievous one morning to arrange that it commence its erratic riot at an open window immediately the word “Achtung!” from the Feldwebel announced the arrival of the Commandant on parade.