Over the barracks we found that the Imperial flag had been shorn of its black and white strips, and that only a thin red shred stood out menacingly in the wind from the staff.
A picket, with arms piled, was posted at the forked roads, and from the caps of all the soldiers the badges had been torn. These men more than ever seemed disposed to be fraternal; indeed, as we passed the Kaserne some of the soldiers at the windows shouted out that they would be glad to play us a game of football now.
They deposed the Major who was in charge of the barracks, and the Medical Officer—he of the dashing manner and the Airedale terrier, who visited us for inoculatory purposes—had also to go. The Major and his young daughter were in a hotel when the soldiers demanded an audience. The Major endeavoured to escape by a back entrance, but was held, and had the humiliation of having his epaulets torn off, while his sword was broken and the pieces handed to the children standing around. So we had the story.
In our own camp Lieut. Stark, who was a ranker, and also reputed to be sympathetic to the revolution, was elected Commandant by the men’s committee—distinguished by white bands on their arms—in spite of the fact that Lieut. Kruggel was his superior in rank. The men took off Kruggel’s epaulets and badges, and then saluted him.
It was in these troublous times that Captain U., who was being transferred to another camp on account of his health, succeeded in jumping off the train when it slowed down somewhere in the neighbourhood of Storkow. The train was stopped, but no very effectual search was made, and the Captain, retracing his steps, had almost reached Lubben, when he was overtaken and held up by a gamekeeper on a bicycle, and carrying a gun. He was brought back to camp, and had a great reception, particularly from the members of his own mess, we having prepared a sort of composite meal of breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner. U. was looking none the worse for two or three nights’ and days’ exposure, and attributed his healthful appearance to “having had something to do.” Lieutenant Stark imposed no punishment, his only comment being, “This is not the good time for escaping; there will be peace in two days.”
Latitudes and Liberties
Under the new regime our privileges were considerably extended. A few days after the Armistice, for instance, we were permitted to be present at a cinematographic entertainment.
The show was held in a rather dull and sad little hall, on the roof and walls of which, however, some artist had made valiant efforts at decoration with impossible pots and vases of impossible roses—neither white, nor red, nor even blue.
Behind the screen was a suggestion of a small stage, on which, doubtless, tragedy histrionic had been achieved in the days before tragedy overtook the town and the country generally. A dispirited-looking woman seemed to be in charge of affairs, and under her rather anxious direction our orderlies—all out for the afternoon—wheeled a piano into the hall, on which Lieutenant Davies and a German soldier, who has studied at the Berlin Conservatorium, alternately played melodies classic and cinematographic during the performance. A preliminary notice flung on the screen, “Rauchen ist Verboten,” went unheeded.
The first film, which gave rather charming glimpses of German family life, represented the adventures and misadventures of a poor little girl, who, after drinking a magic elixir, dreamt that she had become the daughter of a Graf. Mark Twain’s “Prince and the Pauper” in more modern guise. Second item, the efforts of a policeman to bring home his sheaves with him in the shape of a very sly and slippery tramp. The third, a Lustspiel in four most amatory acts, introducing the customary machinery, so well known to the cinema stage, of love missives, magnificent motor-cars, bedrooms and bathrooms; keyholes betwixt these apartments; the never-failing porter with the inevitable trunk which forms the last inevitable stronghold and sanctuary for the inevitable hapless lover pursued by the inevitable unhappy husband.