I had, through the kindness of friends, received a number of books, Mr. Brockington, of Koch Siding, British Columbia, and Miss Grey, of Wimbledon, England, having been very good to me in this way; and as many of the parcels of the other boys contained books, too, we decided to put our books together, catalogue them, and have a library. One of the older men became our librarian, and before we left Giessen I think we had a hundred volumes.
The people who sent these books will never know the pleasure they gave us! The games, too, which the Red Cross sent us were never idle, and made many a happy evening for us.
At night we had concerts, and many good plays and tableaux put on by the boys. There was a catchy French love song, "Marie," which was a great favorite with the boys. From this we began to call the Kilties "Marie," and there were several harmless fights which had this for a beginning. The Kilties had a hard time of it, and had to get another dress before they could be taken on a working party. The Germans did not consider the kilt a "decent dress" for a man.
The parcels were an endless source of delight, and I was especially fortunate in having friends who knew just what to send. Mrs. Palmer, of Plymouth, sent me bacon; Mrs. Goodrich, my sister, and Mrs. Goodrich, Sr., of Vancouver, sent fruit-cakes; Mrs. Hill, wife of the British reservist who gave me my first drill in British Columbia, sent oatmeal, and his sisters, Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Hamer, made candy. Lee Davison, of Trail, whose brother is now a prisoner in Germany, sent me tobacco, and so did Harold Andrews, of Trail, and Billy Newell, of Koch Siding.
The distribution of the mails was a time of thrills. One of the Sergeants called it out, while every one crowded eagerly around.
Poor Clarke, one of the brightest, merriest-hearted boys we had, seldom got a letter, but he was right on hand every time, and when there was no letter for him, would tear his hair dramatically and cry,—
"Gott strafe England."
Clarke had the good gift of making everybody laugh. I remember once seeing him patching his trousers with a Union Jack, and singing, "We'll never let the Old Flag fall!"
The German respect for the military caste was well shown in the punishment of a Russian officer who had offended them by something he had done or had not done. He was sent to our hut—as a punishment. He had a room to himself, a batman, the privilege of sending out to buy food, as much as he liked. His punishment consisted in having to live under the same roof and breathe the same air as common soldiers. He was a very good fellow, and told us many things about his country. Incidentally we found out that his wages as a Lieutenant in the Russian Army were one hundred and fifty dollars a year!