In order to show up the general attitude of treatment of British prisoners, I must, however reluctantly, become more personal and relate the manner in which my wounds were treated. After all, one judges people by one’s personal experience of them, and no one can be responsible for the opinions of others. On my arrival from Munden my ankle was practically well, but the pain in my chest was growing worse daily. To add to this, I began to break out in abscesses, having eight at one time, when I was at my worst. These abscesses, since I had never had such a thing before, were probably due to the bad food at Munden and the very low condition I was reduced to, owing to much pain and very little sleep for some months. Yet, when we arrived at Bischofswerda, in so many ways such an excellent camp in comparison to others in Germany, there was no doctor there. A doctor did appear once in about fourteen days, and then he seldom had time to visit me, although I was quite bedridden at the time. After I had been there about six weeks I did get some attention from a French doctor who had been taken prisoner; but as the medicines he could get hold of were very limited, he was not able to do much.

I was still in bed at the end of June before the German doctor paid me a visit. I was then almost free from the abscesses, owing to having lived almost entirely on lettuce and green food, which I had been able to buy from the canteen; but his diagnosis as to the pain in my right side, back, and chest was rheumatism, since the ribs which had been so badly smashed were bound to be in a very delicate condition. He could not account for the amount of blood I brought up daily in my sputum, but said it was nothing, and that all I wanted was to get up and walk about. Well, I’m not a doctor, so I suppose he knew his job, and although very weak I made the effort, and gradually went about the camp like any one else. In July I started to play tennis, but soon found that any sort of violent exercise caused me to bring up far greater quantities of blood, besides giving great pain. All this time I could neither lie nor sleep on the right side, or at times even bear to have my tunic buttoned. Soon after the doctor advised me to get up and walk about, he gave me some stuff for rheumatism—aspirin, I think.

At the end of July 1915 this doctor left, and then a permanent doctor was appointed, who visited the camp daily between 10.30 and 12.30, Sundays excepted. To him I carried my aches and pains. Without examining me he looked up the report of the last doctor, and said, “Oh yes—rheumatism and gout”; he said the blood-spitting was nothing, and that I was not to take too violent exercise; and although I visited him on and off every few days I never got any change out of him.

About this time a traveller from a big firm of camera-makers arrived at the camp, and with the commandant’s permission several orders were given, so many of the officers being not only rather keen on photography, but wishing to be able to take and send home some snaps of everyday scenes in our prison camp. Three other fellows and myself bought a really good reflex camera, and a lot of very decent photos were taken with it. Unfortunately, as far as I was concerned, the camera only arrived the day before I was ordered away.

On September 3rd, 1915, I was ordered to pack up my trucks, as I was being removed to Clausthal in Hartz for medical treatment, and on the following morning off I went with my bag and baggage to Clausthal, under the guard of an officer and a man. I had a very pleasant journey up through Dresden, Leipzig, Munden, and Halle to Clausthal, situated in the Hartz Mountains, surrounded by very pretty country. We spent the first night at Munden, and reached Clausthal the following day. At some station between Leipzig and Munden we changed on to another line. The German officer took me to one of the men’s waiting-rooms, ordered some food, placed a guard over me, and left us—probably to go and get a good fat dinner himself somewhere. Shortly after he went a troop of about twelve French Tommies came in under guard, looking very bedraggled and miserable. They were made to sit down on the floor in a corner, and looked so pinched and thin that I determined, if possible, to help them if I could, should they happen to be short of food for the want of a little money; so I went over and spoke to them, but was immediately stopped by the guard, who explained that any sort of communication between prisoners was verboten.

Resuming my seat at the table, I began to puzzle out the problem, and after some time I solved the difficulty. Just before I left Bischofswerda a Russian officer who was with me in the sick-room had given me a box of Russian cigarettes, and by good luck I had them in my pocket. Everybody knows that Russian cigarettes have a hollow mouthpiece about an inch and a quarter long. Tearing a fifty-mark bill in half, and carefully rolling the two halves into the shape and size of the mouthpiece, I inserted the pieces into the mouthpiece of two cigarettes. It took some time to do this, since my hands had to work underneath the table, whilst I was apparently reading my book, which was lying open on the table. When the cigarettes were complete, I filled my case with Russian cigarettes, and offered one to each of the guards, keeping my thumb carefully on the two prepared cigarettes. They were accepted with gusto by the guard. When they had lit up, I asked permission to give some to the French prisoners, and having accepted them themselves they could hardly refuse. I distributed two or three; then offered the remaining two in the case to the most intelligent-looking, at the same time saying, “Cherchez.” To my disgust he looked absolutely blank. But when the German officer returned to take me away, he rose, saluted, and said, “Au revoir, mon lieutenant, et merci beaucoup.” The officer fortunately could not speak French and asked me what he said. I replied, “Only a respectful greeting from a private to an officer.”

I must pause a minute to describe our arrival at Munden, as it was a phenomenal sight to me. On approaching our old prison it appeared much the same as when we left it in April, but on entering a revelation was in store for me. To start with, the eating-hall was considerably cleaned up, many new tables and chairs provided, the tables covered with white oil-cloth, and pictures executed by different artistic, Russian officers, hung round the walls. Afterwards I visited the British officers and found there were four new ones, lately captured. But the room! Wonder of wonders! There were chests of drawers, a wardrobe, extra tables and chairs, only five or six beds in rooms that had held nine in our time, and only nine in those that had held seventeen! But it was in going out into the yard that I nearly fainted with surprise. To start with, there was a long wooden shed built out from the eating-hall, erected by the American Y.M.C.A., and very comfortably furnished with tables and chairs. This room acted as a sort of recreation-room on wet days. But the yard! What had been a sloppy sliding mess of mud and a few trees was transformed into a ripping garden; grand paths ran here and there, and I’ve seen many flower-beds at Hampton Court inferior to those at Munden, which were well kept and artistically laid out. To cap it all, the yard had been enlarged by wiring in the ground for two tennis-courts laid at the Boche expense, level cinder courts, with a good roller and all the rest of the paraphernalia necessary to a hard court. Also a dry canteen and store had been erected, both under the management of the officers, and things were running very smoothly and satisfactorily. I even saw some eggs.

My readers must forgive my divergence from my story, but it was such an astounding revelation to me to see what could be done with a really bad camp like Munden, and I desire particularly to draw attention to it, since it was entirely brought about by the American Ambassador, and so clearly pointed out the endeavours in certain German quarters to produce a good impression on the Americans. It was all eyewash from the beginning to end—eyewash for the Americans. In so far as the latrines were concerned, they were no better. No one could alter them, though even there the difference was very marked, since Munden at that time only held between five and six hundred instead of over a thousand prisoners.

To continue the account of my travels to Clausthal, the officer and man were exceedingly polite and very considerate, and heavily strafed some civilians who jeered at me, calling the usual “Schweinhund!” There was one humorous episode on the way up at Leipzig, where we had lunch. On the table was a Worcester Sauce bottle, on the printed red label of which had been pasted the words “Gott strafe England.” I nearly cried with laughter—real Worcester Sauce from England and “Gott strafe England!” It’s one of the richest jokes I’ve heard of. On pointing it out to the officer, he could not see the joke.

I wonder if the reader remembers that I started on my journey in Germany, wounded, in a cattle-truck. From cattle-trucks we were promoted to fourth-class carriages, and now to second class. Later I shall tell of how we occasionally travelled first class. This was in keeping with everything else. Prisoners taken in the spring of 1915 grumbled at their treatment. Had they been taken in 1914 they would have had more to complain of. Throughout my imprisonment one thing was absolutely clear—the longer the war went on, and the farther the hopes of ultimate victory receded from the German mind, the better treatment their prisoners received. I don’t refer to food, as, though they allowed us to buy food in 1915, they can’t do that now, since they have not got the food to sell. They cannot give what they have not got; but when the Boches thought they were going to break through at Verdun in February and March 1916, things were very hard and uncomfortable for the prisoners. On the other hand, our victory on the Somme brought us all sorts of little concessions.

The Boche is before all things a bully. If he’s winning, he bullies; if he’s losing, he is polite and oily. A good idea of their pettiness is shown by the fact that, having allowed us to buy maps at Bischofswerda in 1915, showing the actual fighting fronts both in Europe and the East, they were confiscated when the offensive on the Somme looked like being successful. This was done in order that the prisoners might not have the satisfaction of recording the British and French gains on the maps, on which we had kept a record of the struggle in the usual manner with wool and little flags pinned through. Some months after the advance on the Somme, when the news was no longer an exhilarating tonic to the prisoners, these maps were returned, curiously enough at a time when the Boches had made a small but successful counter-attack. This confiscation of maps happened on more than one occasion, but, much to the disgust of the Boches, it always bucked us up quite a lot, since we felt sure that the cause must be that the Allies had made some sort of a gain somewhere, although the German papers might give no news of it.

On arrival at the station at Clausthal there was actually a cab to drive us to the camp! This princely treatment almost dumbfounded me. Of course I was being sent to Clausthal as an invalid for treatment, so perhaps I should have taken it for granted; but our previous experience did not allow us to look forward to being treated in any sort of human manner. I had to pay very heavily for the cab. The camp at Clausthal turned out to be an old hotel, one of the examples of German architecture so often to be seen in that part of Germany, pretentious and jerry-built. A garden, surrounded by the usual wire fences and sentry patrols, enclosed a more or less square exercising-ground of about one hundred yards in length. More than half the hotel was taken up by a large court-room, with a small stage. This was the biergarten of the hotel, and was utilised as the general eating-hall and canteen, where all the meals were served, and where the prisoners passed their time when indoors. The remaining portion of the hotel was divided into bedrooms of varying size and comfort.

On the whole Clausthal was perhaps one of the best camps in Germany, though certainly not equal to Bischofswerda. At the same time the commandant and staff in general were always very polite and correct, and not generally insulting and bullying, as at Bischofswerda. Along one side of the eating-hall described above ran a series of wooden screens, forming a number of tea-rooms, evidently built for greater privacy. Curtains hung on ropes divided these boxes from the vulgar gaze of the people in the centre of the hall. These boxes served as sleeping-rooms for a number of officers, four in each box. To one of these I was allotted, and a very cold and horribly draughty spot it was. I found there over twenty British officers, who immediately on my arrival pounced on me for the latest news; but when they found out that I was a 1914, like themselves, a groan of despair went up. The next morning I saw the commandant, who did not seem to know where I had come from, so it was necessary to explain that I had been sent to undergo a course of treatment for rheumatism and gout, affecting me in the region of my wound. “What!” he said, “you’ve come here for treatment for rheumatism!” and laughed sarcastically. “You could not come to a worse place for it. We’ve no treatment here of any sort—never had. There is not even a hospital here, only a sick-room, which a doctor from the town visits for half an hour daily; but you had better see the doctor when he comes to-day.”

When I saw the doctor and told him that the doctor at Bischofswerda had diagnosed my case as rheumatism settled in the regions of the wound, he did not seem to agree, but of course would not say so. The only comment he made was that he thought I was in need of an operation to extract whatever it was that might be causing the trouble. I have not mentioned that at the bottom of the exercise-ground, outside the wire, extended both to the right and left two small lakes, extremely picturesque, but of course the mist which rose off them night and morning was not exactly the best thing for any sort of lung trouble. The consequence was that within a week of my arrival I was confined to the sick-room with a sort of congestion, which grew worse instead of better, until one day the doctor applied to the authorities in Berlin to have me removed again to Bischofswerda, from where I had originally come. The transfer took three months to get through, but eventually, at the end of November, I again returned to Bischofswerda and my old friends.

The principal complaint at Clausthal was the lack of baths. Fancy an hotel without bath-rooms! What dirty beasts the Boches must be. The officers had to make their ablutions as best they could in large tin pails, a most unsatisfactory way of washing. Also the lavatory accommodation was not nearly adequate for the two hundred odd officers there. The consequence was it was continually out of order. Last, but certainly not least, the restricted area for exercise. After my escape to England a gentleman once said to me, “Oh yes, Clausthal; I once read about it. A fine camp with extensive grounds. You had a golf-course there, had you not?” “Well, there was a golf-course,” I replied. “But have you ever tried to play over a nine-hole course contained within a boundary of one hundred yards square, and kid yourself you are playing golf?” Only prisoners are capable of such philosophy. “Make the best of it,” is their motto; and so they did. There was as much excitement over a morning’s round of golf there as if they were playing at Sunningdale; but, believe me, a far better and more exciting course could be made at Piccadilly Circus. There you have the first tee, say, at the corner outside Swan & Edgar’s, and a really pretty mashie shot over the line of motor-buses usually to be seen there. Probably you land in the fountain and lose a stroke, but eventually, with varying fortune, you make the first hole in the entrance to the Pavilion! Possibly you hit the big commissionaire or the policeman. They’d be very wroth, but not so angry as a Russian or French general strolling round the dilapidated flower-beds at Clausthal. They loathed golf and the very name of it; but the Britishers played on. Oh yes, we had “some” golf-course at Clausthal!

The reader must not think I’m trying to be funny. I’m not, but I am endeavouring to bring home the fact that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, when the people at home hear of such luxuries as golf-courses, etc., in prison camps in Germany, they are apt to remark that the prisoners are not so badly treated after all. “Why, they are even allowed to play golf!” which immediately brings up a picture of fellows ranging over the country, more or less having a good time. Take, for example, the fact that I was removed from Bischofswerda for special treatment for rheumatism and gout. In October 1915 it was officially published in England that I had been removed to the Hartz Mountains for treatment. Eyewash, nothing more! What else could it be, since we have seen that on arrival at Clausthal it was a very bad place for people suffering from rheumatism, and that they had no method of treatment or ever had? Yet a list of officers was reported officially through Switzerland to England as having been sent there for treatment. As I appeared on that list, I know what I’m talking about. People at home thought and said, “The kindly Germans are even sending their prisoners to the Hartz Mountains, the most beautiful part of Germany, in order to cure them of their rheumatism, poor things!”

The feeding at Clausthal was in one way much better than at Bischofswerda; that is to say; the actual rations were more plentiful, of better quality, and better cooked; but, on the other hand, in so far as being able to order and buy food one could get infinitely more at the latter place. Drinks, however, were cheaper and better at Clausthal. Of course I’m speaking of 1915, when we could get something to drink if the commandant allowed. Personally I did very well in the way of food at Clausthal, more especially when I was in the sick-room, since two British majors prepared and brought me all my food. I got very uppish over that, for it is not often a junior sub. has two regular majors to wait on him hand and foot. Some day I hope to be able to repay their great kindness.

Two or three days before leaving Clausthal I bought from the canteen a large pannier basket to hold all my belongings, as on the way from Bischofswerda my box had been rather badly smashed up. I mention the basket here because it had a rather interesting future. When the day arrived for me to return to Bischofswerda, my baggage having been packed by one of our officers, I took leave of some of the cheeriest and best fellows that it has ever been my lot to meet, and was again driven to the station. The cabman charged me seven marks for a three-quarter-mile drive; but still I did not have to walk, so I suppose I should not grumble. Before leaving, my luggage was, as usual, very carefully searched, though what awful weapon they thought I could possibly have got hold of and secreted goodness knows.

The journey back was more or less uneventful, except that this time I had as a guard one N.C.O. and one man, both of whom were respectful enough, but neither of whom gave me much chance of escape. Had I been strong enough at that time, I certainly could have killed them both at one period of the journey and made my escape through the guard’s van, in which was the guard. On this occasion we were travelling fourth class, probably because it was not an officer who was conducting me, in which case it goes to prove that prisoners are not sent first or second class because they are officers, but for the comfort of the conducting German officer. This fourth-class carriage was built on the same coach as the guard’s van, and I did not feel that I was strong enough to cope with two of them silently enough without disturbing the guard. It was night and pitch-dark, the train only running about fifteen miles an hour, and I’d never had such a chance before. However, after my long period in bed, I felt I could not tackle the job satisfactorily, since failure would have meant the end of me.

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.