I was passed for England!
The Examination Board consisted of a Swiss doctor, a German doctor, and the camp commandant. The Swiss doctor was provided with a schedule of disablements under which prisoners could be passed for exchange to their own country, and partial disablements for Switzerland, and frequently objections to a prisoner's application would be made by the German representative.
Of our party from Osnabruck, one was rejected, two were passed for Switzerland, and I was passed for England.
The decision of the Swiss Commission is not final, for, on being sent to the border, allprisoners are again examined—this time by German doctors only—and by their decision prisoners are frequently rejected and sent back to camp.
The final examination for those going to Switzerland takes place at Konstanz, and for those going to England, at Aachen.
I knew of one British Tommy who, during eighteen months had been twice passed for England and once for Switzerland, and each time rejected at the border, and he is to-day still in Germany.
It was about two weeks after I had been passed by the Swiss Commission that a German non-commissioned officer came to my room, and told me that I was to leave at 4A.M.the next morning for England.
I had waited for this moment for three long months; I had no occupation of any kind, and spent most of my time lying on my bed or sitting on an uncomfortable chair before the fire, in hourly expectation of the door opening to tell me of my freedom.
Permission had been granted me to take Cotton with me to the border, so we packed all the food we had in stock and prepared for thejourney. After travelling for some hours, we arrived at Hameln camp, where we were to stay the night. There was no accommodation for officers in the camp, and they apparently did not know what to do with me, or how to provide me with food, as they had never been called upon before to take charge of an officer.
The only spare hut was some distance down the road, but as this was outside the camp, a special guard had to be mounted outside my door. The question of feeding me was evidently found to be rather a perplexing one, and a German N.C.O., who could speak English, came to see me about it.
"You do not get the same rations at Osnabruck as private soldiers? No?"
I saw an opportunity and took it.
"No, special food is always provided for officers."
"What do you usually get?"
"Meat, vegetables, pudding or fruit, and coffee."
"Zo! But how much do you get? Do you getallthat?"
"Yes. As much as we like to pay for."
"But the money. How do you pay?"
"Oh, I will pay cash before I leave."
"Goot. I will send you a dinner."
"By the way, what about my orderly? Bring in the same for him."
"Is dot usual? I vill gif him rations mit der men."
"That's against regulations in Osnabruck. Officers pay for their orderlies' food. Bring him the same as me. By the way, sausages and coffee for breakfast for both."
The meals were excellent, and I was glad we were moved off next day before the commandant came back to discover that I had bluffed the sergeant.
At the end of the following day we arrived in Aachen, and again, being the only officer, the difficulty arose about my accommodation.
This time I was placed in a real hospital which was used for German officers, and the accommodation was quite as good as I would expect in England. There were six nurses in this hospital, kind and generous in their treatment, and they fed me with every delicacy they could find, and waited upon me hand and foot.
Cotton was ordered to return to Osnabruck,and was replaced by a German orderly. An armed guard was placed outside my bedroom door, day and night, and whenever I took exercise in the garden, I could hear his footsteps behind me, following me wherever I went, and spitting on the ground every two or three yards.
On the second day after my arrival, I went for my final examination, and the medical officer told me he would send his sergeant-major, who could speak good English, to have a talk with me that evening. What did that mean? Why should he want to talk to me? I became suspicious and awaited his coming with some uneasiness.
He arrived about 7 o'clock that evening, bringing a friend and two bottles of wine. They opened the wine and we smoked together. Conversation was going to be very difficult. I felt I was going to be pumped for information.
It was going to be a battle of wits—I could feel it in my veins.
I made up my mind to be pleasant and tactful and meet every question by asking one.
As a matter of fact, I was mistaken. They were Germans who had lived in England and worked at the Deutsche Bank in George Yard, LombardStreet, until war broke out, and had lived in Highbury. I soon found out that they were not bad fellows at all, although their opening conversation did put my back up, and make me suspicious.
"London must be full of soldiers?"
I replied cautiously:
"Well, I suppose the big cities, London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, must all be full of soldiers these days."
"But what do the English people really think about the cause of the war?"
"Well," I replied evasively, "it's difficult to say, because people in England who talk, don't think; and people who think, don't talk."
"Well, do you think when the war is over there will be any hard feeling? Do you think things will settle down, and we shall be able to live there again as we did before?"
"Well, that depends upon the people's feelings after the war."
"You know, we cannot understand the English people; you are very hard to understand, the way you do things."
"How so?"
"Well, look at the way you have got yourarmy together. It's marvellous; we all admit it. It surprised us.
"Look at your colonies. We thought Canada and Australia would break away; or at the very best, would not send over more than about 50,000 men.
"But what we cannot understand is why a country which can organise and handle such an enormous army, is unable to manage its civilian population."
"In what way do you mean?"
"Well, look at Ireland; fancy allowing that sort of thing! And the strikes you have! You build an army, and then allow your people to hinder it by striking."
"How can you help it?"
"You don't find strikes in Germany, because we organise our civil population for war, as well as the military population.
"There was one strike a little while ago, not for more money, but because the men felt they were not getting the food they were entitled to. Do you know what we did?—We put them all in uniform, and sent them on to the Somme, and we sent back from the Somme an equalnumber of soldiers to replace them in the factory."
"When do you think the war will be over?" I asked.
"When each side realises that it can't exterminate the other. Look what we've done on the Somme! You've lost, let us say, 700,000 men, and we have lost, say 500,000; and how far have you got? You'll never beat us. If you bend us back more, all we shall have to do is to retire to a new line, and you will have to begin your work all over again. You can bend, but you can't break us."
"Well, you tried it, and now it's our turn."
"Yes; but it will never end that way. Do you know that for months past we've been digging a new line, a straight line between Lille and Verdun, which will shorten our line by half? And if you bend that we will build another farther back. It can go on for ever at that rate."
"What about the blockade?"
"Of course, that's a farce. You've been doing your best to starve us for over two years. Do I look starved? We may not get as good food as we should like, but we get enough to live on,because we've got it properly systemised; whereas you let your people eat what they like."
Yes, there was truth in that; and after drinking all his wine, I turned into bed; for to-morrow I was to be free!
At 7 o'clock on the following evening motor-cars, each with two trailers, went towards the station, filled with totally disabled soldiers, en route for England.
Even their captors thought it was not worth while to keep them.
War is a monstrous machine of the devil. At one end the manhood of Britain was pouring into its fiery cauldron; and here at the other end the devil was raking out the cinders.
My story is drawing to a close.
The hospital-train, bearing its human freight, passed through Namur, Liége, Brussels, and Antwerp to the Dutch frontier.
All who could do so looked eagerly out of the window for the moment when they would pass into freedom.
The train stopped at a small station right on the frontier, and some formalities were gone through. It started again—there was a Germansentry—there was a Dutch sentry—we were over. Hurrah!!!
Cheer after cheer rang out from that long line of prostrate men.
The train pulled up at a little station just across the border. The door of my carriage was flung open and a number of Dutch girls came to my bed, and a shower of things came tumbling all about me as they passed one after the other, saying:
"Cigarettes, pleeze; apple, pleeze; cigar, pleeze; cake, pleeze; sweets, pleeze——"
I was in heaven.
My story is told.
I am back in my own home now; and as I conclude this record the postman brings me a letter. It is from my solicitors; I have torn it open, and find an account. The irony of fate closes the chapter:
"To services rendered in connection with the death of Captain Nobbs!"
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