CLASSES AND MASSES IN THE STADTVOGTEI
The prisoners interned in the Stadtvogtei were divided into two
classes, the aristocrats, or rather the plutocrats, and the rest, thus
repeating faithfully the state of affairs in the outer world.
To the former belonged all the British without exception, a few
occasional Frenchmen and Belgians, a number of Russians of education
and means, temporarily some German socialists--they would be disgusted
if they read this--and one or two German undesirables, adventurers and
high-class pickpockets, who had come out of prison recently, but were
probably not considered safe enough to be at large.
The “rest” was composed of an ever-changing mass of Russian and Polish
laborers, never less than two hundred and fifty in number.
Wealth admitted to the upper class. The possibility of procuring food
was wealth. This explains why all the British were plutocrats, for they
received parcels from home, and had more food, as a rule, than anybody
else. Frenchmen and Belgians, on the contrary, held a precarious
position on the outside edge of society. Not having friends in Germany
who could supply them with food, as was the case with the Russian and
German plutocrats, and their parcels from France and Belgium being
exceedingly few, they were frequently in straits. But then, of course,
they were “taken up” by some of the “plutocratic” Englishmen, who chose
their associates according to other standards than those of digestible
possessions.
As far as malice aforethought is concerned, Englishmen have been,
and are, the worst treated of all the prisoners of war in Germany. I
believe the Russians had a harder time of it from sheer neglect by
the higher authorities, being delivered over to the tender mercies of
the German N.C.O. and private soldier, clothed with a little brief
authority. This class of human beings was always chary of tackling
Englishmen, either singly or in small groups.
In the Stadtvogtei the usual order was reversed. There we were
the cocks of the walk among the prisoners, and, in time, entirely
unofficial privileges developed appertaining to us as Englishmen. They
were inconspicuous enough in themselves. An incident will serve as an
illustration. It was the more startling in its significance as I had
no idea that the privilege in question had come to exist until it had
happened.
It was in the summer of 1917. The prisoners in ordinary confinement
were allowed to be in the courtyard at certain hours of the day, but
were supposed to enter and leave it only at the full and half-hours. I
had observed this rule so far, except on a very few occasions, when I
had asked the doorkeeper to let me in and out at odd times. I was doing
certain work for the British colony, which now and then called me there
on business.
One morning I happened to be walking about with Captain T., then
recently released from solitary confinement for an attempt at escaping.
We were waiting for the door to be unlocked to leave the yard, and when
the doorkeeper opened it between times, I, followed by the captain,
passed through, nodding my acknowledgment to the N.C.O. On seeing
my companion, he stepped up to him threateningly and shouted, “What
d’you mean by coming out, you ----” I had not grasped the situation,
but jumped between them instinctively and said, “Hold on. This is an
Englishman!”
“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know. I thought he was a Pole. I’ve never
seen him before.”
Captain T. had missed the meaning of the affair, and I had to explain
it to him. I went up the stairs to our cell feeling very chesty.
* * * * *
Up to the beginning of June, 1916, the British numbered less than
twenty. During the course of the summer and autumn our colony grew
until we were about thirty-four strong. More than half of the new
arrivals were escapers. We had our experiences in common, and a class
feeling, even some class characteristics. We certainly all felt
equally hostile to that particular section in Ruhleben camp whose
attitude toward us was summed up in these words: “Aren’t you ashamed of
yourselves? Can’t you stay and take your gruel?” We were actually asked
these questions.
K. was the doyen of our group. He was older than the rest. His attempt,
with a companion, in April, 1915, to which I have referred in a
previous chapter, was the first made from Ruhleben, and he had been at
liberty longer than any one else--more than three weeks. He was one
of the most charming men one could wish to meet, though, as he was a
Scotsman, it took some little time to break down his reserve. Hailing
from the same part of the kingdom, there were W. and M. who had been
in prison since June, 1915, followed soon after by Wallace Ellison,
my friend and comrade-to-be, and another man--both excellent fellows.
Wallace was my neighbor on the right, as K. was on the left, when I had
succeeded in getting a cell on the top floor, coveted on account of the
light and air and the greater expanse of sky visible from the window.
Of some of the men who came after me I shall speak later on.
One of my companions, not an escaper, was Dr. Béland, a well-known
Canadian. He had been residing in Belgium when the war broke out, and,
although a physician, he had been arrested in the summer of 1915, and
sent to prison in Berlin. The Germans regarded him as a member of an
enemy government, and justified their action in their own way, by
saying that this eliminated his standing as a member of the medical
profession. As a matter of fact, Dr. Béland was not a member of the
Cabinet in Canada, and had not been for some time. He belonged,
however, to the House of Commons.
Dr. Béland was a man of great personal charm. His wide experience,
his high good humor, which never failed under the ordinary, trying
conditions of life in prison, his readiness to help all those in
distress, and his brilliant powers as a conversationalist, made it a
delight to meet him. In the course of time we got to know each other
well, and in January, 1917, he rendered us, particularly a friend and
myself, a great service by the delicate handling of an affair which
almost got us sent to a penal prison.
Little consideration was ordinarily shown him by the German
authorities. When they had an opportunity, as once happened to be the
case, they treated him with a refined cruelty which created universal
indignation among his companions.
Apart from the British who were permanent boarders at our
establishment, occasional birds of passage on their way to Ruhleben
camp alighted there for a night or two. Most of them were boys who
had been residing in Belgium. Unable to get away when the invasion
overwhelmed that unhappy country, and not having attained the
“internable” age of seventeen, they had been compelled to stay on,
until the day of their seventeenth birthday brought their arrest and
subsequent internment as a Greek gift from the conquerors.
Among the other plutocrats, whatever their nationality, we found some
cheery and interesting companions. Several of the socialists were
men of high intellectual attainments and charming manners. We were on
the best terms with them, a circumstance which, I believe, gave rise
to some uneasiness to the prison governor. He certainly had always
something nasty to say about them, looking down from the height of
his semi-education upon men who knew what they were talking about,
who knew--none better--the German governing classes, and who were
perfectly frank about them. We often had them to tea in our cell. They
gave us sufficient insight into the pre-war intrigues which led to the
catastrophe, and into the falsehoods and falsifications of the German
Government, to make us catch our breath.
The component parts of the “rest,” the Polish and Russian laborers,
came and went. We did not get into real contact with them. The
difficulties of language stood in the way, for one thing. Poor and
ignorant, most of them illiterate, they were greatly to be pitied.
With very little besides the prison food to live on, and constantly
maltreated by the N.C.O.’s, it is still somewhat of a marvel to me
that they did not succumb. Their powers of passive resistance, their
ability under such circumstances to keep on living, and even to retain
a certain amount of cheerfulness, can be explained only by their low
intellectual and emotional standard and the centuries of slavery or
semi-slavery their ancestors had endured.
The most pitiable objects were boys, children almost, who occasionally
appeared among them. Tiny mites they were as to stature, with the
faces of old men on bodies of children of eight or nine years of age.
They, too, had been recruited by German agents. Most of them seemed to
have been sent into the coal-mines, where hard work and little food
had broken them completely. Their actual years were usually between
thirteen and sixteen.
With their mental powers almost destroyed, and nearly too weak to
walk, they used to sit in their cells or stand listlessly about the
corridors, their eyes lusterless and vacant.
Whenever any of them were about, they were taken on by some of us as
pensioners. But even a hearty meal set before them did not bring a
smile to their lips or a gleam into their eyes. Like graven images they
wolfed it down, tried to kiss your hand or the hem of your coat, and
went to sit or stand as before.