BADGERING THE BRITISH HEROES FROM MONS
It was about a fortnight after my arrival at Sennelager. Our rest had
been rudely disturbed about the usual hour of 2 a.m. by the sentry who
came clattering into the barrack roaring excitedly, "Dolmetscher!
Dolmetscher!"
C---- who, after the departure of K----, had been elected Captain of our
barrack and who was also the official interpreter, answered the summons.
He was required to accompany the guards to the station. A further batch
of British prisoners had arrived. By this time we had grown accustomed
to this kind of nocturnal disturbance, so after C---- had passed out the
rest of the barrack re-settled down to sleep.
I was astir just after four o'clock. It was my turn to serve as
barrack-room orderly for the day, and I started in early to complete my
task before 5.30 so as to secure the opportunity to shave and wash
before parade.
I was outside the barrack when my attention was aroused by the sound of
tramping feet. Looking down the road I was surprised to see a huge
column of dust, and what appeared to be a never-ending crowd of
soldiers, marching in column. It was such an unusual sight, we never
having witnessed the arrival of more than a dozen prisoners at a time,
that, especially the moment I descried the uniforms, my curiosity was
aroused. Many of my comrades were astir and partly dressed when I gave a
hail, so they hurried out to join me.
The army, for such it seemed, advanced amidst clouds of dust. As they
drew nearer we identified those at the head as Belgian soldiers. They
swung by without faltering. Behind them came a small army of French
prisoners. We could not help noticing the comparatively small number of
wounded among both the Belgians and the French, and although they were
undoubtedly dejected at their unfortunate capture they were apparently
in fine fettle.
But it was the men who formed the rear of this depressing cavalcade, and
who also numbered several hundreds, which aroused our keenest interest
and pity. From their khaki uniforms it was easy to determine their
nationality. They were British military prisoners.
It was a sad and pitiful procession, and it was with the greatest
difficulty we could suppress our emotion. The tears welled to our eyes
as we looked on in silent sympathy. We would have given those hardened
warriors a rousing cheer but we dared not. The guards would have
resented such an outburst, which would have rendered the lot of the
British, both civilian and military, a hundred times worse.
The soldiers, battle-stained, blood-stained, weary of foot, body and
mind walked more like mechanical toys than men in the prime of life.
Their clothes were stained almost beyond recognition; their faces were
ragged with hair and smeared with dirt. But though oppressed, tired,
hungry and thirsty they were far from being cast down, although many
could scarcely move one foot before the other.
The most touching sight was the tenderness with which the unwounded and
less injured assisted their weaker comrades. Some of the worst cases
must have been suffering excruciating agony, but they bore their pain
with the stoicism of a Red Indian. The proportion of wounded was
terrifying: every man appeared to be carrying one scar or another. As
they swung by us they gave us a silent greeting which we returned, but
there was far more significance in that mute conversation with eyes and
slight movements of the hands than in volumes of words and frantic
cheering.
The brutal reception they had received from their captors was only too
apparent. Those who were so terribly wounded as to be beyond helping
themselves received neither stretcher nor ambulance. They had to hobble,
limp and drag themselves along as best they could, profiting from the
helping hand extended by a comrade. Those who were absolutely unable to
walk had to be carried by their chums, and it was pathetic to observe
the tender care, solicitude and effort which were displayed so as to
spare the luckless ones the slightest jolt or pain while being carried
in uncomfortable positions and attitudes over the thickly dust-strewn
and uneven road. The fortitude of the badly battered was wonderful. They
forgot their sufferings, and were even bandying jest and joke. Their
cheeriness under the most terrible conditions was soul-moving. No one
can testify more truthfully to the Tapley cheeriness of the British
soldier under the most adverse conditions than the little knot of
civilian prisoners at Sennelager when brought face to face for the first
time with the fearful toll of war.
The unhappy plight of our heroic fighting men, as we watched them march
towards what was called the "field," which was nearly a mile beyond our
barracks, provoked an immediate council of war among ourselves. It was
only too apparent that we must exert ourselves on their behalf.
Unfortunately, however, we were not in a position to extend them
pronounced assistance: our captors saw to that. But we divided up into
small parties and succeeded in giving all the aid that was in our power.
The soldiers were accommodated in tents. We had observed the raising of
a canvas town upon the "field," and had been vaguely wondering for what
it was required. Were German recruits coming to Sennelager to undergo
their training, or were we to be transferred from the barracks to tents?
At first we thought the latter the more probable, but as we reflected
upon the size of canvas-town we concluded that provision was being made
for something of far greater importance.
The Belgian prisoners were sent into the stables. These, however, were
scrupulously clean and empty of all the incidentals generally associated
with such buildings, because the civilian prisoners had been compelled
to scour them out a few days before. Consequently the Belgians had no
room for protest against the character of their quarters, except perhaps
upon the ground of being somewhat over-crowded. A number of the French
soldiers were also distributed among the stables, but the surplus shared
tents near their British comrades.
Upon reaching the field the prisoners were paraded. Each man was
subjected to a searching cross-examination, and had to supply his name
and particulars of the regiment to which he belonged. All these details
were carefully recorded. In the preparation of this register the German
inquisitors betrayed extraordinary anxiety to ascertain the disposition
of the British troops and the regiments engaged in the battle-line.
Evidently they were in a state of complete ignorance upon this point.
Nearly every soldier was requested to give the name of the place where
he had been fighting, wounded, and captured. But the British soldiers
did not lose their presence of mind. They saw through the object of
these interrogations and their replies for the most part were extremely
unsatisfactory. The man either did not know, could not recall, or had
forgotten where he had been fighting, and was exceedingly hazy about
what regiments were forming the British army. In some instances,
however, the desired data was forthcoming from those who were most
severely wounded, the poor fellows in their misery failing to grasp the
real significance of the interpellations. It was easy to realise the
extreme value of the details which were given in this manner because
the Germans chuckled, chattered, and cackled like a flock of magpies.
As may be supposed, owing to the exacting nature of the search for
information, the registration of the prisoners occupied a considerable
time.
[*large gap]
Later, during the day of their arrival, we civilian prisoners had the
opportunity to fraternise with our fighting compatriots. Then we
ascertained that they had been wounded and captured during the retreat
from Mons. But they had been subjected to the most barbarous treatment
conceivable. They had received no skilled or any other attention upon
the battlefield. They had merely bound up one another's wounds as best
they could with materials which happened to be at hand, or had been
forced to allow the wounds to remain open and exposed to the air.
Bleeding and torn they had been bundled unceremoniously into a train,
herded like cattle, and had been four days and nights travelling from
the battlefield to Sennelager.
During these 96 hours they had tasted neither food nor water! The train
was absolutely deficient in any commissariat, and the soldiers had not
been permitted to satisfy their cravings, even to the slightest degree,
and even if they were in the possession of the wherewithal, by the
purchase of food at stations at which the train had happened to stop.
What with the fatigue of battle and this prolonged enforced abstinence
from the bare necessaries of life, it is not surprising that they
reached Sennelager in a precarious and pitiful condition.
Among our heroes were five commissioned officers, including a major.
These were accommodated at Sennelager for about a fortnight but then
they were sent away, whither we never knew beyond the fact that they had
been condemned to safer imprisonment in a fortress. Among the prisoners
were also about 200 men belonging to the R.A.M.C., taken in direct
contravention of the generally accepted rules of war. They were treated
in precisely the same manner as the captured fighting men. There were
also a few non-commissioned officers who were permitted to retain their
authority within certain limits.
One of the prisoners gave me a voluminous diary which he had kept, and
in which were chronicled the whole of his movements and impressions from
the moment he landed in France until his capture, including the Battle
of Mons. It was a remarkable human document, and I placed it in safe
keeping, intending to get it out of the camp and to send it to my friend
at home upon the first opportunity. But ill-luck dogged this enterprise.
The existence of the diary got to the ears of our wardens and I was
compelled to surrender it.
The next morning the wounded received attention. The medical attendant
attached to the camp for the civilian prisoners, Dr. Ascher, was not
placed in command of this duty, although he extended assistance. A
German military surgeon was given the responsibility. The medical
arrangements provided by this official, who became unduly inflated with
the eminence of his position, were of the most arbitrary character. He
attended the camp at certain hours and he adhered to his time-table in
the most rigorous manner. If you were not there to time, no matter the
nature of your injury, you received no attention. Similarly, if the
number of patients lined up outside the diminutive hospital were in
excess of those to whom he could give attention during the hours he had
set forth, he would turn the surplus away with the intimation that they
could present themselves the next day at the same hour when perhaps he
would be able to see to them. It did not matter to him how serious was
the injury or the urgency for attention. His hours were laid down, and
he would not stay a minute later for anything. Fortunately, Dr. Ascher,
who resented this inflexible system, would attend the most pressing
cases upon his own initiative, for which, it is needless to say, he
received the most heartfelt thanks.
Before the duty of examining the wounded soldiers commenced there was a
breeze between Dr. Ascher and the military surgeon. The former insisted
that the patients should receive attention as they lined up--first come
to be first served, and irrespective of nationality. But the military
doctor would have none of this. His hatred of the British was so intense
that he could not resist any opportunity to reveal his feelings. I
really think that he would willingly have refused to attend to the
British soldiers at all if his superior orders had not charged him with
this duty. So he did the next worse thing to harass our heroes. He
expressed his intention to attend first to the Belgians, then to the
French, and to the British last. They could wait, notwithstanding that
their injuries were more severe and the patients more numerous than
those of the other two Allies put together. This decision, however, was
only in consonance with the general practice of the camp--the British
were always placed last in everything. If the military surgeon thought
that his arbitrary attitude would provoke protests and complaints among
the British soldiers he was grievously mistaken, because they accepted
his decision without a murmur.
The queue outside the hospital was exceedingly lengthy. The heat was
intense and grew intolerable as the day advanced and the sun climbed
higher into the heavens. To aggravate matters a dust-storm blew up. The
British wounded at the end of the line had a dreary, long, and agonising
wait. Half-dead from fatigue, hunger, and racked with pain it is not
surprising that many collapsed into the dust, more particularly as they
could not secure the slightest shelter or relief from the broiling sun.
As the hours wore on they dropped like flies, to receive no attention
whatever,--except from their less-wounded comrades, who strove might and
main to render the plight of the worst afflicted as tolerable as the
circumstances would permit. Dr. Ascher toiled in the hospital like a
Trojan, but the military doctor was not disposed to exert himself
unduly.
To make matters worse this despicable disciple of Æsculapius came out,
and, notwithstanding the drifting and blowing sand, ordered all the
British prisoners to remove their bandages so that there might be no
delay when the hospital was reached. The men obeyed as best as they
could, but in many instances the bandages refused to release themselves
from the wound. The military doctor speedily solved this problem. He
caught hold of the untied end of the bandage and roughly tore it away.
The wounded man winced but not a sound came from his lips, although the
wrench must have provoked a terrible throb of pain, and in some
instances induced the injury to resume bleeding. Finding this brutal
treatment incapable of drawing the anticipated protest he relented with
the later prisoners, submitting the refractory bandages to preliminary
damping with water to coax the dressings free.
With their bandages removed the soldiers presented a ghastly sight.
Their clothes were tattered and torn, blood-stained and mudstained,
while the raw wounds seemed to glare wickedly against the sun, air, and
dust. It was pitiable to see the men striving to protect their injuries
from the driving sand, in vain, because the sand penetrated everywhere.
Consequently the gaping wounds soon became clogged with dust, and it is
not surprising that blood-poisoning set in, gangrene supervening in many
instances. Under these conditions many injuries and wounds which would
have healed speedily under proper attention and which would have left
little or no permanent traces, developed into serious cases, some of
which resisted all treatment, finally demanding amputations. The
mutilation which ensued was terrible, and there is no doubt whatever
that many a limb was lost, condemning the wounded man to be a cripple
for life, just because he happened to be British, incurred the hostility
of the military surgeon, and was intentionally neglected. Matters were
aggravated by the military surgeon coming out of the hospital finally,
after the men had been standing uncomplainingly for several hours in the
baking heat, going a certain distance along the line, and then brutally
telling all those beyond that point that they could re-bind up their
wounds and come to see him the next morning. He had no time to attend to
them that day, he remarked.
I do not know how our wounded heroes from Mons would have got on had it
not been for Dr. Ascher, the R.A.M.C. prisoners, ourselves, and a
British military doctor who happened to be among those captured on the
battlefield. The latter was not discovered for some time because he
refused to reveal his identity. Subsequently, realising the serious turn
which matters were taking, and observing the intentional and systematic
neglect which was being meted out to his unfortunate fellow-countrymen,
he buckled in and did wonderful work. Prince L---- and K---- also toiled
incessantly in the attempt to ameliorate the plight of our wounded. Many
of the soldiers were absolutely without funds, but these two civilians
extended them the assistance so sorely needed out of their own pockets,
purchasing food-stuffs from the canteen, which they distributed together
with other articles which were in urgent request, with every liberality.
The lack of funds hit our wounded exceedingly hard. Although they were
on the sick list they received no special treatment. They were in dire
need of nourishing food suitable for invalids, but they never received
it. They were compelled, in common with ourselves who were in tolerably
good health, to subsist on milkless and sugarless acorn coffee,
cabbage-soup, and black bread, which cannot possibly be interpreted as
an invalid body-restoring dietary. As a result of this insufficient
feeding the soldiers commenced to fall away.
This systematic starvation, for it was nothing more nor less, rendered
the soldiers well-nigh desperate. In order to secure the money wherewith
to supplement their meagre and uninviting non-nutritious food with
articles from the canteen, they were prepared to sell anything and
everything which could be turned into a few pence. Khaki overcoats were
freely sold for six shillings apiece. For sixpence you could buy a pair
of puttees. Even buttons were torn off and sold for what they would
fetch. One morning, on parade, a soldier whose face testified to the
ravages of hunger tore off his cardigan jacket and offered it to any one
for sixpence in order to buy bread. Little souvenirs which the soldiers
had picked up on the battlefield, and which they treasured highly,
hoping to take them home as mementoes of their battles, were sold to any
one who would buy. As a matter of fact some of the soldiers were
prepared to part with anything and everything in which they were
standing in order to get food.
While we fraternised with the soldiers at the very first opportunity to
secure details of their experiences which were freely given and to learn
items of news, the German guards interfered. We had been kept in
complete ignorance of the progress of the war, and now we were learning
too much for our captors. I may say that all we heard about the war was
the occasional intelligence given when we were on parade. Major Bach
would stroll up with German newspapers in his hands and with fiendish
delight would give us items of news which he thought would interest us.
Needless to say the fragments always referred to brilliant German
victories and he used to watch our faces with grim pleasure to ascertain
the effect they produced upon us. At first we were somewhat impressed,
especially when he told us that Paris had been captured. But when he
related ten days later that it had fallen again, and that London was in
German hands, we smiled in spite of ourselves because we had trapped him
in his lying.
We were now separated from our soldier friends, from whom we had gained
a more reliable insight concerning the state of affairs. The German
guards also gave themselves away by relating that they were embittered
against the British soldiers because they had fought like devils and had
wrought terrible havoc among the ranks of the German army. Consequently
the only opportunity which arose for conversation was during the
evenings around the canteen. Even then we had to be extremely cautious.
If the guard saw one or two civilians associated with a group of
Tommies, he would come up, force us apart at the point of the bayonet,
and make us proceed different ways.
Our practice was to mingle singly and discreetly with the soldiers, and
then upon return to barracks exchange news we had gleaned. I may say it
became an unwritten law of the camp that, if a civilian took a soldier
into the canteen and asked him any questions, he was to reciprocate by
treating the Tommy to some little dainty which was obtainable. If we
asked nothing the soldier got nothing. This latter attitude was not due
to our resenting the idea of treating the soldier, but because many of
us were poor, or empty, in pocket ourselves. Although we did a
considerable amount of forced labour we never received a penny for it.
I had a tilt at my guard one day over the payment of prisoners of war.
Although I knew nothing about the International law upon the subject I
made a venture.
"Do you know?" I asked, "that as prisoners of war we are entitled to 60
pfennigs--sixpence--a day for what work we do?"
"Ja! Ja!" he grinned. "But as it costs us 90 pfennigs a day to keep you,
after deducting the 60 pfennigs, you still owe us 30 pfennigs a day!"
The idea of us being in Germany's debt for our board and lodging was
certainly humorous. If any one asked me how much it cost the Teutonic
Government in this direction I should consider a halfpenny a day a very
liberal figure.
The efforts of the prisoners to supplement their meagre and monotonous
official allowance of food by purchases at the canteen were handicapped
by the avariciousness and unprecedented rascality of the unprincipled
rogue who was in charge of this indispensable establishment.
When a soldier had secured a few pence, say a shilling, by the sale of
this or that personal belonging, and proffered the coin to the canteen
proprietor, this worthy would pick it up, shrug his shoulders, and
disdainfully push the shilling back with the remark, "English money? No
good here! I can get very little for it!"
At this pronouncement the soldier's face would fall. But dreading denial
of a "brötchen" of which he was in urgent need he would grow desperate.
He would push the coin across the counter again.
"It must be worth something! Now how much will you give for it?" he
would ask pleadingly.
With further demur, elevation of eyebrows, puckering of brows and
hesitancy the canteen proprietor would complete a mental arithmetical
sum in currency exchange. At last he would reluctantly quote a figure,
and as a rule it was about fifty per cent. below the face value of the
coin. Thus the soldier's shilling would only be valued at sixpence in
German money.
The soldier, satisfied at being able to get a "brötchen" even at such a
sacrifice, would submit. But although the unwarranted depreciation was
robbery it was not the worst feature of the methods of this greedy
money-changer.
The soldier would receive, not five English pennies or 50 German
pfennigs as his change but a French half-franc. Then the next time he
visited the canteen for another "brötchen" or something else, he would
put down the half-franc he had previously received. Again the soldier
received a rude surprise. The canteen proprietor would reluctantly say
that the French money was useless to him. There would be a repetition of
the previous bickering over the British shilling, and at last the
astonished soldier would learn that he could only change the French
half-franc at a discount of forty per cent. In this instance the change
would be the equivalent of twopence in English money, but it would be
given in Belgian coins. Upon the third occasion when the British soldier
visited the canteen to buy a "brötchen" and proffered the Belgian
coinage he would learn that this had also undergone a sudden
depreciation of fifty per cent. So that by the time the soldier had
expended his shilling he had really received goods to the value of about
threepence.
It was a cunning method of conducting business and the canteen
proprietor was a master in keeping the hated currency of the three
nations in circulation among themselves, and always exacted a heavy
charge for its acceptance.
With such a novel means of ringing the changes upon soldiers of the
three nationalities it is not surprising that the canteen proprietor
waxed rich within a very short time.
Such a state of affairs not only adversely affected the soldiers but the
poor civilian prisoners as well. At last things came to such a pass that
one of our interpreters, F. K----, the fellow-prisoner whom I had met in
Wesel prison, tackled the canteen proprietor upon his unfair method of
conducting business, and emphasised how harsh it was upon the prisoners
who were not flush in funds. For this attempt to improve our position F.
K---- had to pay the penalty. The canteen proprietor promptly reported
the interpreter to the Commanding Officer of the camp, who forthwith
sentenced our comrade to three days' cells for daring to interfere with
German organisation!
The Germans, in their determined intention to prevent the British
civilian and military prisoners from mingling, adopted the most drastic
measures. Guards were posted everywhere and we were sternly forbidden to
enter the soldiers' reservation. If we were detected the guards were
instructed to let drive with their rifles without giving any previous
warning. The anti-British sentiment was so acute that any one of our
guards would have only been too delighted to have had the chance to put
this order into effect, and that upon the slightest pretext. As he would
have been upheld in his action we decided to give these amiable wardens
no opportunity to turn us into targets.
There is no doubt that we were regarded as little less than desperadoes
of the worst type. Our troops had given the Germans such a severe
shaking up as to throw our guards into a state of wild panic. This was
proved only too conclusively by an incident which occurred one night.
After we had retired we were not permitted to put our heads out of the
windows. To do so was to court a bullet, also according to instructions.
On this particular night, after we had turned in, one of the prisoners,
unable to sleep owing to mental worry and the heat, strolled to the door
to get a breath of fresh air. As he stepped out into the dusty footway a
terrifying fusillade rang out and continued for several minutes. We all
sprang up wondering what was the matter.
The poor fellow had been spotted coming out of the door by the sentry
who, too excited to recognise the man, had fired his rifle at the
prisoner for all he was worth. Instantly the guard turned out. The
prisoner brought abruptly to his senses had darted back into the barrack
safe and sound but fearfully scared. Only the wild shooting of the
sentry had saved him from being riddled. The guard itself, upon turning
out, evidently thought that a rebellion had broken out or at least that
a prisoner had escaped. Seizing their rifles they blazed away for dear
life. They did not aim at anything in particular but shot haphazardly at
the stars, haystacks, and trees in the most frantic manner imaginable
and as rapidly as their magazine arms would let them. Undoubtedly the
Germans were half-mad with fear. It rained bullets around the barracks
and every man within crouched down on his bed, away from the windows
through which we momentarily expected the bullets to crash. None of us
dared to move for fear that there might be a collision with one or more
of the missiles which pattered around us.
The next morning we were paraded hurriedly. The guard ran about among
us, searching every corner of the barracks, as if bereft. The roll was
called with wild excitement. A prisoner had escaped! Had he not been
seen by every imaginative member of the guard? But when they discovered
that we were all safe and sound, and that we were perfectly composed,
they presented a sorry array of stalwart warders. Their sheepishness
provoked us to laughter when we learned the true reason for all the
bother. But it brought home to us the extreme danger of falling foul of
such a panicky mob.
The military reservation was fenced off from our quarters by barbed
wire. The rule ran that no prisoner on either side of the barrier was to
advance within a metre's distance--about one yard--of the fence. Guards
were on duty to see that this regulation was obeyed. One day a British
Tommy, in a moment of forgetfulness, ventured within the forbidden
distance. With a flash the excited guard standing near by raised his
rifle and jabbed fiercely at the soldier. The bayonet got home in the
luckless Tommy's shoulder and passed clean through from front to back,
the ugly point of the bayonet protruding about three inches.
This incident and unwarranted savagery, although born of "nerves,"
sickened and also roused those of us who had seen it. Seeing that the
soldier was quite unarmed the sentry might have used the butt end of his
weapon just as satisfactorily. But no! It was a swine of an Engländer
who had infringed the rule and the bayonet was the instrument for
correction, to be plied with the utmost effect.
Seeing the desperate condition of the British wounded and the inhuman
manner in which they were treated one might naturally conclude that they
would have died off like flies. Sennelager has the most evil reputation
among the German prison camps for systematic brutality and unprecedented
ferocity. But to levy such an accusation is to bring an immediate German
denial. In reply they turn to the official reports and retort that
conditions could not possibly be so terrible as they are painted,
otherwise the camp would be certain to reveal a high mortality. On the
other hand the death-rate at Sennelager is strikingly low, and the
German officials smile contentedly while the Press comforts itself
smugly.
The presentation of the low death-rate is even likely to arouse doubt in
the minds of the unsophisticated British at home. They are not versed in
German cunning. Sennelager camp carries a low death-rate for the simple
reason that a prisoner is not permitted to die there. When a man has
been reduced to a hopeless condition and his demise appears imminent he
is hurriedly sent off to some other place, preferably a hospital, to
die. By a slice of luck he might cheat Death, in which event, upon his
recovery, he is bundled off to another prison. But he seldom, if ever,
comes back to Sennelager! During my period of incarceration only one
man, B----, who was sent to Paderborn hospital to die as the Germans
thought, but who recovered, returned to Sennelager. When a man was
hastened out of the camp in this manner we never knew his fate. It
became a by-word that few men went from Sennelager but none returned.
Consequently, whenever we saw a sick case leave the camp we surmised
that the poor wretch was making his final journey to the Great Beyond.
We assumed his speedy _death from natural causes_--as the German
authorities would relate--to be inevitable.