THE PERSECUTION OF THE PRIESTS
Although we British prisoners, both civilian and military, constituted
the principal butt for the spleen of Major Bach, we never raised the
slightest audible complaint or protest, although inwardly and in the
seclusion of our barracks we chafed at the unrelenting tyranny to which
we were exposed and against which we were completely helpless. In strict
accordance with the instructions of the Commandant we were always the
last to receive attention. If we ever had to go to the hospital to
receive any treatment and were the first to arrive at its doors, we had
to kick our heels outside and possess ourselves in patience as best we
could until all the prisoners of other nationalities had seen the
surgeon. As a rule we had a lost journey. The surgeon in his haste to
get away either would notify us that our cases could not receive enquiry
until the morrow, or he would treat us in a perfunctory manner.
As at the hospital so at the cook-house at meal times. We were never
given our rations until all the others had been satisfied. The
consequence was that we generally went short of food. The first to be
treated received liberal quantities of the cabbage soup. What was left
had to be eked out amongst us.
"The damned English swine can wait!" This was the dictum of those in
authority and the underlings were only too eager to fulfil it to the
letter. If there were the slightest opportunity to deprive us of our
food, on the flimsy pretext that we had not answered the summons with
sufficient alacrity, it was eagerly grasped. Under these conditions we
had to go supperless to bed, unless we could procure something at the
canteen or our more fortunate comrades came to our assistance by sharing
with us the comestibles they had purchased.
Some ten days after the appearance of Major Bach a new target for his
savagery and venom appeared. This was a party of Belgian priests. I
shall never forget their entrance to the camp. We were performing
necessary daily duties outside our barracks when our attention was drawn
to an approaching party surrounded by an abnormally imposing force of
soldiers. Such a military display was decidedly unusual and we naturally
concluded that a prisoner of extreme significance, and possibly rank,
had been secured and was to be interned at Sennelager.
When the procession drew nearer and we saw that the prisoners were
priests our curiosity gave way to feelings of intense disgust. They were
twenty-two in number and were garbed just as they had been torn from
prayer by the ruthless soldiers. Some were venerable men bordering on
seventy. Subsequently I discovered that the youngest among them was
fifty-four years of age, but the average was between sixty and seventy.
The reverend fathers with clasped hands moved precisely as if they were
conducting some religious ceremonial among their flocks in their beloved
churches. But the pace was too funereal for the advocates of the
goose-step. They hustled the priests into quicker movement, not in the
rough manner usually practised with us, but by clubbing the unfortunate
religionists across the shoulders with the stocks of their rifles,
lowering their bayonets to them and giving vent to blood-freezing
curses, fierce oaths, coarse jeers, and rewarding the desperate
endeavours of the priests to fulfil the desires of their captors with
mocking laughter and ribaldry.
The brutal manner in which they were driven into the camp as if they
were sheep going to the slaughter, made our blood boil. More than one of
us clenched our fists and made a half-movement forward as if to
interfere. But we could do nothing and so had to control our furious
indignation.
However, the moment the priests entered Sennelager we received a
respite. Officers and guards turned their savagery and spite from us to
visit it upon these unhappy victims by night and by day and at every
trick and turn. Clubbing with the rifle was the most popular means of
compelling them to obey this, or to do that. More than once I have seen
one of the aged religionists fall to the ground beneath a rifle blow
which struck him across the back. No indignity conceivable, besides a
great many indescribable, was spared those venerable men, and they bowed
to their revolting treatment with a meekness which seemed strangely out
of place.
After one more than usually ferocious manifestation of attack I
questioned our guard to ascertain the reason for this unprecedented
treatment and why the priests had been especially singled out for such
infamous ferocity.
"Ach!" he hissed with a violent expectoration, "They fired upon our
brave comrades in Belgium. They rang the bells of their churches to
summon the women to the windows to fire upon our brothers as they
passed. The dogs! We'll show them! We'll break them before we have
finished. They won't want to murder our brave troops again!"
The words were jerked out with such fearful fury that I refrained from
pursuing the subject. Later I had a chat with one of the oldest priests.
It was only with difficulty we could understand one another, but it was
easy to discover that the charges were absolutely unfounded, and were
merely the imagination of the distorted and savage Prussian mind when
slipped from the leash to loot, assault and kill for the first time in
his life.
A night or two later a few of us were purchasing food at the canteen.
Suddenly four soldiers came tumbling in, dragging with them one of the
most aged of the Fathers. He must have been on the verge of three-score
and ten, and with his long white beard he presented an impressive,
proud, and stately figure. But the inflamed Prussian has no respect for
age. The old man was bludgeoned against the counter and at his abortive
attempts to protect himself the soldiers jeered and laughed
boisterously.
One of the soldiers called for a suit of clothes which was served out to
prisoners, and for which we were supposed to pay six marks--six
shillings. The leader of the party of soldiers grabbed the suit and,
pushing the priest roughly, shouted,
"Here! You can't work in the fields with that garb you are wearing.
You've got to buy these. Six marks! Hurry up! You've got to put them
on!"
The priest, who did not understand a word of German, naturally failed to
grasp the meaning of the command. He promptly received a clout to knock
some sense into him, the soldier meanwhile shaking the prison-like suit
to emphasise what he meant.
In mute protest the priest shook his robes to indicate that he was quite
content with what he was wearing.
"Come on! If you don't change we'll do it for you!"
At this threat there was a wild outburst of demoniacal mirth, in which
the girl behind the counter, a brazen jade, joined uproariously as if in
anticipation of some unusual amusement. She reached over the counter,
craning her neck to secure a better view of an unexpected spectacle.
As the Reverend Father did not respond to the command, the guard
gathered round him. Before we could realise what was happening, his
crucifix and rosary had been roughly torn off, and with his watch and
chain had been thrown upon a table standing alongside. His robe was
roughly whisked away in the twinkling of an eye. But the prisoner did
not move or raise a hand in protest, even when he was bared to his
under-clothing in front of fräulein, who signalled her appreciation of
the sight by wildly clapping her hands, laughing merrily, and giving
expression to ribald jokes.
The proud manner in which the victim surveyed his tormentors only
exasperated them still further. By the threat of the bayonet he was
compelled to stand up in front of these degenerate members of the human
race and the girl behind the counter, whose laughter could now be heard
ringing above the frantic shrieks of the soldiers.
We, who were unwilling witnesses of this revolting spectacle, were
grinding our teeth in ill-suppressed rage. Never during my sojourn in
Sennelager, even when submitted to the greatest torment, have I seen the
British prisoners roused to such a pitch of fury. As a rule we
effectively maintained a quiet, if not indifferent, and tractable
attitude, but this was more than flesh and blood could stand.
But the priest never relaxed his proud composure and self-possession. He
looked so penetratingly at the laughing jade that I think it must have
penetrated into her very soul. Her wild mirth ended abruptly in a
strange semi-hysterical shriek as her eyes met his look of intense
scorn. She winced and was effectively cowed into silence.
I may say that the floor of the canteen was of concrete, but upon this
was a layer of mud, slime, grease, and other filth brought in from
outside upon the boots of those who frequented the establishment. This
was now a noisome muddy carpet some two inches in thickness. The
Germans, one may happen to recollect, have ever paraded their love of
cleanliness before the world, but this floor was the lie direct to their
vain boastings.
At the sight of the old man standing there erect before them, the victim
of unparalleled humiliation, but his spirit as strong and as unyielding
as ever, the fury of the soldiers knew no bounds. One, giving vent to a
fearful curse, placed his hand on the table upon which the crucifix,
rosary, and watch were lying. He gave a swift, fiendish glance at the
priest towering above him, and with a vile oath swept the articles to
the floor, where they ploughed through the greasy revolting slime.
It was then that the badgered and baited Father broke down. As he
watched his beloved and revered crucifix and rosary suffering defilement
and serving as the rude sport for the iron heels of the uncivilised
Huns, the tears coursed down his face copiously. He gave a slight start
as he saw the articles flash through the air, but suppressed the cry of
horror which sprang inadvertently to his lips.
But the soldiers were not yet satisfied with the agony which they had
created in the Father's heart. One grabbed his rifle and lowering the
bayonet in a threatening manner ordered the priest to pick up his sacred
treasures. The priest stooped down to obey the instructions, but this
was not sufficient for his persecutors. He was driven to his knees and
forced to grope among the repulsive mud for his revered religious
tokens. With great difficulty he recovered them, battered, crushed, and
covered with the filthy accumulation upon the floor. As the Reverend
Father drew himself once more to his full height, clasping his treasures
desperately, he brought his hands together, and closing his eyes, we saw
his lips moving in prayer.
This was the last straw. Grating our teeth, our faces white with
passion, and our fingers itching to seize those barbarians round their
throats to choke their lives out of them, we nearly threw discretion to
the winds. Had one of us made a forward movement we should have sprung
upon them with the ferocity of bull-dogs. Those four soldiers never knew
how near they were to meeting their deserts upon that day. As it was we
merely scraped our feet in impotent rage. It was this fidgeting which
aroused their attention. They turned and must have read our innermost
intentions written in our faces, for they instantly grabbed their
rifles and rounded upon us. With a motion which could not be
misunderstood, and uttering fierce curses, they ordered us to get
outside. We refused to move, although confronted by ugly pointed
bayonets. It was a tense and critical moment. The soldiers undoubtedly
saw that we were now thoroughly roused, and, strange to say, they
appeared to lose their heads, for they stood stock still, apparently
frightened by our determined appearance.
One of our party, although as enraged as any of us, yet had maintained
more complete control over his feelings. He saw the utter uselessness of
our making a display of physical protest. With a quiet "Come on, boys!"
he stepped towards the door. It saved an ugly situation; the movement to
the door and the crisis had passed. Fiercely glaring at the soldiers,
with our jaws ominously set, and our fists clenched we retreated. Our
action revived the courage of the guards. They at once sprang forward to
jostle us out, prodding and attempting to club us right and left.
As we hurried through the open door we gave a final glance at the
priest. He had turned his head and was looking steadily at us, and if
ever conversation were carried out by looks there were volumes in his
gaze. His eyes told us how impotent we were in the hands of these brutes
who were brave because they had their loaded rifles. They told us of his
appreciation of our sympathy in his hour of humiliation and torment.
They extended us heartfelt thanks for our willingness to come to his
assistance, combined with a mute instruction not to lift a finger on his
behalf since the plight of one and all would become infinitely worse. We
passed into the street and the door was slammed upon us.
Once outside we allowed our feelings to have full rein. We point-blank
refused to go away and fell to discussing the situation somewhat
fiercely. Evidently the tones of our voices persuaded the soldiers
within that they had gone far enough, because shortly afterwards the
priest re-appeared, and under escort was hurried away to his quarters.
When we next saw him we endeavoured by diplomatic questions to ascertain
the reason why he had been subjected to such torture and indignity. To
him the greatest humiliation was that his torment had occurred before a
woman. But otherwise he refused to refer to the episode. His retort, in
a placid, resigned voice, was, "I only trust that God will have mercy
upon them!"
The priests were denied all opportunity to move about the camp. There
were scores of co-religionists among us, but they were stedfastly
refused the comfort which the Fathers could have given them. The priests
were not permitted to minister to the spiritual welfare of their flocks.
As a matter of fact, by the strict instruction of Major Bach, no
religious services of any description were permitted in the camp, at
least not while I was under his sway.
To the members of the Roman Catholic persuasion the brow-beating,
badgering, baiting and buffeting of the helpless priests acted as a red
rag to a bull. But what could they do? Protest was merely so much wasted
energy. Communication with anyone outside the camp was absolutely
impossible. To have reviled Major Bach for his cruelty and carefully
planned barbarity would only have brought down upon us further and more
terrible punishment of such ferocity as would have made everyone long
for the respite of the grave.
But the priests could not be broken, no matter to what physical and
mental suffering they were subjected. Even Major Bach discovered to his
chagrin that his devilish ingenuity had encountered an insuperable
obstacle. To wreak his revenge he now compelled the Fathers to carry out
all the dirtiest and most revolting work in the camp--duties so
repulsive as to be beyond description. But the good men never murmured.
They did exactly as they were bidden, and even the guards at last
appeared to realise the fact that their fertility in torment was of no
avail in attempting to infuriate their meek charges.
Major Bach, however, was by no means cast down at his failures. One
morning he ordered the twenty-two priests to be paraded. They were then
loaded up with a variety of cumbersome and heavy implements--spades,
picks, shovels, and such like. Each load would have taxed the strength
of a young man in the pink of condition and strength to carry, and yet
here were old men, ranging between sixty and seventy years, compelled to
shoulder such burdens. But they did it.
An order was rapped out, the guard wheeled, and the tiny party moved
off. We discovered afterwards that they were marched three miles along
the sandy road in the blazing sun to a point where they were roughly
bidden to dig a huge pit.
Throughout the morning, and without a moment's respite, they were forced
to ply their tools, their task-masters standing over them and smartly
prodding and threatening them with their rifles if they showed signs of
falling from fatigue, or if they failed to maintain the expected rate of
progress. To such old men, who probably had never lifted the smallest
and lightest tool for many years, if ever, it was a back-breaking task.
However, they clung dutifully to their work until the hour of twelve
rang out.
Now they were re-marshalled, their tools were re-shouldered, and they
were marched back to camp for the mid-day meal. By the time they reached
the barracks all the other prisoners had consumed the whole of the
available soup. There was nothing for the priests. It was explained that
they should have hurried so as to have arrived at an earlier moment.
Then they would have received their due proportion. Meals could not be
kept waiting for dawdlers, was the brutal explanation of the
authorities. The priests must be made to realise the circumstance that
they were not staying at an hotel. This, by the way, was a favourite
joke among our wardens.
The priests bore visible signs of their six miles' tramp through
crumbling scorching sand and under a pitiless sun, as well as of their
laborious toil excavating the large pit. But their distressed appearance
did not arouse the slightest feeling of pity among their tormentors.
Being too late for the meal they were re-lined up, and under a changed
guard were marched back again to the scene of their morning's labour.
Naturally, upon reaching the pit, they concluded that they would have to
continue the excavation. But to their intense astonishment the officer
in charge ordered them to throw all the excavated soil back again into
the hole! This was one of the most glaring examples of performing a
useless task, merely to satisfy feelings of savagery and revenge, that I
encountered in Sennelager, although it was typical of Major Bach and his
methods. He took a strange delight in devising such senseless labours.
Doubtless the authorities anticipated that the priests would make some
demur at being compelled to undo the work which they had done previously
with so much effort and pain. But if this was the thought governing the
whole incident the officials were doomed to suffer bitter
disappointment. The priests, whatever they may have thought, silently
accepted the inevitable, and displayed as much diligence in filling the
pit as they had shown a few hours before in digging it.
Still the afternoon's shovelling caused them greater physical hardship
than the plying of the pick in the morning. They had been denied a
mid-day meal, and their age-enfeebled physique proved barely equal to
the toil. A basin of black acorn coffee and a small fragment of hard
brown bread cannot by any manner of means be construed into strong
sustenance for such a full day's work. During the afternoon one or two
were on the verge of collapse from hunger and fatigue. But their
indomitable spirit kept them up and the pit was duly filled.
By the time the labour had been completed the evening was advancing. For
the fourth time that day they shouldered their burden of tools and set
out on the three miles tramp to camp.
We saw them come in and our hearts went out in pity to them. They
tottered rather than walked, their heads bowed as if in prayer, and
their crosses of tools sinking them nearer to the ground. Seeing that
they had walked twelve miles and had put in some eight hours gruelling
work it was a marvel that the older members of the party had not fallen
by the wayside. Yet, although footsore, weary, worn, and hungry they
retained their characteristic composure. In silence they discussed their
frugal evening meal of lukewarm black acorn coffee and black bread. Some
of us, out of sheer sympathy, secured some "brötchen" for them, but they
accepted our expressions of fellow-feeling very sparingly, although with
extreme thankfulness.
They refused to say a word about their sufferings or the agonies they
had experienced during their labour and long walk. I got the story from
one of the guards who had accompanied them. But even these thick-skinned
disciples of "kultur" and brutality were not disposed to be
communicative. The stoicism, grim determination and placidity of the
Reverend Fathers constituted something which their square heads and
addled brains failed to understand. They had never experienced the like.
While Major Bach never repeated the senseless pit-digging and refilling
programme for the priests, his invention was by no means exhausted.
Direct incentive to rebellion proving completely abortive he now
resorted to indirect pettifogging and pin-pricking tactics, harassing
the unfortunate priests at every turn, depriving them of food or
something else, reducing their rations, giving them the most repulsive
work he could discover, and so forth. But it was all to no purpose.
Those twenty-two priests beat him at every turn. For Major Bach to try
to break their proud spirit was like asking a baby to bend a bar of
steel!
What ultimately became of these prisoners I cannot say. In fact, I do
not think there is any one who can definitely relate their fate. Other
prisoners now commenced to arrive in increasing numbers and the
breaking-in of these crowds to the tyranny and brutal existence of
Sennelager Camp appeared to demand the complete attention of the
authorities. Certainly the new arrivals provided Major Bach with all the
entertainment he desired.
Some say that the priests were distributed among other camps; others
that one or two succumbed to the persistent ill-treatment meted out to
them; and still more that they are yet at Sennelager. No one can say
precisely. Only one fact remains. For a time they occupied the sole
attention of every one in the camp because they constituted the most
prominent target for the fiendish devilry of Major Bach. Then they
suddenly appeared to slip into oblivion. The probability is that they
were swallowed up among the hundreds of French, British, Russians,
Poles, Serbians, and various other races who were now pouring in. Being
somewhat retiring in their nature the probability is that the priests
were overlooked and forgotten in that troublous maelstrom of outraged
humanity known far and wide as Sennelager Camp.