THE WAY THEY HAVE AT GIESSEN
"Raus!"--The Strafe Barracks--The Appeal for Casement--Why
Parcels Should Be Sent--A Hell on Earth--That Brickyard
Fatigue--Gott Strafe England--Slow Starvation--Merciless
Discipline--Canadian Humor--The Debt We Owe--Inoculating for
Typhoid?--Joseph's Coat of Many Colors--The Russian Who Unwound
the Rag--The Monotony of the Wire--Teaching the Germans the
British Salute.
Except for the starving, as I look back now, Giessen was not such a
bad camp as such places go. At least it was the best that we were to
know. The discipline, of course, was fairly severe, but on the other
hand the Commandant did not trouble us a great deal. The petty
annoyances were harder to endure. Frequently we would get the "Raus!"
at half-hour intervals by day or night; "Raus out!" "Raus in!" and so
on.
We never knew what our tormentors wanted but supposed it to be a
systematic attempt to break our spirit and our nerve by the simple
expedient of habitually interfering with our sleep so that we would
become like the Russians. They were mostly utterly broken in spirit
and had the air of beaten dogs, so that they cringed and fawned to
their masters.
The least punishment meted out for the most trifling offense was three
days' cells. Some got ten years for refusing to work in munition and
steel factories, particularly British and Canadians.
There are large numbers of both who are to-day serving out sentences
of from eighteen months to ten years in the military fortresses of
Germany under circumstances of the greatest cruelty.
The so-called courts-martial were mockeries of trials. The culprit was
simply marched up to the orderly room, received his sentence and
marched away again. He was allowed no defence worthy of the name.
Some of the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry were "warned" for work
in a munitions factory. When the time came around they were taken away
but refused to work and so they were knocked about quite a bit. One
was shot in the leg and another bayoneted through the hip, and all
were sent back to camp, where they were awarded six weeks in the
punishment camp, known as the strafe barracks.
This was a long hut in which were two rows of stools a few paces
apart. The _Raus_ blew for the culprits at five-thirty. At six they
were marched to the hut and made to sit down in two rows facing one
another, at attention--that is, body rigid, head thrown well back,
chest out, hands held stiffly at the sides and eyes straight to the
front--for two hours! Meanwhile the sentries marched up and down the
lane, watching for any relaxation or levity. If so much as a face was
pulled at a twinkling eye across the way, another day's strafing was
added to the penalty. At the end of the two hours one hour's rest was
allowed, during which the prisoners could walk about in the hut but
could not lie down! This continued all day until "Lights out." For six
weeks. No mail, parcels, writing or exercise was permitted the
prisoners during that time, and the already scanty rations were cut.
During good behavior we were allowed two post cards and two letters a
month, with nine lines to the former and thirteen to the page of the
latter. No more, no less. Each letter had four pages of the small,
private-letter size. The name and address counted as a line. Mine was
Kriegsgefingenenlaager, Kompagnie No. 6, Barackue No. A. The writing
had to be big and easily read and, in the letters, on four sides of
the paper. No complaint or discussion of the war was permitted. Fully
one-half of those written were returned for infringements, or fancied
ones, of these rules. Sometimes when the censor was irritated they
were merely chucked into the fire. And as they had also to pass the
English censor it is no wonder that many families wondered why their
men did not write.
We were there for three months before our parcels began to arrive. We
considered ourselves lucky if we received six out of ten sent, and
with half the contents of the six intact. In the larger camps the
chances of receipt were better. The small camps were merely units
attached to and governed by the larger ones, which handled the mail
before giving it to the authorities at the smaller ones.
Thus, a man who was "attached" to Giessen camp, although perhaps one
hundred miles away from it, had to submit to the additional delay and
chance of loss and theft included in the censoring of the parcel at
Giessen as well as at the actual place of his confinement.
This doubled the chances of fault-finding and of theft. Knowing this
to be true, I most earnestly recommend the sending of parcels. True, a
large proportion of them are not received, but those that are
represent the one salvation of the prisoner-of-war in German hands. So
terribly true is this that when we began to receive parcels at
irregular intervals, we used regularly to acknowledge to our friends
the receipt of parcels which we had never received. This was the low
cunning developed by our treatment. If advised that a parcel of tea,
sugar or other luxuries had been sent and it did not appear after
weeks of patient waiting, we knew that we should never see that
parcel. Nevertheless, we usually wrote and thanked the donor and
acknowledged the receipt, fearful otherwise that he or she should say:
"What's the use?" and send no more. And we were not allowed to tell
the truth--that it had been stolen.
The first three months of our stay at Giessen were probably the worst
of all, including as they did the transition period to this life. It
seemed then a hell on earth. The slow starvation was the worst. Once,
in desperation, I gave a Frenchman my good boots for his old ones and
two and a half marks, and then gave sixty pfennigs of this to the
French cook for a bread ration. Again, in going down the hut one day,
I espied a flat French loaf cut into four pieces, drying on the window
sill. Seizing one piece, I tucked it under my tunic and passed on
before the loss was discovered. Some of the British could be seen at
times picking over the sour refuse in the barrels. This amused the
Germans very much. We endeavoured to get cookhouse jobs for the
pickings to be had, but could not do so. At a later date, when the
Canadian Red Cross, Lady Farquhar, Mrs. Hamilton Gault and our
families were sending us packages regularly, we made out all right.
Some English societies were in the habit of sending books, music and
games to the prisoners but none of these ever reached the group with
whom I associated, even before our later actions put us quite beyond
the German pale.
The appeal for Casement and the Irish Brigade was made to us. A
number of prisoners were taken apart and the matter broached privately
to them. Pamphlets on the freeing of Ireland were also distributed. I
did not see any one go over, and an Irishman who was detailed with
another Canadian and myself on a brickyard fatigue said that they had
recruited only forty in the camp. The whole thing turned out to be a
failure.
There were twelve of us all told on that brickyard job. Three or four
shoveled clay into the mixing machine, two more filled the little car
which two others pushed along the track of the narrow-gauge railroad.
We were guarded by four civilian Germans of some home defense corps,
all of whom labored with us. The two trammers used to start the car,
hop on the brake behind and let it run of its own momentum down the
incline to the edge of the bank where it would be checked for dumping.
Sometimes we forgot to brake the car so that it would ricochet on in a
flying leap off the end of the track, and so on over the dump. The
guards would rage and swear but could prove nothing so long as our
fellows did not get too raw and do this too frequently.
One day we shovelers decided to add to the gaiety of nations. While
one attracted the guards' attention elsewhere we slipped a chunk of
steel into the mess. There was a grinding crash, and a large cogwheel
tore its way through the roof. In a moment, the air was full of
machinery and German words. It was a proper wreck. The guards ran
around gesticulating angrily, tearing their hair and threatening us,
while we endeavoured to look surprised. It is reasonable to suppose
that we were unsuccessful, for we were hustled back to camp and drew
five days' cells each from the Commandant. There was no trial. He
merely sentenced us.
United States Ambassador Gerard only came to Giessen once in my time
there, and that was while I was off at one of the detached camps, so I
had no opportunity of observing the result.
We knew very little of what was going on in the outside world. The
guards were not allowed to converse with us, and if one was known to
speak English he was removed. However, they were more or less curious
about us so that a certain amount of clandestine conversation
occurred. Some were certain that they were going to win the war.
Others said: "England has too much money. Germany will never win."
They used frequently to gather the Russians, Belgians and French
together and lecture them on England's sins. They said that England
was letting them do all the fighting, bleeding them white of their men
and treasure so as to come out at the end of the war with the balance
of power necessary for her plan of retaining Constantinople and the
Cinque Ports of France. Many were convinced, and this did not add to
the pleasantness of our lot.
The notorious _Continental Times_ was circulated amongst us freely in
both French and English editions. It regularly gave us a most
appalling list of German victories and it specialised in abuse of the
English. We counted up in one month a total of two million prisoners
captured by the Germans on all fronts.
As I have said, Giessen was the best camp of all, barring the
starvation. But the discipline there was merciless. The laager was
inclosed by a high wire fence which we were forbidden to approach
within four feet of. A Russian sergeant overstepped that mark one day
to shout something to a friend in an adjoining laager. The sentry
shouted at him. He either failed to hear or did not understand. The
sentry killed him without hesitation.
A Belgian started over one day with some leftover soup which he
purposed giving to the Russians. The sentry would not let him pass. He
went back and told his mate. The latter, a kindly little fellow,
thinking that the sentry had not understood the nature of the mission,
decided to try himself. The sentry stopped him. He attempted to argue.
The sentry pushed him roughly back. He struck the German. The latter
dropped him with a blow on the head, and while he lay unconscious
shoved the bayonet into him. It was done quite coolly and
methodically, without heat. He was promoted for it. We were told that
he had done a good thing and that we should get the same if we did not
behave.
A Canadian who was forced to work in a munitions plant and whose task
included the replacing of waste in the wheel boxes of cars enjoyed
himself for a while, lifting the greasy waste out and replacing it
with sand. He got ten years for that.
The German in charge of our laager hated the _verdamnt Englaender_ and
lost no opportunity of bulldozing and threatening us. One of the
Canadians who had been in the American Navy was unusually truculent.
The German purposely bunted him one day. "Don't do that again!" The
German repeated the act. The sailor jolted him in the jaw so that he
went to dreamland for fifteen minutes. The prisoner was taken to the
guardroom and we never heard his ultimate fate, but at the ruling rate
he was lucky if he got off with ten years.
It is men like this to whom our Government and people owe such a debt
as may be paid only in a small degree by our insistence after the war
that they be given their liberty. A greater glory is theirs than that
of the soldier. They wrought amongst a world of foes, knowing their
certain punishment, but daring it rather than assist that foe's
efforts against their country.
One day we were told that we must be inoculated in the arm against
typhoid. We thought nothing of that. But the next day men began to
gather in groups so that the guards shouted roughly at them, bidding
them not to mutter and whisper so.
Where the word came from I know not. It may have emanated in the
fears of some active imagination on the chance and truthful word of a
guard, flung in derision at some desperate man, or in a kindlier mood
and in warning. The word was that we were to be inoculated with the
germs of consumption. I understand that it appeared also in the papers
at home. It seemed horrible beyond words to us. The idea appeared
crazy but was equally on a par with the events we witnessed daily.
Myself, I planned to take no chances; if it were humanly possible.
We were all ordered to parade for the inoculation. I hid myself with a
few others and so escaped the operation. Nothing was said so I could
only suppose that they failed to check us up as it was not in keeping
with the German character as we had come to know it to miss any
opportunity of corrective punishment even though the inoculation had
been for our own good.
It is true that some of the men so inoculated fell prey to
consumption. On the other hand one of them had had a well defined case
of it before, and it was almost certain that the living conditions
prevailing amongst us would insure the appearance of the disease so
that we had no proof that any man was so inoculated. Some of the men
so affected were sent to Switzerland for the benefit of the mountain
air through an arrangement made by the Red Cross with the Swiss
authorities.
[Illustration: FELLOW PRISONERS AT GIESSEN. FROM LEFT TO RIGHT:
A CHESHIRE REGIMENT MAN, A SIBERIAN RUSSIAN, AN EAST YORKSHIRE
LIGHT INFANTRYMAN AND A GORDON HIGHLANDER.]
[Illustration: FELLOW PRISONERS AT GIESSEN. THREE HIGHLANDERS
AND A YORKSHIRE LIGHT INFANTRYMAN.]
One of our guards was subject to fits and habitually ran amuck amongst
us, abusing some of the prisoners in a painful fashion. We made
complaint of this through the proper channels, for which crime the
officer in charge stopped our fires and other privileges for the time
being.
Most of the men wore prison uniforms or in some cases, suits sent from
England which were altered by the authorities to conform to their
regulations. These required that if one was not in a distinctive and
enemy uniform that broad stripes of bright colored cloth be set into
the seam of the trousers; not sewed on, but into the goods. A large
diamond shaped piece or else a square of such cloth was set into the
breast and back of the tunic. I preferred my uniform, dilapidated
though it was. We were permitted the choice, probably less out of
kindness than because of the saving involved.
There was a big simple giant of a Russian here who was badly sprung
at the knees. He had been forced to work during the winter in an
underground railway station near Berlin. He had had no shoes and had
stood in the water for weeks, digging. He was very badly crippled in
consequence.
Some four hundred Russians came to us after the fall of Warsaw. They
were mostly wounded and all rotten. On the three months' march to
Giessen the wounded had received absolutely no attention other than
their own. Here we had a crazy German doctor, a mediocre French one
and Canadian orderlies. If an Englishman went to the hospital for
treatment it was "Vick!"--Get out. These Russians were treated
similarly. The French fared better. One big, fine-looking Russian,
with a filthy mass of rags wound round his arm, reported for
attention. They unwound the rag and his arm dropped off. He died, with
five others, that afternoon, and God only knows how many more on the
trip they had just finished.
They were buried in a piano case, together. Usually they were placed
in packing cases. We asked for a flag with which to cover them as
soldiers should be. They asked what that was for and there it ended.
Another Russian had a foul arm which leaked badly so that it was not
only painful to him but offensive to the rest of us. Nothing was done
for him.
They were all thoroughly cowed, as are dogs that have been illtreated.
And they jumped to it when a German spoke--excepting two of their
officers, who refused to take down their epaulets when ordered to do
so. We did not learn how they fared. These were the only captive
officers of any nationality whom we saw.
We became sick of the sight of one another as even the best of friends
do under such abnormal conditions. For variety I often walked around
the enclosure with a Russian. Neither of us had the faintest idea what
the other said, but it was a change!
The monotony of the wire was terrible--and just outside it in the lane
formed by the encircling set of wire, the dogs, with their tongues
out, walked back and forth, eyeing us.
There was so little to talk about. We knew nothing and could only
speculate on the outcome of the commonest events which came to us on
the tongue of rumour or arose out of our own sad thoughts.
The authorities were not satisfied with our recognition--or lack of
it--of their officers and took us out to practice saluting drill--a
thing always detested by soldiers, especially veterans. The idea was
to make us salute visiting German officers properly, in the German
fashion and not in our own. Theirs consisted of saluting with the
right hand only, with the left held stiffly straight at the side,
while our way was to salute with the hand farthest from the officer,
giving "Eyes left" or "Eyes right" as the case might be, and with the
free hand swinging loosely with the stride.
So a school of us were led out to this. The very atmosphere was tense
with sullen rebellion. The guards eyed us askance. The officer stood
at the left awaiting us; beyond him and on the other side of the road,
a post.
An _unteroffizier_ ordered us to march by, one by one, to give the
_Herr Offizier_ "Augen Links" in the German fashion, and to the post,
which represented another officer, an "Augen Rechts" when we should
come to it.
"I'll see him in hell first," I muttered to the man next me. I was in
the lead of the party. I shook with excitement and fear of I knew not
what.
As the command rang out I stepped out with a swing, and with the
action, decision came to me. As I approached the officer he drew up
slightly and looked at me expectantly.
I gave him a stony stare, and passed on.
A few more steps and I reached the post. I pulled back my shoulders
with a smart jerk, got my arms to swinging freely, snapped my head
round so that my eyes caught the post squarely and swung my left hand
up in a clean-cut parabola to "Eyes right," in good old regimental
order.
A half dozen shocked sentries came up on the double. It was they who
were excited now. I was master of myself and the situation. The
_unteroffizier_ ordered me to repeat and salute. I did so--literally.
The officer was, to all outward appearances, the only other person
there who remained unmoved. My ardour had cooled by this time, and his
very silence seemed worse than the threats of the guard. Nor was I
exactly in love with my self-appointed task. Nevertheless, I saw my
mates watching me and inwardly applauding. I was ashamed to quit. I
did it again. That won me another five days' cells.