HOME AT LAST!
It was just one o’clock when we were handed over, and, after a wash, I
went in to lunch with the officers of the regiment. My first meal as a
free man! Let the reader imagine to himself how I enjoyed it! There was
only one thing to which I took exception, and that was that _rice_ was
served up with the meat as a vegetable, and I had eaten, in the past two
years, more rice than I now care even to think about.
The doctor was the only officer allowed, under active service conditions,
to carry alcohol, so he produced a bottle of whisky and we all had a
small tot to celebrate the great occasion. Then I was called upon for
an exhaustive account of my experiences, and I had the satisfaction of
giving the names of several Germans whose conduct towards us had not been
in accordance with international convention, and seeing these duly noted
for future reference.
That night I slept on a bed made up of loans from the camping-kit of
various officers; one provided a pillow, another a blanket, and so on.
The next morning, after a sumptuous breakfast in which bacon—a luxury
so long unknown—played a prominent part, we said good-bye to our new
friends and set out along the road to Kilossa, accompanied only by an
Indian cart which carried our rations and our few personal belongings.
How we revelled in the full realisation of _freedom_! Joyed in the
liberty to go as we pleased, subject to no alien orders!
At midday we camped by a small stream, made a fire, and ate our lunch
of good bully-beef, _white_ bread, butter and jam, and _tea_ instead of
that everlasting coffee. We could not hope to reach Kilossa that night,
but our objective was a small telephone post about half-way between that
place and the camp we had just left.
We arrived at this post about five o’clock; it was only a reed hut in the
wilderness with two operators in charge, but we were thankful to reach it
and be able to sit down and rest and drink mugs of steaming hot tea. As
there was only room in the hut for the two telephone-operators, we spread
our blankets round the fire outside.
Although on our arrival it was still far from dark, the natives
absolutely refused to go down to draw water from the water-hole, a
distance of about a hundred and fifty yards, unless one of us accompanied
them with a rifle. They declared that a lion came to drink there every
evening; and, sure enough, later on we heard the brute prowling around.
After our long walk no one felt energetic enough to go down and shoot
or try to shoot him, and as I had no experience of big-game hunting,
I thought discretion the better part of valour. But his majesty the
lion, attracted no doubt by the smell of the two oxen which formed our
cart-team, haunted the neighbourhood all night. Once I awoke just after
midnight and heard his roar most unpleasantly close. The fire had died
down, so I got up, kicked it into a blaze, and piled on some more logs
before resuming my slumbers.
The next morning I telephoned to the camp at Ulaiya to enquire if they
could send a motor for us, and after breakfast two cars turned up to
convey us and our gear, so we got there just in time for lunch. Most of
the road was familiar to me, although the track had been levelled and
widened. But Ulaiya itself was quite unrecognisable, for from a small
native village it had been converted into a huge camp many acres in
extent. After an excellent lunch, in the course of which I had to again
narrate all my adventures, we were sent on to Kilossa by car. Here, for
five days, I enjoyed the hospitality of the medical staff, among whom I
found an old fellow-student from my hospital—a captain R.A.M.C. We had
not met for several years, so naturally had lots to yarn about.
One day I walked out and lunched at the headquarters of the R.A.N.S.,
and they gave me some real navy tobacco—a great treat. Observation from
aircraft is far from easy in East Africa. As often as not a landing-place
must be specially prepared before any operations can be undertaken at
all, and further, effective work is greatly hampered by the ease with
which an enemy column can take cover in the thick bush the moment a plane
is spotted against the clear blue sky.
On November 2nd I found I should have an opportunity of getting down
to Dar-es-Salaam by tractor. When the Germans retreated south they had
blown up all the bridges on the Central Railway and destroyed the rolling
stock, but our engineers quickly executed temporary repairs to line
and bridges and made loop-lines round the bigger breaks. As the line
thus repaired was not strong enough to bear the weight of an ordinary
train and engine, light tractors were run. These were most ingeniously
improvised from motor-cars fitted with flanged trolley-wheels, and
developed a good rate of speed. Of course, they did not run to a
time-table, and anyone wanting to travel had just to sit and wait and
watch for a car, and as their business was primarily to convey stores,
it often happened that there was no room for passengers. After waiting
until nearly midnight, I was lucky enough to get a down-bound tractor,
into which I bundled myself and bag, and spreading a blanket on some
sacks, went to sleep. I knew we should not arrive in Morogoro until early
morning, and as a matter of fact, as we stopped somewhere _en route_, we
did not get there until 7 a.m.
That particular tractor was going no further, so, after breakfasting on
the rations I had brought with me, I looked around for other means of
transport. Eventually I found that another small motor-tractor was going
down the line and could take me. No one knew exactly when it would start,
so, as I did not dare wander far from the station for fear of missing it,
I was, to my regret, unable to explore Morogoro and see what alterations
had been effected since I last saw the place.
I resumed my journey at 11 a.m. in a little Ford car fitted with flanged
wheels. It was used by the engineers for getting about from one point of
the line to the other, and was supplied with comfortable seats. I greatly
enjoyed my novel ride, which differed from the ordinary train journey in
that I could see straight ahead down the line instead of only on either
side, and thus got the full benefit of the scenery.
I noticed that at intervals along the line, in order to hinder the
advance of our troops as much as possible, the Germans had burnt the big
piles of wood-fuel collected for their engines, and just before reaching
Ngerigeri station, we came to a wide gulley into which, after blowing up
the bridge, they had run all the rolling stock of the district. Thus this
ravine, which we crossed on a temporary bridge, was choked with a most
amazing jumble of iron girders, smashed carriages, and wrecked engines.
From Ngerigeri onwards the line was practically intact, so much so that
ordinary trains were running—but I stuck to the little car.
It was nine o’clock before we reached Dar-es-Salaam, so rather than seek
a roof to sleep under at that time of night, I elected to camp under the
palms. I had all I wanted in the way of rations, so lighted a small fire,
cooked my supper, and rolling up in my blankets was soon fast asleep.
The next morning I reported at Army Headquarters, where they were
considerably surprised to see me, and after I had recounted the tale of
my adventures I was turned over to the care of the naval authorities, and
accommodated on one of our Monitors which was in the harbour.
How strange it seemed, after my long wayfaring, to be once more in a
ship, sleeping in a clean bunk, eating decent meals decently served, amid
all the old familiar seafaring sights and sounds!
I spent several days in Dar-es-Salaam, and was much annoyed to observe
our very lenient treatment of German prisoners. Coming as I did straight
from the rigorous regime of a Teutonic internment camp, the contrast was
painfully obvious. Neither women nor missionaries were interned; they
were allowed, in my opinion, a dangerous amount of liberty. True, they
had to report at intervals to the A.P.M., and to be in their houses after
sunset, but seemingly no restrictions were placed on their communications
with the natives, many of whom, having worked so long for the Germans,
would be quite willing to carry messages or letters. Moreover, many
of the laymen were allowed the same privileges if they pleaded that
by age or physique they were incapacitated from bearing arms, or that
internment would be prejudicial to their health. Now our enemies allowed
no such latitude to their prisoners. All British subjects, including
missionaries, had been interned, and that under conditions calculated
to ruin the health of all but the very toughest. Moreover, several of
our missionaries had been tried on charges of espionage—charges quite
unfounded, but which, if proved, would have inevitably meant execution.
It is indeed remarkable that none of them did, in fact, suffer the
death-penalty, for by the German penal code—the exact opposite to ours—a
prisoner is held to be guilty unless he can most conclusively _prove_ his
innocence.
From Dar-es-Salaam I eventually proceeded to Zanzibar, and there I had my
photograph taken. Then I bought myself some razors and some new clothing,
and having shaved off the beard I had worn for so long, and discarded my
German-made khaki, I once more (I hope) looked an Englishman! Hitherto
my close-cropped head, full beard and German tunic and helmet had given
rise to some natural misconceptions, though fortunately these had not
subjected me to any annoyance. On one occasion at Dar-es-Salaam, when
passing a couple of our soldiers, I heard one of them say to the other:
“Look at him! He’s a German officer—he ought to be locked up!”
From Zanzibar a passage was arranged for me in a transport, the
_Professor_, formerly the _Professor Woermann_, a ship we had captured
from the enemy. I landed at Durban on November 27th, and my five days in
this port, which might have been so lonely and tedious, were rendered
most enjoyable by the kind hospitality extended to me by one of the
principal residents.
Mr. —— (I have not permission to mention his name), having heard of me
from one of the officers who had travelled in the _Professor_, sought me
out and asked if he could assist me in any way. He took me in his car to
the S.N.O.’s office, where I had to report, and then on to his club to
lunch. When he heard that, knowing no one in the town, I proposed to put
up at an hotel, he invited me to stay at his own house—a privilege I very
gratefully accepted.
Thanks to the kindness of these Good Samaritans, the days I spent in
Durban must ever remain a most happy memory.
Eventually I sailed, homeward bound, in a Union Castle liner. I had a
two-berth cabin, which I was lucky enough to keep to myself for the whole
of the voyage. We lay at Cape Town for twenty-four hours, which just gave
me time to go to Simonstown, where I had heard that, after my capture, my
effects had been stored. I was greatly relieved to find that they were
really there, for, at the moment, all I possessed were some whites, a few
indispensable necessaries I had bought at Zanzibar, and the relics of my
prison clothes.
We sailed from Cape Town on a Sunday morning, but before we were out
of sight of land the vessel suddenly slowed down, turned round, and
commenced to steam back towards the port. Great excitement! What _was_
up? Many were the varied speculations indulged in before a steward solved
the mystery for us. Stowaways! Two _girls_ had been discovered hidden in
one of the boats, where they hoped to have evaded observation until the
ship was too far on her voyage to turn back. But luck was against them,
and when they had been handed down into a tender, which came out in
response to our signal, we once more steamed away.
On board we were quite a cheery crowd, including a goodly contingent of
men from the Colony and Zanzibar going home to do their “bit”; but what
surprised me was the number of women and children, especially among the
second-class passengers. The weather was delightful, and I found plenty
to occupy my time. Deck-games in the forenoon, and in the hot lazy hours
after midday a novel and a long deck-chair in which to read or doze as
the mood prompted. After dinner we played bridge in the smoking-room, and
then came a final stroll round the deck in the starlight before turning
in. Almost I could forget that we were at war, and even the horrors of my
captivity began to fade and grow dim as the quiet days sped past.
Christmas was spent at sea: a great disappointment this, as I had hoped
to be home by then, and I knew how anxiously my arrival was awaited by
my people. Nevertheless I was feeling much easier in my mind, and had a
curious presentiment that all was well with them. True, I had no very
recent news; the letters awaiting me at Zanzibar were all of an ancient
date, written prior to my release. Still—I was going _home_, and in that
thought lay comfort sufficient for the moment.
We were favoured with glorious weather, and it was not until we were
only a few days out from England that the familiar grey skies, fog
and drenching mist made us forsake the decks for the warmth of the
saloons and cabins. For the first time for two years I got into my old
blues again, and then made the annoying discovery that my greatcoat
was missing. Evidently my servant had neglected to send it ashore at
Simonstown with the rest of my kit. Owing to this omission, when, on a
characteristically cold and wet day at the very end of December, 1916,
I set foot on English soil again, I was wrapped in a rug like some old
Highland shepherd!
Plymouth at last! Haunted, surely, by shade of gallant Drake!
“Pride of the West! What Devon hath kept
Devon shall keep on tide or main;
Call to the storm and drive them flying,
Devon, O Devon, in wind and rain!”
True to tradition.... But how I loved it!
With a pal I made a bee-line for the post-office, and then to the nearest
hotel to celebrate the occasion.
“What will you have?” I asked him as we reached the bar; but before he
could reply the barmaid chimed in: “No treating allowed!” And I found
myself brought up with a round turn against one of the unfamiliar
war-time regulations! I apologised, explained my ignorance, and we
each solemnly paid for our own drinks. But my experience of the new
D.O.R.A.-ridden England was not to end there. When we repaired to the
coffee-room for lunch we were met by a decrepit old waiter—the last
survivor; his companions had all been replaced by girls. He apologised
for the scantiness of the _menu_, and pointed out that even so we were
only allowed to partake of a limited number of such dishes as were
available. It was all beyond me. I felt I could not hope to cope all at
once with so many new regulations, so I told him just to serve us with
what was allowed.
While we were discussing the first course the old chap prompted gently:
“If you want anything to drink, gentlemen, you’d better order now. The
bar closes in a few minutes.”
“Gee!” I cried. “Run! Get _large_ tankards of beer!”
After lunch we went to the station, where the examination of luggage was
in progress. Of course one of my boxes had gone astray—it was only an old
Kerosine-box, but it had been my _safari_ trunk all through my African
wanderings, and I would not have lost it for anything. I spent a good
half-hour searching, and gave a whoop of joy when I finally discovered
the battered, disreputable object.
At last we were off on our long run to London, and reached Paddington at
the unholy hour of 1.30 a.m.
I collared a sleepy porter and told him to bring my traps up to the
Station Hotel.
“Have you got a room?” he asked.
“No, but I’m just going to get one.”
“You won’t if you haven’t booked one,” he replied grimly.
Not get a room at the Paddington Station Hotel! How unnatural! I did
a sprint along the platform and up the incline to the entrance. True
enough.
“Every room taken,” said the clerk.
“Well, where _can_ I go?” I asked in bewilderment.
“You might try one of the hotels outside,” he answered, “and I should
advise you to hurry.”
I did—and found one just outside the station.
“Have you got a room?”
“Only a double-bedded one——” began the night-porter.
“All right, I’ll take it,” I cried. “Book it—I’ll be back in a minute.”
And I hurried back for my luggage.
At the station I found a naval friend sitting disconsolately on his
trunk, with the grim foreboding that he would have to spend the remainder
of the night there. I offered half my bed, which he gratefully accepted,
and so we turned in and fell asleep pondering on these uncomfortable
innovations. But when next morning, instead of the grimy “boots” of
pre-war days, a trim little chambermaid appeared with our early cup of
tea, we decided that from the æsthetic point of view, at any rate, there
were compensations!
After breakfast I repaired to the Admiralty, reported my arrival in
England, and was granted a month’s leave.
A taxi back to the hotel, then on to the station—and an hour later I was
again in the train bound for—_home_.
FINIS