COURT-MARTIALLED! AND PROUD OF IT, TOO!
It is not usual to boast of the fact that one has been
court-martialled, but I would not have missed this experience for
anything. Early in the morning of May 15th, 1917, we twelve
gaol-birds, after being carefully searched, left for the station
escorted by eight guards. During the march I began softly humming a
tune, but was at once silenced by an angry sentry, who told me that no
noise of any sort was allowed. Turning to the N.C.O. I remarked that
although he appeared to be in charge of the party he had not objected
to my behaviour, and added that this seemed almost as if the private
was exceeding his duty. This appealed to the dignity of his position,
and although he evidently did not like me, he told the sentry off. On
reaching the station we had an unpleasant surprise, for there,
awaiting us on the platform, was our old friend, Wolfe.
In the early afternoon we got out of the train at a small station and
were told that we should have to wait some hours for the connection.
The senior member of our party inquired whether it was possible to get
anything to eat, as it was already very late for the midday meal.
Wolfe said he would try and led us into the restaurant, where a waiter
inquired if we would have white or green beans. These dishes sounded
so tempting that we ordered mixed. When the result was served (beans
stewed with gravy and a little potato), it certainly greatly exceeded
our expectations, being really appetising. When this was finished a
resourceful member of the party produced some cards, and poker became
the order of the day. The game was still in progress when one of the
others called our attention to the Red Cross collecting box on the
table. In trying to decipher the appeal for subscriptions for the
wounded, he had made a great discovery. Actually beside the red cross
in a small circle made by a rubber stamp were the words, "_Gott strafe
England_!"
Naturally, this display of childishness amused us greatly, creating a
general laugh. This frivolity in the face of a court-martial was more
than Wolfe could stand, so after one withering glance in our direction
he turned his back on us and stalked majestically from the room.
Luckily I had in my possession a good supply of tin canteen money
(which was valueless outside the camp); this was at once transferred
to the box as quickly as possible. It isn't often that an Englishman
has the pleasure of subscribing to his own special hate box! I am
simply longing to know if the money was eventually returned to the
camp for its equivalent value. Should this book in the near future be
read in Germany, as I expect it will, would some kind Hun take the
trouble to satisfy my curiosity? "Royal Air Force, England," will
always find me.
About six o'clock that evening we reached Hanover and were marched off
through some of the main streets to an unknown destination. The town
is all right; it is the people that spoil it. Proceeding down some
broad streets we passed some very fine buildings, statues and
fountains. Once a well-dressed woman unintentionally crossed our path,
with the result that a sentry roughly threw her aside without a word
of apology. Passing through a small park we halted before a low,
dirty-looking stone building, with every window strongly barred.
Presently Lieutenant Wolfe emerged with a smile of welcome and bade us
enter. In a small courtyard a German N.C.O., with a loud rasping
voice, ordered the prison guard to take us to our quarters. After
much jangling of keys we were separated, to our amazement, and each
one of the party locked in a cell by himself. Near the ceiling was one
small window about two feet square. On examination this exit proved to
be guarded with fine wire netting and thick iron bars firmly embedded
in cement. As usual, there was a special spy-hole in the door which
had to be covered on the inside. Attached to each end of the bed were
two strong shackles, evidently intended to fasten the occupant down if
necessary. We afterwards learnt that this was the garrison prison, it
being considerably worse than the civil one. It does not seem
surprising that they are able to maintain their iron discipline, if
they resort to these methods. I think the reader will agree that this
is hardly a fit place to lodge officers who, as yet, were only
awaiting their trial. Several times I faintly heard the whirring of
aeroplanes outside, but only managed to see one by pulling myself up
to the window. We relieved the monotony a little by whistling to each
other in the Morse code what we thought of the Huns for putting us
there. The thickness of the walls, however, soon put a stop to this.
During the night I was awakened by several thuds, followed by a crash,
which came from somewhere overhead. This puzzled me at the time, but
the next day I found the noise had been caused by one of our party
rat-hunting with the aid of a boot which had landed on a tin basin
instead of the rat.
The next morning the man with a voice like a nutmeg grater released us
from our cells, and after a few preliminaries we were marched off
across the square to a large building, which we entered about ten
o'clock. Then ensued a long but interesting wait, during which we
watched all sorts and conditions of Huns passing up and down the main
staircase. Amongst them we saw several colonels, a general and a very
smart monocled major, whose helmet was rather the shape of a
fireman's, showing that he was in some crack cavalry regiment--dragoons,
I think. They mostly wore pale blue-grey overcoats, and their buttons,
sword-hilts and golden eagles on their helmets glittered exquisitely.
The general appearance was smart enough, but everything seemed a
trifle overdone, giving one the impression that they had just stepped
out of a bandbox. Had a British officer been standing beside these
Germans, wearing his sword, the contrast would have been a strange
one, for while looking just as smart the uniform would have had the
appearance of being infinitely more serviceable. There passed quite a
number of Hun privates with downcast eyes, having just received their
long sentences. An interpreter having nothing to do, tried hard to
prove to us that the U-boats would very soon bring England to her
knees, but gave up the attempt on receiving an invitation to the camp
to watch the daily arrival of the over-laden parcel cart.
Eventually we were ushered into the court, bareheaded, trying very
hard to look meek. The opening questions and formalities took up a lot
of time, and it really was a terrible strain trying not to laugh when
the interpreter solemnly explained to a German captain that one of our
party belonged to the _Middlesex_ Regiment. Before getting to business
our individual conduct sheets were read out, mine being about as black
as it could be. At our request two French majors from Osnabrück were
present. Both spoke well on our behalf, explaining that this could
only be a quarrel between the French and British in any case, but that
they were delighted at what had occurred, and most certainly did not
wish to prosecute. Everything went in our favour, and, when the
treacling was described, even the presiding Hun general laughed. The
public prosecutor, as usual, asked for the maximum punishment, 600
marks fine or 100 days fortress. Whereupon the court rose and left the
room, looking justice itself. On their return it was announced that
the junior three of our party, who had not actually entered the
Frenchman's room, were let off with a caution, and that all the rest
were each fined five hundred marks, or fifty days in a fortress. This
showed how they wanted our money; of course the whole thing had been
arranged beforehand. On inquiring what the money would go to support
we were told that it would probably be the war loan. A few minutes
later, after leaving in a rebellious mood, we were lucky enough to
meet the two Frenchmen, from whom we learnt that they too had spent
the night in cells in the same prison. Later on I was given to
understand that before a subsequent court-martial two British officers
spent the night on a sort of mattress in a corner of the guardroom.
The return journey was accomplished without incident, except for an
attempt on our part to speak to a captured guardsman, who was loading
trucks, which was promptly squashed by Wolfe snapping out "_Das geht
nicht_." Nevertheless, a tin or two of food found its way out of the
window.
The weather at Clausthal, after a brief interval of snowstorms, became
beautifully warm, and the prospect of spending the summer in the Hartz
Mountains was almost alluring. About this time General Friedrichs (in
charge of prisoners of war) made a speech in the Reichstag, in the
course of which he stated that the English treated their prisoners
better than any other nation (or so the translation read), and went on
to say that in return English prisoners must receive good treatment,
so that at the conclusion of hostilities they would take back good
remembrances of Germany to their own country. In my case things
certainly did change (I expect as a result of the speech)--for the
worse. A week later thirty-five officers, including myself, were sent
to Ströhen, a camp which will certainly be remembered long after peace
is declared, but I doubt if the memory will be a pleasant one.