I went to a village by motor with an officer to dress some German
wounded, about forty all told. I was doing two German brothers, and
they spoke very good English. One said, “Where are your good people
going to send us?” I replied that I thought they would be sent to
England, and he said, “That’s good. I hope it will be somewhere near
Lambeth Walk, for I have a barber’s shop there, and then my wife can
come and see me”: _Pte. Flaxman, Army Medical Corps_.
Berlin “Nuts”
I am writing this on a lady’s glove-box. I picked it up here, but how
it got here God only knows. These German officers are awful “nuts,” and
carry as many beautifiers as an actress on tour. They use their gloves
for another purpose. They put a bullet or stone in the finger of a
loose glove and flick the ears of their men. We found a wounded German
who had been a clerk in London. His ears were extra large and were both
swollen and skinned by the flicks he had got from his officers: _Pte.
F. Burton, of the Bedfords_.
“Collies?”
It’s my opinion that you couldn’t find greater collies between the
seven seas of the world than these Germans, not if you were to walk
about for a month of Sundays, with all their bragging and bantering
and bullying of the plucky little Belgians, and any Christian might
be ashamed to use our wounded the way these sausage-faced German pigs
used them. The “parley-voos” treated us right decently from the first
day that ever we set foot in their country: _A Private of the Connaught
Rangers_.