My Escape from Donington Hall, Preceded by an Account of the Siege of Kiao-Chow in 1915Plüschow, Gunther
History
My Escape from Donington Hall, Preceded by an Account of the Siege of Kiao-Chow in 1915
Plüschow, Gunther
Prisoner-of-war escapes; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, German; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, British
Further particulars of the escape with Lieutenant Treppitz, who was
caught at Millwall Docks within twenty-four hours, show that last
Sunday evening a violent thunderstorm raged over Donington Hall when
the evening roll-call was taken. Instead of assembling with the other
prisoners within the inner of the two rings of wire entanglement, the
two hid within the outer circle. Their names were answered by other
prisoners. A wooden plank near the outer ring showed how they got
across the barbed wire.
FACSIMILE OF NOTICE CIRCULATED IN THE PRESS A WEEK AFTER THE ESCAPE]
For days I loafed about London, my cap set jauntily at the back of my
head, my jacket open, showing my blue sweater and its one ornament, the
gilt stud, hands in pocket, whistling and spitting, as is the custom of
sailors in ports all the world over. No one suspected me, and my whole
plan hinged on this, for my only safeguard against discovery lay in the
exclusion of even the slightest suspicion directed against myself. If
anyone had paid even passing attention to me, if a policeman had asked
me for my name, I could only have given my own. Therefore, it was quite
superfluous that the warrants put such stress on the tattoo marks on
my arm as a clue to my identity. If matters had got thus far, it would
have meant that the fight was over.
On the second morning I had colossal luck! I sat on the top of a bus,
and behind me two business men were engaged in animated conversation.
Suddenly I caught the words, “Dutch steamer—departure—Tilbury,”
and from that moment I listened intently, trying to quell the joyful
throbbings of my heart. For these careless gentlemen were recounting
nothing less than the momentous news of the sailing, each morning at
seven, of a fast Dutch steamer for Flushing, which cast anchor off
Tilbury Docks every afternoon.
In the twinkling of an eye I was off the bus. I rushed off to
Blackfriars Station, and an hour later was at Tilbury. It was midday,
and the workmen were streaming into their public-houses. First I went
down to the river and reconnoitred; but my boat had not yet arrived. As
I still had some time before me and felt very hungry, I went into one
of the numerous eating-houses specially frequented by dock-labourers.
In a large room a hundred of them were gathered around long tables,
partaking of huge meals. I followed their example, and, by putting
down 8d., received a plate heaped with potatoes, vegetables and a
large piece of meat. After that I purchased a big glass of stout from
the bar, and, sitting down amongst the men with the utmost unconcern,
proceeded with my dinner, endeavouring to copy the table manners of the
men around me, and nearly coming to grief when trying to assimilate
peas with the help of a knife.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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