My Year of the War: Including an Account of Experiences with the Troops in France and the Record of a Visit to the Grand Fleet Which is Here Given for the First Time in its Complete FormPalmer, Frederick
History
My Year of the War: Including an Account of Experiences with the Troops in France and the Record of a Visit to the Grand Fleet Which is Here Given for the First Time in its Complete Form
Palmer, Frederick
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives
The Germans affected to look down on the French; yet there was
something about the Frenchmen which the Germans had to respect--
something not won by war. I heard admiration for them at the same
time as contempt for their red trousers and their unprepared-ness.
While we are in this avenue, German officers had respect for the
dignity of British officers, the leisurely, easy quality of superiority
which they preserved in any circumstances. The qualities of a
race come out in adversity no less than in prosperity. Thus,
their captors regarded the Russians as big, good-natured children.
"Yes, they play games and we give the English an English newspaper
to read twice a week," said our affable guide, unconscious, I think, of
any irony in the remark. For the paper was the Continental News,
published in "the American language" for American visitors. You
make take it for granted that it did not exaggerate any success of the
Allies.
"We have a prince and the son of a rich man among the Russian
prisoners--yes, quite in the Four Hundred," the guide went on. "They
were such good boys we put them to work in the cookhouse. Star
boarders, eh? They like it. They get more to eat."
These two men were called out for exhibition. Youngsters of the first
line they were and even in their privates' uniform they bore the
unmistakable signs of belonging to the Russian upper class. Each
saluted and made his bow, as if he had come on to do a turn before
the footlights. It was not the first time they had been paraded before
visitors. In the prince's eye I noted a twinkle, which as much as said:
"Well, why not? We don't mind."
When we were taken through the cookhouse I asked about a little
Frenchman who was sitting with his nose in a soup bowl He seemed
too near-sighted ever to get into any army. His face was distinctly that
of a man of culture; one would have guessed that he was an artist.
"Shrapnel injury," explained the guide. "He will never be able to see
much again. We let him come in here to eat."
I wanted to talk with him, but these exhibits are supposed to be all in
pantomime; a question and you are urged along to the next exhibit.
He was young and all his life he was to be like that--like some poor,
blind kitten!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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