Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons: Wesel, Sennelager, Klingelputz, RuhlebenTalbot, Frederick Arthur Ambrose
History
Sixteen Months in Four German Prisons: Wesel, Sennelager, Klingelputz, Ruhleben
Talbot, Frederick Arthur Ambrose
World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons
Life at Klingelputz would have been tolerable but for one thing--the
prison fare. At six o'clock we were served with a basin of acorn coffee
and a small piece of black bread for breakfast. At twelve we were
treated to a small dole of skilly, the most execrable food I have ever
tasted even in a German prison camp. It was skilly in the fullest sense
of the word. Whatever entered into its composition must have been used
most sparingly; its nutritive value was absolutely negligible. At five
in the afternoon we received another basin of the acorn coffee together
with a small piece of black bread, and this had to keep us going for the
next thirteen hours.
Fortunately the food which we had brought with us served as a valuable
supplement to that provided by the State. It not only kept us alive but
enabled us to maintain our condition. The old fellow who was our gaoler
was tractable; indeed he was somewhat apologetic for having to look
after such estimable gentlemen, an attitude which was doubtless due to
the fact that he knew we should look after him! We endeavoured to see if
he could supply a little more "liberty and fresh air" but the old warder
shook his head sorrowfully.
[*large gap]
Lights had to be extinguished by nine o'clock, and it was the evening
which taxed our endurance. We had to while away the hours as best we
could. First we improvised an Indian band, using our basins as tom-toms
and singing the most weird music. As a variety we dressed up in our
blankets to resemble Red Indians and indulged in blood-curdling
war-dances. Such measures for passing the time may sound extremely
childish to readers, but it must be remembered that there was nothing
else for us to do unless we were content to sit down with our chins in
our hands, with the corners of our mouths drooping, and our faces
wearing the expression of undertakers' mutes. Had we not participated in
the admittedly infantile amusements we should have gone mad.
When we had demolished our food reserves and were utterly dependent upon
the prison diet, we speedily began to betray signs of our captivity and
deprivations. We petitioned for permission to purchase food from outside
but this met with a curt refusal. Eventually the prison authorities
relented and we were permitted to purchase our mid-day meal from a
restaurant, for which privilege by the way we were mulcted very heavily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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