Christmas Day, 1914, was an unholy nightmare. Our fare could not, by any stretch of imagination, be described as Christmassy. We had several pro-Germans among us--they preached this gospel in the hope of being released if only on "passes," but the thoroughbred Prussian is not to be gulled by patriots made-to-order--and they kept up the spirit of Yule Tide with candles and what not, somewhat after the approved Teuton manner. It was impressive, but so palpably artificial and shallow as merely to court derision and mockery among the Britishers. The great meal of the Day of Days was a huge joke! One barrack received what might be excusably described as something like a chop, with potatoes and gravy. The next barrack had a portion of a chop and potatoes, but no gravy. By the time this barrack had been served apparently all supplies had been exhausted, thanks to the wonderful perfection of German method, organisation, and management. The result was that a third barrack had to be content with a raw rasher of bacon, while a further barrack received only potatoes swimming in a liquid which was undoubtedly set down officially as gravy. But barrack six got nothing! This barrack is occupied by members of the Jewish persuasion, but only those who partook of Jewish food received anything to eat that day. The Jews generally fared better, because they were tended by the Rabbi, who indeed exerted himself untiringly upon their behalf. He drove into the camp every day in his motor car, accompanied by his wife, and they went diligently around the members of their flock, ascertaining the requirements of each man, and doing all in their power to satisfy him so far as the rules and regulations of the camp permitted. The Jews who supported their Rabbi had no complaint to offer on the score of food, because they received it in variety and plenty through the munificence of their co-religionists in Berlin. In the evening we attempted a sing-song to keep up the spirit and atmosphere of the season as far as practicable within our modest limitations, but this was promptly suppressed by our task-masters. We were compelled to spend the evening in miserable silence or to crawl into bed to muse over our unhappy lot. So far as Ruhleben was concerned, the sentiment of "Good-will to all men" had sped by on the main line, and had forgotten all about us poor wretches in the siding. While in Cologne on "passes" I and my friends frequently learned from the _Berliner Tageblatt_ and other leading newspapers that the foremost artistes performing in Berlin paid visits to Ruhleben in the evening to amuse the prisoners. At that time we were somewhat prone to envy the good time our compatriots were evidently having at the internment camp and the bed of roses upon which, according to the press, they were lying. But when we entered the camp and made enquiries, we discovered that the newspaper assertions were not merely gross exaggerations, but unblushing fabrications.