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
I continued to do his bidding for a short while, but walking two paces,
then swinging round on the heels, taking two more strides, turning round
again, to make another two steps, soon brought on violent giddiness. But
that doesn't matter to the German. Within a few minutes I felt as if I
had been spun round like a top and stumbled rather than paced. But to
stumble was to court disaster because my ankles came into violent
contact with the plank bed. Again I had to keep my thoughts centred upon
the pacing. To allow them to stray was to essay a third step
inadvertently which brought my face into violent collision with the
wall. More than once I made my nose bleed copiously from this cause.
Within a few minutes my brain was whirling madly, my head throbbed from
my wound, while my face was bruised from colliding with the wall. I was
so giddy that I could not stand erect, while my eyes burned and ached as
if they had been seared with a red-hot iron. I fell upon the plank bed,
but open flew the peep-hole and again rang out the ominous growl,
"Pace!"
And this is what I was condemned to do hour after hour through the
livelong day. The only respite comes when meals are brought in and
during the night, when the prisoner is left alone. But throughout the
day, from 6.30 in the morning to about 7 at night one must pursue the
eternal round--two paces forward, right about, two paces back, right
about, and so on. The punishment cannot be escaped; it is not suspended
for illness until collapse comes to the relief of the hapless wretch. It
is a refinement of cruelty which probably is not to be found in any
other country. Little wonder that the continued dizziness and lack of
ability to stretch the limbs bring about a complete nervous prostration
and reduce the strongest man to a physical wreck within a very short
time. And if the hapless prisoner declines to answer the stern command
"Pace!" then bayonet prodding, clubbing and head-cuffing are brought
into action as a stimulant.
Ages seemed to have passed before the door opened again, although as a
matter of fact, there is only about 4-1/2 hours between the mid-day and
the afternoon meals. I lost all account of time, even during the first
day of my incarceration. An hour's pacing seemed like weeks. This time
the gaoler brought me another basin containing a greenish liquid, very
much like the water in which cabbages are cooked, accompanied by a hunk
of black bread.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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