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
Reaching this official I was surprised to see among a stack of other
baggage my own belongings. The Commandant sharply ordered me to sort my
things out, and to run through them to see that everything was intact. I
could have danced for joy. Like an excited child I fell upon the
baggage, disentangled my belongings, and ran through the contents. Two
purses and a camera were missing. I reported my loss, and there was a
terrific hullaballoo. Who had touched a prisoner's goods? The purses
were brought in by the gaoler, who declared to me that, finding they
contained money, he had put them in his pocket for safety. I smiled at
his ingenuous excuse. Now I worried about the missing camera, but this
defied discovery. Suddenly I remembered where I had seen it last and
kept quiet.
After I had gathered my luggage together I was marched back to my cell.
Again my spirits drooped upon being asked to give my English address. I
saw it all! In my highly strung condition I took this latest expression
of Teuton methods to mean that my goods were to be sent home, but that I
would have to suffer some dire penalty. I nursed this dark imagining
because the prison treatment was not relaxed one iota. I passed a
restless half-hour. I was heavy-eyed from want of sleep, while my face
had assumed a sickly, revolting pallor from rapidly collapsing health.
Again I was summoned to the Commandant's office. My goods were exactly
as I had left them thirty minutes before.
[*large gap]
I was busily strapping up my goods when the door opened to admit the
Commandant, guard and four other prisoners, whom I had not seen before.
One tall, good-looking, sprucely dressed fellow impressed me. He looked
like a fellow-countryman. I went up to him.
"Are you English?" I asked.
"Holy smoke! What a treat to hear an Englishman. 'Put it there,'" and he
extended his hand. I proffered mine which he shook as if it were a pump
handle. He with others had been arrested, not as spies, and had been
detained in Wesel Arresthaus. But being wealthy he had experienced an
easy time.
"What are they going to do with us?" I enquired.
"Why, haven't you heard? They're going to send us to a hotel and then it
won't be long before we strike good old England once more!"
[*large gap]
The party were in high spirits. But I was not so elated. I had every
occasion to be suspicious of German bluff and inwardly would only
believe we were going home when I was safely out of the country. My
fellow-countryman, F---- K----, who is a well-known figure in City
commercial circles, was wildly excited, and was discussing his future
arrangements very keenly.
An escort appeared to accompany us to the mysterious "hotel" about which
the Commandant had been talking so glibly. We swung out of the prison.
Glancing at the clock I saw the time was 8.30 p.m. As the main gate
clanged behind me I pulled myself together, a new man. My eight days'
solitary confinement had come to an end.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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