The probable cause of this was the General himself, who was one of the most arrogant and pompous little men that militarism could produce. He was the complete Prussian, the Prussian of the music-hall and the Lyceum. Very small and straight, he would strut about the parade-ground clanking his spurs, or else he would stand in a pose, his cloak pulled back to reveal his Iron Cross. And he was utterly vindictive. One does not wish to misjudge any human being, but I feel sure he must have derived an acute pleasure from sitting at his window and looking down on the court, his eyes hungry for some misdemeanour on our parts, in which he might possibly find an excuse for some punishment. He was certainly given opportunities, and I think that considering the man he was, it would have been judicious to have approached him in a slightly different way. But it always happens that the majority have to suffer for the faults of a few thoughtless people, and several restrictions were placed on the camp that could have been easily avoided. In every community there is the rowdy section, and this rowdiness was accentuated by the lack of freedom. There was no outlet for energy, except a walk round the square, or a very occasional game of hockey. And the spirits of the swashbucklers found expression in “rags” organised on an extensive scale. But it was unfortunate for those who, having realised that they were prisoners, wished to make the best of their conditions. And really the rags were extraordinarily futile. One sportsman conceived the idea of lowering from the top-story windows dummies which the sentries would mistake for escaping Britishers and fire at. Luckily this scheme was suppressed, but there was nevertheless one night a very large and organised jollification, which was of course exactly what the General wanted. For three weeks he closed the camp theatre, and put a stop to music and concerts of any description, which meant the removal of the only form of amusement that we had. On another occasion when bombs were being dropped on Mainz, a few officers began to cheer and shout. It was again playing straight into the General’s hands. He immediately stopped for a period of two months all walks outside the camp, and any one who has been a prisoner will know what the curtailing of that privilege meant. It was a great pity, and our prison life would have been much more easy, if only the turbulent few had realised that it was in their own interests to keep quiet, considering the man with whom they had to deal.