“What shall we do with it? It is of no use to us. Shall we keep it until the end of the War? No, we would rather not.”
On my mentioning the word cheque, a loud laugh greeted my ears.
I had to hoard the few marks I had left to buy absolute necessities such as stamps, etc. I must explain why I wanted stamps. I had a few people with whom I corresponded in Germany. My friends would willingly have lent me as much as I required, only they themselves were in difficulties as all their private income was held back and the Pastor’s stipend was a very small one. So I was penniless as well as a captive. Vague schemes of getting into clearer air floated through my mind, only to be extinguished as soon as formed.
A small parish life too is always irritating. The backbitings and envyings are the same here as everywhere. Oh! the intolerable dulness of the dreary days, with the everlasting singing of patriotic songs and the patrolling of the soldiers often the worse for drink! German patriotism does not quench thirst, it rather encourages it!
But in spite of all they are a great people, full of sublime ideals that I often fear we do not understand.
I think it was about at this period that we heard that all the inhabitants of Heligoland were ordered to quit the island as it was very dangerous and only soldiers were to be stationed there. The accounts of these poor fisher people leaving their little homes and wandering off into the unknown with their children and bundles of portable possessions affected us deeply. Of course they fade into nothingness when compared with what has been enacted in Belgium, but they came nearer home to the inhabitants of Neustadt, because some of the people were related to theirs.
News of one German victory after the other kept coming in. On August 17th a great victory over the Russians at Stallupönen, somewhat south of Königsberg, then another at Namur on the French-German frontier. News of Japan’s demand that German ships should leave the Chinese and Japanese waters or be disarmed, also that Kioutschau should be delivered up by the 15th September. Fearful stories of Belgian outrages all swell our anxious fears. But in this out of the way place the news came in by fits and starts, and to me never seemed quite reliable as not a single English newspaper of any kind ever came to my hand. Naturally the latest war news was posted up in many of the shops as is done here. Little groups congregated in front of these windows, and many remarks greeted my ears, some not altogether complimentary to the Kaiser; some urging that war ought to be a thing of the past as it brought only untold misery all round. I never lingered in any of these small crowds for fear of my nationality being recognised, or even of being personally attacked.
It seemed incredible that the English army should have been totally annihilated at St. Quentin. Surely our great nation’s force could not go down before a mere machine! So many have been the brave heroic deeds of the British soldiers in the past; on so many occasions have they upset their enemies’ best calculations, and it was unthinkable for me, the one English woman in this town, that their very human nature should have changed and succumbed to the first onslaught of the Teuton.
A number of German papers came daily and almost every evening an extra “Blatt.” We used to wait for these nightly telegrams and whenever they arrived they only told of victories, never of defeat, and I had to retire to my room with the thousands and tens of thousands of prisoners being shrieked into my ears, so that I dreamt of these multitudes of humanity which the victorious Germans would have to feed from their impoverished stores.
Then they used to laugh at our small number of soldiers being sent to France. What use were such a handful of men against _their_ armies?--the contemptible little army so often mentioned since. All kinds of insults were heaped against my country by these people swelled by victory, and I was forced to be silent. How could I retort, situated as I was, alone, defenceless and penniless, in the hands of the enemy? Sometimes I walked up and down my room perfectly beside myself with rage at my powerlessness to defend myself.
But once the temptation to give a smart answer overcame my usual cautious self control. The pastor, who had never been in England, was boasting that the Germans would never be satisfied until they marched into London.
He asserted with great pride that one day “The Kaiser will be in your Tower of London.”
“Yes,” I replied with a quick laugh: “I hope he will, for that is our state prison.”
The Pastorat is close to a school and the children sang all day the detestable Fatherland songs. “Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles,” “Morgenrot,” and one I disliked more than any, of which I cannot remember the words, but the tune is the same as our hymn, “Lord if now of Sion’s city.” I have often stuffed my fingers into my ears so as to shut out the hateful sounds. Even when the children were silent in the evening, the servants of the house took up the strain and the eternal ding dong went on.
Now that the victories kept pouring in, a band would often play in the market place, and this completed the consummation of my despair.
On the 22nd of August news of an enormous victory over the French in the neighbourhood of Metz was telegraphed, 10,000 prisoners had been taken. At this the people put out flags from all the public buildings and from many private windows.
The Pastor, however, thought it too soon to decorate the town. “Birds that sing too early are caught by the cat,” he said with a grim smile. And, alas, for Germany! his warning proved only too true, for shortly afterwards the German loss at Heligoland occurred.
The afternoon had been rather sultry, and the distant boom of cannon had been mistaken for thunder, but I had my doubts and shuddered with fear as I walked over the cobble stones of the market place and discerned through the stillness the vibration of far off guns.
“Were the Russians really approaching?”
A beautiful evening, with a primrose-coloured sky followed. I stood at the door of the Pastorat and saw an old man with a fine face and penetrating blue eyes rush across the little square calling out in an agonizing voice:
“Heligoland and loss!”
I had often seen him before. He has two sons stationed at Heligoland. I shall never forget the expression of his face.
Groups of anxious enquirers gathered round the newspaper office eager for news, and the flags seemed to mock their sorrow.
Soon after this someone kindly showed me the prison, where if I did anything foolish I might find myself, but this was really only a joke, although rather an unpleasant one for me. This old prison is now a museum and by some good chance I got inside and saw all their curiosities somewhat to the amused indignation of the custodian and to the startled consternation of my friends who could not believe their ears when told where I had been.
On the 2nd September the anniversary of the victory of Sedan was celebrated and everyone went wild with exultation. Processions paraded the streets singing the everlasting Fatherland songs. I had nowhere to go but to flee into the back garden and console myself with the baby.
About this time I became aware that I was not the only English person in Neustadt, that an Englishman with his wife and child were detained in the principal hotel of the place. Of course I felt eager to know them. The sense of national kinship is strong, besides they might be possible travelling companions. The Pastor and others, however, warned me on no account to speak to them. I used to stand on the other side of the market place and watch the young English woman with her baby sitting on the balcony. I am sure they were well treated, but were prisoners in a sense like myself. I wonder who paid their expenses! To see the father and mother go out with a perambulator, closely attended by a military escort appealed to my sense of the ridiculous. These unfortunate people had probably no papers with them to prove their identity and nobody to vouch for their good conduct as in my case, therefore were doomed to military surveillance. Even when the Englishman went for a dip in the sea, which naturally every Briton is sure to wish to do, the German soldier walked by his side, but significantly only the Englishman carried a towel. Whether they got into the water together I could not see. It would have been interesting if my countryman had been able to swim away, but what would then have become of his poor little wife and baby?
Once I could not resist when passing her while sitting on the low verandah, to say, without looking at her, but straight ahead as I walked:
“Why, that is a little English baby.”
Instantly like a flash of lightning her head come over the rail, and:
“Are you English?”
“Yes,” I replied, still without looking at her, but going slowly along. “But I am shut in this town like you are, and we must not speak to each other.” And then I had gone too far for more. I did not dare to stop in that public place where dozens of soldiers had their eyes on me, but, oh, the delight of an English word, of the sense of fellowship in danger and loneliness! It was worth much to get this consolation!