GERMANY.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 145045, 22 July 1916, Page 3

GERMANY.

THE GERMAN PRESS. A MARVELLOUS EFFORT, Published 1 in The Times. {Received July 22, 9.20 a.m.) LONDON, July 21. Norway’s attitude regarding the blockade disgusts the Cologne Gazette, which says “If it wore not so immensely sad we might laugh at tho idea tjiat the Norwegians, after all tho excesses of tho British sea tyrants, are still regarding England as tho champion of the independence of small nations. This proves that Germany, when fighting for the freedom of the seas, cannot reckon upon tlie northern nations, although they are blood relations.”

RIOT IX PRISONERS’ CAMP. AMSTERDAM, July 20. Tiio Frankfurter Zcitung states that British prisoners participated in a riot at an unnamed camp. The guards fired, killing two. THE WORST PRISON CAMP. A BRITISH PRIVATE’S STORY. IN HIS OWN WORDS. ■'Go not to Wittenburg,” said the King to Hamlet, and across the centuries with terribly altered meaning these words are graven on our minds. Private Arthur Green, of the Ist Somerset Light Infantry, went'to Wittenberg ! To Hamlet it was a university town; to Englishmen before tho war it was vaguely connected with learning and Martin Luther; to Private Arthur Green it was : “the last rest camp on the way to hell.” Wo have had official reports on the horrors of Wittenberg and on tho sufferings, almost unspeakable, which were homo by our soldiers imprisoned in that camp, but none of them impresses the mind as the'little book by Private Green, which is called “Tho Story of a Prisoner of War.” Tho book is printed as it was written. There are lapses of spelling and originalities of grammar, but those are only more emphatic of the simple sincerity of the, story, and the publishers have done wisely not to re-touch or sub-edit this wonderful human document.

If ever there was any chivalry of war, the Gormans have shattered the legend by their treatment of those who could not help' themselves—women, children, and prisoners of war. “Civilised warfare” is a phrase that rings ill in tho ears when one _is reading tho rugged narrative of. Private Arthur Green. To gam a mental picture of Private Green wo must first see him in the clothes ho wore, or tho apologies for them:—

The weather at this time was cruel, snow nearly every day, and cold, and we had no clothes. The only articles I had was my own coat in holes, a pair of old trousers I had given me when I left France, with holes in the seat as ’big as basons, and same with knees, part of a grey back, and a little undervest, one piece of a sock on my right foot, a piece of rag round the bad one, a cap a Russian made for - me out of a bit of blanket, a. boot I picked up in Darmstadt (his first prison camp), and an old piece of felt I made into a boot for the left one.

Her© is Private Green’s description of Christmas Day at Wittenberg:—

Just before Christmas we were feeling hungry, and we never wasted a, crumb. . . . Some wore for chancing getting away. They did say a bullet was better than starvation. No one who has never tasted starvation docs not know tho feeling. . . . We all managed to stick together until Christmas. Wo had a rumour that wo were getting a spread on that day. Wo did. I’ll toll you how twenty of us spent the most miserable day in our life. We were roused out of our mattresses about 6 a.m,, wotted our face in water—of course, soap was a. thing of tho past—had our rations of bread, ton to twelve ounces, at 9 o’clock; played a couple of games of crib (cards made out of backs of cigarette packets),' three-quarters a pint of pea-water, black as soot, with about twelve peas in it. . .' Then a read of the Testament for an hour, another game of donkey, then a talk of home and tho old times we had had, and what wo should have eaten and drank if we were there, wishing everyone luck, especially the boys m tho trenches. Then 5 o’clock ; 1 pint of flour water. Then wo kept up Christmas by singing a few carols and songs; but the thing wo missed most was a, smoke. Wjt giver had a. smoko all day. Then wo made our beds down and was in it, and I suppose, most all was asleep by 6.30. And there was no fat heads next day or bad insides.

But this was only the discomfort of food. Soon came disease, the dreaded typhusn

Ob January 6 (1015) the Germans left the camp owing to typhus breaking out. so all the prisoners were on their own. No one would come near the camp. The Germans would stand about Oft..from the wires and speak to the prisoners. Our comp was composed of 15,000 Russians, over 2000 if much, SSO English., and about -10 Belgium civics. If anything camo in the camp it was shot down a shoot and nothing whatever would go out when once in, so they left us in misery and disease. At the time there were about ten French doctors, ten Russian doctors. They had to live in the disease with nothing to boat down the fever. Vou seo nothing but Russians laying down with fever. They were going into hospital about 50 a day, and a lot getting treated in barrack. . . . Tim prisoners were dying at an average of 30 a day. There was no roll of_ who was who until .March. . . The Germans would smoko and lay on their rifles when' the corpses wero going by; so one doctor made a complaint to the camp commandant; so after they used to J.iko their pipes out—German culture again! At this time they were dying like sheep. It took up to Juno before it was died out of lim camp. The losses at tho end w ere 1500 Russians, over 300 French, and S" English, all died with typhus. In the finish tho officers conquered tho disease. Tho English used to do as our doctors did tell us.

The lack of cigarettes seemed to have troubled theso unhappy British prisoners fearfully.

A smoke used to worry us. Wo could not get a fug nohow, so wc used to cut up straw out of our beds, coffee grounds, cut- up cigaretteholders, aud scrape tbe oil out of the wood. All tho posts round the camp, what tho bar wire was fixed on, was stripped of its bark, where tho prisoners used to cut it up and smoke it also snuff and anything that would ■smoulder. -

In May they were told they would he allowed to write home. Private Green did so.

I was waiting anxiously for a liuo from home, and on the 19th of Juno I got my first card from my mother. I nearly went daft. I happened to be the first to got a answer from our cards. I liad all tho chaps after mo to look at it and to make sure it was a answer. Everyone read my card in the mess, and front'that day we all seemed to buck up.

Then parcels began to arrive from home.

It was hard to see men getting good stuff from home, aud perhaps you would not got a packet for three weeks. Then perhaps tho Germans had taken the best; they were very fond of English tobacco. K did nearly make, a chap cry to wait for your ‘packet; get so excited when your namo was called out; then open it and find hardly anything in it. Tt was very often the case a man would get a brown paper wrapper only.

Oh, the joy of these parcels, the exquisite pleasure of receiving one and sharing its contents with one’s friends! With tlio arrival of the packets Private Green records an improvement. Tho housing was bettor arranged, tho English were put together, and a bath and fnmigator built. The food allowance was no larger, but a visit from Mr. Gerard, the. invaluable American Ambassador at Berlin, improved its quality. A few instances of German brutality —-brutality for its own sake—may be given boro;

They use to chaso us with their dogs. ’ They would come in tho room and sot tho dog on men, for nothing. Some got bit. A English chr.p was flogged in' my coy. 20 cuts with tho rubber. It took four soldiers to hold him. Another got three days no bread. Some would be locked up for hours in a damp shed, and no soup drew for them that day; but wo use to put a hit of our soup each aud save it for him when he came out. It was hard to do it; but tlierc! we had to look after one another.

And as a companion picture let ua glance at the high courage of the English and their unfailing cheerfulness. Private Green was told he was going home. At 2 the men in my coy. came up to my room, carried tno shoulder-high down to the gate, one chap playing the fife and one hearting a biscuit-tin for a drum- . And these men were slaying behind. Then this little incident when tho prisoners were going to the train which was to take them to tho frontier: There was a Cockney chap with us' who had a model of a ship, what was carved out by a Russian. Some officers asked him what was the name of his boat. He shouted out, so as everyone could hoar him, "Lusitania.”

Every Briton should read this book. It will bring a lump to his throat and it will strengthen his determination to end this war in the only possible way—the crushing of Prussianism and the brutality for which it stands.—C.B.., in Daily Mail*