Part 2

I was well aware that I ran considerable risk in staying, but as I had no means of getting away there was no option. English people in times of peace have never cared much about the procuring of passports and other formalities, and when these were demanded my being without them seemed to place an effectual barrier between myself and England.

Once someone had a birthday, the Germans are great on the keeping of such ceremonies, and I was asked by my friends to go with them to the afternoon coffee party. Here about thirty people all advised different things. With a dazed head and utterly exhausted I crept home to shut myself up in my bedroom and reflect what could be done. In spite of their confusing and terrifying advice, they had all meant to be kind, and most had offered to assist me if possible. The best help came from the town chemist, who possessed a telephone and obliged me by communicating with Rood & Sons in Hamburg, but the reply was most dispiriting. It ran thus:

“It is impossible at present for an English person to cross any frontier, and we can issue no tickets as our offices everywhere are closed during the war.”

Someone suggested that I might travel over Denmark—through the Skager-Rak and Kattegat, fascinating names of my geography lesson days. In that case I should have to cross that alluringly silent Baltic—I should be able to obtain a peep at Kiel—the invulnerable, as the Germans consider the harbour. They could not prevent travellers from looking into their Canal, if the Denmark bound ship passed near enough! It would be a great venture—but how and where get the ship when all around was shut up and silent—dead and uninhabited as in the Beginning when the Spirit of God spread over the face of the waters? or when Columbus stood and looked across the broad Atlantic, wondering what enchanted region lay on the other side.

No Holy Spirit, however, was brooding here, but the Great Demon of war. To me the blue Baltic appeared as an unhallowed pest spot, mocking the world with its silent mystery. What hosts of evil might spring forth from its many bays and inlets! From a distant standpoint I gazed on its mighty waters and shuddered. I dared not venture across them.

There seemed nothing for me to do after this but to retire into the interior of the country and hide myself either in the Black Forest or in the Hartz mountains. But again the good Pastor came to my aid by promising that no harm should happen to me while under his roof if I was careful about my goings in and out, and avoided the harbour and sea shore. Though as there was never any visible sign of life on the waters, it is difficult to imagine how I could convey any message had I been so minded. He here again impressed upon me that I had better make up my mind to be quiet until the end of the war. At this my spirits sank to the lowest ebb, and entirely crushed I kept to his restrictions for several days, and had to be contented with the garden and going out with an escort; but my nature being naturally bold and possessing a hatred of confinement and control, I ventured farther afield in the company of one friend of my own sex. At first we walked along the dusty high roads and spotted the sites of blackberries, which were to be picked when ripe. I engaged myself to be one at the expeditions for picking which were being organized, although my good friends at the Pastorat shook their heads about it. But something I must do, and knit or work for the German soldiers went against my grain. There was a spice of romance about shoals of people picking berries to make syrup for the wounded; and every kind of berry was to be hoarded up for this purpose. Boys, the natural terror of the hedges everywhere, were strictly forbidden by the police to touch a berry of any kind or even a nut, though what good nuts would be to soldiers I could not quite comprehend. Afterwards it came home to me that provisions of any description were likely to become scarce and nuts contain a good deal of nourishment. Even potato peelings were to be saved as when washed they could be boiled for soup.

Germany lives in fear of being starved out during the winter. As all the holiday guests have fled from the little sea-side places around, the various market gardeners began to moan that they could not sell their produce. As nothing of any description whatsoever might be wasted, beans, peas, and vegetables of all sorts were bought from these people and preserved for winter, in ways unfortunately unknown to English housewives.

As these walks on the inland roads and lanes were unheeded by the police or soldiers, I began to venture nearer the sea as it was certainly more inviting than wading through inches of dust through country where the only interest was the harvesting children, the sight of which was often pathetic.

One day my friend and I walked right through the inland road to a distant strand of sea where we hoped to be able to enjoy a stretch on the yellow sands. For miles not a soul could be seen, all the little bungalows and villas were shuttered up and everything as dead—the remains of sand heaps and castles made by the children and left as they had to return hurriedly to their homes, made a sad impression on our already heavy hearts. We sat and looked at the beautiful blue and the foam tipped waves without a sail or boat anywhere, and were just planning a tiny kind of pic-nic for another day, when we were unpleasantly disturbed by two very up-to-date German soldiers, who I must say very politely informed us that we must not sit there—that in fact no one must sit by the shore and not even walk there without papers to show their identity.

Silence was my game. My German friend did the talking. She thought I was frightened, but I do not believe I was half as frightened as she was.

Having no papers we hurried home through the inland dust.

The soldiers must have espied us through a telescope from a distant lighthouse to which our backs had been turned, for we had not seen them coming.

Now that no one, not even a native, was allowed to sit or walk by the sea the sense of being in a besieged town became stronger than ever. The quietness that began to oppress us was worse than before. Everyone felt it, and of course I more than the rest.

Women kept coming to the Pastorat with tales that husbands, brothers or sons had gone to fight, and that they must have support for children and sick; and none of them looked pleasantly at me.

Whenever the good Pastor had had a heavy morning with these poor creatures he vented his indignation on me across the dinner table, and held forth against England until all my self control was required not to quarrel. The opinion against England became stronger everywhere as fresh items of infamous news arrived, while wonderful tales of German prowess were spread about. The difficulties of my position were augmented by my having no disposable money. When I presented my English gold at the German bank in the town, they asked me:

“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!

We often passed and nodded after that, but we never spoke to each other again.

I began however to surmise, that, kind and hospitable as my friends were, they would at heart be relieved if I left them. My repeated ventures and the ominous threats that came from time to time about harbouring an enemy and such like made them hint at the possibility of a way being found to get me across the Channel to my own country. I, too, had quite made up my mind to get away if possible. The everlasting harangues at every meal against the English nation were beginning to affect me seriously, and my patience reached its summit of endurance when I was informed that the English fleet through cowardice had sheltered itself in the Irish Sea. I remember saying on this occasion:

“I have listened to all the other epithets you have heaped upon my nation with as much patience as I can command, but cowards you shall not call them in my presence. Look at your own navy, where is it? Why, shut up in your canal and harbours, frightened even to venture into the waters of the Baltic.”

Although difficulties confronted me on every side, I watched desperately for an opportunity, and soon I heard of a young Anglo-German lady, who wanted to try to reach London, would I accompany her? Of course I would! I must get a passport from the American Consul at Hamburg, and this must be done in person.

The Pastor, somewhat reluctantly consented to this attempt and kindly promised to lend me enough German money; also to drive me to a station at some distance where there was a better connection with the main line.

So early one September morning, after a six weeks’ stay in the little town by the Baltic, I drove through the keen air for over two hours in an open carriage and caught the train on the direct line to Hamburg.

It surprised me much to find scarcely any travellers the whole way to Lübeck, and I can only remember two gentlemen, who, of course, were talking of the war, one telling the other how his eldest son, a boy of fifteen, had begged him to alter his age by two years so that he might go to the front.

At Lübeck all was as dead—the restaurant and catering arrangements, formerly so excellent, had ceased to exist, and only with difficulty could I obtain some lunch. I had three hours to wait, which I spent in nervously walking about the roads near the station, and looking at the disgraceful postcards and pictures concerning English and French; and others showing the bravery and prowess of the Kaiser. One I noticed especially; a huge poster displaying the Kaiser gallantly marching to fight with three sons on each side of him, while our King George sat at Windsor Castle drinking tea and sending messages of encouragement to his men for risking their lives for him; and the Czar shut up in a glass case afraid his own subjects would kill him.

This obnoxious caricature made my blood boil, and I longed to smash the shop window in which it was exhibited.

The journey between Lübeck and Hamburg, though tedious was uneventful. At Hamburg a mountain of difficulties arose. The lady who was to travel with me met me, according to arrangements, at the station. English by birth and education, she possessed a German name from her father, who had been naturalized in England. She with her mother had come to Germany in July to visit her father’s relations, and now she wished to return to their home in London, but owing to the war and the discomforts connected with travelling, the aged mother was to remain in Hamburg.