among the peaceful working groups in shabby green-grey, scattered along
the roads of France. As we pass, the German N.C.O. often looks up to
salute the officer who is with us, and the general aspect of the men--at
any rate of the younger men--is cheerfully phlegmatic. At least they are
safe from the British guns, and at least they have enough to eat. As to
this, let me quote, by way of contrast, a few passages from letters
written by prisoners in a British camp to their people at home. One
might feel a quick pleasure in the creature-comfort they express but for
the burning memory of our own prisoners, and the way in which thousands
of them have been cruelly ill-treated, tormented even, in Germany--worst
of all, perhaps, by German women.

The extracts are taken from letters written mostly in December and
January last:

(_a_) " ... Dear wife, don't fret about me, because the English treat us
very well. Only our own officers (N.C.O.'s) treat us even worse than
they do at home in barracks; but that we're accustomed to...."

(_b_) " ... I'm now a prisoner in English hands, and I'm quite comfortable
and content with my lot, for most of my comrades are dead. The English
treat us well, and everything that is said to the contrary is not true.
Our food is good. There are no meatless days, but we haven't any
cigars...."

(_c_) Written from hospital, near Manchester: " ... I've been a prisoner
since October, 1916. I'm extremely comfortable here.... Considering the
times, I really couldn't wish you all anything better than to be
here too!"