So far as our compartment was concerned we were more fortunate than many
of our colleagues. Our soldier warden was by no means a bad fellow at
heart. In his pack he carried his daily ration--two thick hunks of black
bread. He took this out and instantly proffered one hunk to us, which we
gladly accepted and divided among ourselves.

Those being the early days of the war the German soldier was a universal
favourite among the civilians. Directly one was espied he became a
magnet. The women, girls and elder men rushed forward and wildly thrust
all sorts of comestibles into his hands. Unhappily we did not stop at
many stations; our train displayed a galling preference for lonely
signal posts, so that the chances of our guard receiving many such gifts
were distinctly limited. But at one station he did receive an armful of
brödchen--tiny loaves--which he divided amongst us subsequently with the
greatest camaraderie.

But his comrades in other compartments were not so well-disposed. With
true Prussian fiendishness they refused to permit their prisoners to buy
anything for themselves, and to drive them to exasperation and to make
them feel their position, the guards would ostentatiously devour their
own meals and gifts. While we did not really receive sufficient to stay
us, still our guard did his best for us, an act which we appreciated and
reciprocated by making a collection on his behalf. When we proffered
this slight recognition of his courtesy and sympathetic feeling he
declined to accept it. [*gap] He was one of the very few well-disposed
Germans I ever met.

Upon arriving at Sennelager Station we were unceremoniously bundled out
of the train. Those who had trunks and bags were roughly bidden to