Our first plan was to cut our way through the wires, as we had done at Vehnemoor, but, unfortunately, three Russians, early in the spring, did this—­and after that no cat ever watched a mouse-hole with greater intentness than the guards at Parnewinkel watched the wires.  We saw this was hopeless!

We then thought we would volunteer for work on farms as we had done before at Rossbach, but although French and Russians were taken, “Englaenders” were not wanted!  The Englishmen in the camp not wanting to work had given themselves a bad name, hoping that the Russians and French would carry it on to the farmers for whom they were working, so that they would be afraid to employ such desperate characters.  One of them had “et an ear off’n” the last man he worked for.  Another one never took orders from any one—­“the last man that tried it, woke up in the middle of a long fit of sickness!—­and had since died.”  Another one admitted he had a terrible temper, but he had had it “from a child and couldn’t help it—­he turned blind when he was mad, and never knew where he was hittin’!”

This all worked well for them, but when Ted and I wanted to get out, we were refused.  “Englaenders” were not wanted!

The first working party that was made up to go out and work with a guard did not give either Ted or me a chance, although we wanted to go, but four other Englishmen volunteered.  They were not anxious to have us go with them, for they knew we were thinking of escaping, and when there is an escape, those who were present at the time have embarrassing questions asked them and various privileges are likely to be curtailed afterwards.

On Saturday morning, at roll-call, a working party was asked for, and Ted and I volunteered, and with a Welshman and some Frenchmen, we walked out to a small village called Seedorf, about four miles away, where we were turned loose in a field of turnips from which the weeds had not been taken out since the turnips were planted.  There were about a dozen of us, and we were taken into the house at noon to be fed.  The farmhouse was one of the best I had seen in this section of the country, for the pig-pen, chickens, and cow-stable were in a separate building.

The two daughters of the house were true daughters of Germany and did not eat the bread of idleness; the biggest one, bare-legged and with sleeves rolled up, was attending to the stock, without pausing for anything.  She looked as strong as a man, and was absorbed in her work—­not even stopping a second to look at us.  The other one worked in the house at meal-times, but no doubt joined her sister afterwards.

The dinner consisted of soup, potatoes, bread, and coffee, and the soup was a real treat, entirely different from the kind we were used to.  After dinner we went back to the field and put in a fine afternoon’s work.  We were anxious to establish a good record before we left there.