“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he replied, laughing gaily.  “I draw five shillings from the British Prisoners’ Relief Fund, which I never spend because I don’t want it, and one week’s draw might just as well pay for this job!”

I was so exasperated by this cool confession from the “P.-G.”—­our colloquialism for a pro-German—­that I whipped round my bench and confronted the amiable traitor.  We commenced to argue, I told him what I thought about him, words grew hot and soon the fur commenced to fly.  He landed out at me and then I pitched into him unmercifully.  It was useless for him to appeal for help.  We knew every “P.-G.” among us and he was now fairly in the hands of the Philistines.  My colleagues merely gathered round, jeering and cheering like mad as I got some stinging blows home.  The renegade subsequently slunk off rather badly battered, only to act quite up to his traitorous principles.  After being thrashed in fair fight he crawled off to one of the German officers to whom he explained in a wheedling, piteous voice that he had been assaulted and went in fear of his life.

The officer came over to me and accused me of fighting.  I explained the whole circumstances, emphasising the fact that the sneaking, drivelling humbug was drawing five shillings from the British Pension Fund and yet was parading and voicing his anti-British sentiments far and wide, when there were many admitted and honourable British prisoners walking about and in greater need of the money.  The officer was evidently impressed with my point of view and undoubtedly concurred in my contention that my attitude was perfectly justified.

At all events he unostentatiously and unconsciously betrayed his opinion of a pro-German.  He never uttered a word of reprimand to me; the discomfited “P.-G.” was advised to make himself scarce; and although I had been guilty of the grave offence of fighting I never heard another word about the incident.  It is evident that the officer in his own mind concluded that the less he said about the episode the better.  Still I had got satisfaction.  I had given one of our enemies a drubbing which he would not forget in a hurry.

Yet the one fact remains.  At the time I left the camp there were several of these whimpering, cold-footed, British Judas Iscariots still drawing unblushingly their five shillings per week!  I might add that this constituted one of the greatest scandals of the camp, and precipitated a feeling of smouldering rebellion, not against the German authorities, but against the traitors who did not refrain from attempting to fraternise with us after the diabolical repudiation of their nationality.  It was fortunate these back-boneless, long-faced and drooping-mouthed Britons were forced to live away from us; otherwise I am afraid there would have been some tragedies and endless fighting.