As the result of frequent representations the German authorities permitted us to inaugurate our civil police force for the maintenance of law and order throughout the camp.  After this force came into being and had proved satisfactory, the military guards were withdrawn, and we were encircled only by the cordon of sentries outside.  We suffered no military interference whatever.  The force, of which I became a member, numbered forty all told.  Our badge of office was an armlet—­blue and white bands similar to that worn by the British constabulary, and carried upon the left wrist over our private clothes—­together with a button inscribed “Police.  Ruhleben Camp.”  The selection of the police force was carried out upon extremely rigorous lines to ensure that only the most capable men were secured for this exacting duty.  We patrolled the camp night and day, the duty under the former conditions being two hours, at the conclusion of which we reported ourselves to the police station, and then proceeded to our barracks to rest, waking up our successor on the way, who thereupon went on duty.

All things considered the camp was extremely well-behaved, the British naturally being amenable to discipline.  One or two thefts occurred, the offenders, when caught, being handed over to the German authorities to receive punishment.  At times there were manifestations of rowdiness, but they were speedily and readily quelled.  The police required to be unconscionably patient, tactful, and sympathetic, because we were all chafing under restraint, and our nerves were strained, while tempers were hasty.  Indeed, the German authorities marvelled at the manner and the ease with which we kept the camp upon its best behaviour, and I think we taught them many valuable lessons concerning the enforcement of law and order without the parade of any force or badgering, judging from the assiduity with which they studied our methods.  Even the “drunks”—­and they were not strangers to Ruhleben, despite the fact that alcoholic liquor was religiously taboo, the liquor being smuggled in and paid heavily for, a bottle of Red Seal costing fifteen shillings—­never gave us the slightest cause for anxiety.

One day there was a serious explosion of discontent.  We had been served at our mid-day meal with a basin of evil-looking skilly.  We took it back, and protested that we ought not to be served with prison fare.

“Skilly?” repeated the cook.  “That isn’t skilly.  It’s Quaker Oats.”

“‘Strewth!” yapped a sailor, “That’s the bloomin’ funniest Quaker Oats I’ve tasted.  Quaker Oats will keep you alive, but that bloomin’ muck ’d poison a rat!” saying which he disdainfully emptied the noisome contents of his basin upon the ground.

We were told we should get nothing else, which infuriated us.  We gathered round the cook-house, and the discontented, grumbling sailors and fishermen, unable to make any impression by word of mouth, commenced to bombard the kitchen with bricks, stones, and clods of earth.  The fusillade grew furious, and the cat-calls vociferous.