The turmoil had been raging for some time when a mounted officer dashed up.  Securing silence he ordered us all into barracks.  There was an ominous growl.  Then he told us he had brought a battalion of soldiers and a machine gun section from Spandau, and if we did not disperse in five minutes he would fire on us.

We looked round, thinking he was bluffing, but there, sure enough, were the soldiers with their rifles ready, and we discovered afterwards that the machine guns had been brought up to the gates ready for use at a moment’s notice.  We shuffled for a few minutes, frowning, glowering, mumbling, cursing and swearing, but as the Germans always mean what they say, we sullenly moved off as ordered.  Still the protest bore fruit; no further attempts were made to serve us with that fare.

The highways of the camp were in a deplorable condition.  They were merely tracks trodden down by our feet and carts, heavily rutted, uneven, and either a slough of mud and water, or a desert of dust, according to the weather.  We persistently urged the German authorities to improve these roads, but they turned a deaf ear to all our entreaties.

At last the Camp Authorities decided to carry out the work themselves.  There was a call for labourers, who were promised a steady wage of five shillings per week.  Although enrolled in the first instance to build roads, this force was afterwards kept on as a working gang to carry out any jobs which became necessary.  These men laid out and built an excellent road system, following the well-accepted British lines with a high camber and a hard surface so that the water could run into the gutters.

These roads aroused intense interest among our captors.  They used to come in and follow the men at work, studying the method of building up the fabric, and upon its completion they inspected and subjected it to tests.  A little later they coolly sent in a request to the road-builders to go outside to continue urgent work of a similar character.  However, investigation revealed the disconcerting fact that these men were required to take the places of those Germans generally associated with this task, who had been called up for service at the front.  Needless to say the suggestion met with a unanimous and determined refusal.

As time went on our conditions became worse.  Bread became unobtainable at almost any price.  Pathetic advertisements commenced to steal upon the notice-board, some of which I vividly remember.  One in particular revealed a poignant story of silent suffering.  It ran “Good Swan Fountain Pen.  Will exchange for loaf of bread.”  Yet it was only typical of scores of others couched in a similar vein.  All sorts of things were offered in exchange for food.  Our treasury redoubled its efforts, but food could not be got even at famine prices.  This was early in March, 1915, so that the country was speedily being compelled to concede the strangling force of the British blockade.