We had not been in Sennelager many days before we discovered to our cost that we were all suffering solitary confinement.  We were completely isolated from the outside world.  We were not permitted to receive any letters or parcels.  Neither were we allowed to communicate with anyone outside.  Newspapers were also sternly forbidden.  These regulations were enforced with the utmost rigour during my stay at this camp.  Consequently we knew nothing whatever about the outside world, and the outside world knew nothing about us.  Early in September I did succeed in getting two post-cards away, but I ascertained afterwards that they did not reach their destinations until some weeks after I had left Sennelager.  We felt this isolation very keenly because one and all were wondering vaguely what our wives, families, friends, or relatives were doing.

About ten days after our arrival at this hostelry there was a parade.  The adjutant strutted before us with the pride of a peacock, and in his pompous voice cried: 

“All prisoners who reside in Germany because of their business connections, or who are married to German wives, will be permitted to return to their homes!”

This announcement precipitated wild excitement because it affected from twenty to thirty prisoners.  Needless to say they packed their bags with frantic speed, as if fearing cancellation of the welcome news, and emerging from the barracks hastened to receive their passes to make their way to Paderborn.  Among them was the head of our barrack, Captain K——.  A strong friendship had sprung up between him and me, and we shook hands vigorously though silently.  He invited many others and myself, in the event of our being given permission to move about the country, to come and stay at his house near C——.

While every man Jack of us who was left behind was heavy in his heart and became sad because he was not numbered among the privileged few, we were by no means cast down.  As the small party of free men walked towards the entrance we gave them a frantic and wild parting cheer.  It was the first time we had let ourselves go and we did it with a vengeance.  The German officers and men started as if electrified, and looked at us in amazement.  They thought we had gone mad.  Beside us stood one of the guards.  He turned to us, his eyes and mouth wide open, to mutter: 

“My God!  You English are a funny race!”

“What’s the matter?” we returned.

“What?  You cheer those fellows who are going home and yet you are being left here!”

“Why not?  Good luck to them!” and we let fly another terrific huzza to speed them on their way.

The guard shook his head, thoroughly puzzled.  He did not understand the psychology of the British race any more than his superiors.

“But why do you cheer?” pursued the guard.

“Because we are English,” swiftly retorted one of our party.  The guard said no more.