Had we not sworn we would
have wept, and, naturally, as men we preferred to do the other thing.
While here our rations ran short; our prisoners numbered over 20,000 and
the policy of the British Government being to treat a prisoner as well,
if not better, than her own soldiers (their wants are always attended to
first), we were practically without food, and were compelled to resort
to the heroic method of taking the rations from the bodies of our poor
comrades who were lying cold on the ground and who would need them no
more.
Three-quarters of a mile north of Labazell we were in our gun pit one
night and "Ammunition up!" was the order. This meant that everybody,
including officers and down to cook, the telephonist on duty alone being
excepted, had to get out and help unload the life-saving material. I
remember thinking of the anomaly at the time,--how strange it was that
we should regard the ammunition as life saving, when it was in reality
so destructive of life. While working like Turks unloading the shells,
some of the drivers were talking about a strange sight they had seen
down the road near Albert (pronounced Albare), when loading up at the
ammunition dump.
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