son camp looks very
much like a chicken ranch; the high wire fences around the whole
enclosure and the little frame huts in the centre all carry out the
idea. But when you get in, there is a vast difference, the outside
fence is fourteen feet high, and of barb-wire with the barbs poisoned;
three yards in, there is another fence, a low one this time, to prevent
the "chickens" getting under, and this is made of live wire. In
between these fences there is a line of German guards, each one having
his own beat. The centre of the camp is divided into small blocks,
each with its fourteen-foot fence of poisoned wire; there are six huts
in each block and about fifty prisoners quartered in each hut. When I
was there the camp contained about three thousand prisoners--French,
Russian, English, and a few Canadians. But, to go back to my arrival.
As we were marched into the camp we were a pretty sorry-looking lot.
The old prisoners saw us coming, and rushed back to their huts and
brought us out some food. The new prisoners were not allowed to mingle
with the old ones until they had been two months in camp--I suppose
this was to prevent any news getting in--so in order to do anything for
us, the old prisoners had to catch us on our way through. Well, they
brought us, from the contents of their Red Cross parcels, hardtack,
biscuits, bully-beef, and jam, and when we reached our hut we had a
pretty good meal. The boys had none too much for themselves and it
meant a great deal to give up any of their precious food; but they
knew, from experience, that we were starving, and we thought we were,
for after good army rations, one small slice of black bread does not go
far towards satisfying hunger. But, after existing on German fare for
two months, we knew what it was to be really hungry; we were more like
famished wolves than human beings.

This is a day's ration, served out to us the first day in camp, and in
the two months I was there it never varied: for breakfast, a small bowl
of coffee made from dried acorns, and served without milk or sugar. It
was so bitter as to be almost undrinkable, and there was not one morsel
of food given with it. For dinner we were allowed a bowl of stuff they
called soup. It was made by boiling cabbage and turnips with a few dog
bones; when I went there first I wouldn't believe the boys when they
told me that our soup was made of dog bones, but one day I met one of
the French prisoners who had been