what appeared to be a main road. I had
not seen anything like that for weeks, so resolved to go along the
road myself in the hope of seeing some other strange sights.
Immediately on arriving there I had to take cover in a corner of an
orchard to avoid another light, which was rapidly overtaking me. From
this point of vantage I was soon able to see that the light was on a
bicycle, and the rider not a tin soldier, complete with helmet and
curling moustache, but a peaceably dressed young woman. Encouraged by
the promising trend of events, I stole some apples and made my way,
munching and shivering, towards a little group of houses, hoping to
discover some writing which might prove which country I was in.
Eventually I found a letter-box and feverishly endeavoured to
decipher, in the semi-darkness, a long word printed in black letters
on a white background. With a sinking heart I slowly made out the
letters B--R--I--E. Was it necessary to read any further? Surely this
was proof positive that I was still under the gentle sway of the
Kaiser! What else could the remainder be but "fkasten," completing the
German word for letter-box. With almost a feeling of resignation, I
continued to wrest the remaining letters from the darkness. The
expected F was a very peculiar shape. No, it was a V, after all! With
every letter my hopes rose as I spelt out the remaining E N B U S. I
do not profess to be a German scholar, but I do know that the word
"BRIEVENBUS" does not adorn their letter-boxes in the ordinary course
of events. Feeling vaguely happy, but still haunted by the first
syllable of the word, I made my way further into the village. At first
all seemed quiet, but presently I heard a couple talking near the
entrance of a house. Creeping up as close as I dared in the deep
shadow of the building, I strained my ears almost to dislocation to
catch a few words of the conversation. The language they were speaking
struck me as peculiarly ugly, and did not seem to lend itself readily
to the uses to which they were undoubtedly putting it. The fact that
they were not speaking ordinary German did not necessarily mean that
the language was Dutch, for it might have been some border dialect.
However, I could restrain myself no longer, so, walking up to the man,
I addressed him thus in German, with as much nonchalance as I could
command: "Can you tell me if I am in Germany or Holland?" He did not
seem to grasp the question at once, which in itself