Diary of Annie's War (6 page)

I have been to pay a few calls but I am better at home. The people are so bitter against us.

I was able to go to confession. Belle knew a Dean of the Cathedral who could speak English and it was arranged for me to visit him.

We sent a parcel to the Plunketts in Hannover and one to Arthur in Ruhleben. Belle and I were very busy until quite late. I got an allowance from the police to stay out a little later than eight o'clock but I was not allowed to travel past the limit.

I spent with Belle and Fraulein Vich. We had dinner and a cup of tea at the Marienhaus then went to see Fraulein Osthaus for supper.

Fraulein Osthaus, Belle and Fraulein Vich came to me for dinner and on Sunday Belle and I went to Frau v. Bruchausen to dinner. She had her daughter on a visit from Dresden and her husband has been in the field since the first week of the war. In the evening we went to Fraulein Vich and had some nice music.

I received a letter from Hannover saying Mrs. Plunkett was going to England but not the Captain. Also one from California from Frank and he seems to have no idea of what the war means to us.

I received a postcard from Arthur asking for a few things. I have sent twenty-five pounds to Emily for her journey and expect to hear she leaves today for England.

We spent it as usual. Belle and I went for a walk in the morning - after my early visit to the police. We got a paper from America, which was just a month old, and it was a great pleasure. We went to the Dom for evening service and it was a very fine service. After church Carole Osthaus, Belle and I went to Marienhaus and had a glass of wine and a cake. I was home for ten o'clock.

I dined at Peligeaus and we had a nice quiet time. I thank God that the holidays are over and I dare not even think of former Christmases and New Years.

Belle and I heard of an English ship being wrecked, the
Formidable
, but the reports were confusing. One said a mine and one an undersea boat. Both stated that seven hundred lives were lost.

Belle wrote to Arthur and I went to the bank. They told me there that they had written to Herr Unquhart on November 26
^th
telling him that there was no exchange of money between the two countries. Therefore he could have no cash sent to California until peace was declared.

I had a visit from a Frau Gube. She is the daughter of an English professor and married to a German. Therefore she is not English. Her brother is in Ruhleben but he is to come home next week and go in the army having become naturalised.

I had notice today to get my photo ready for the 6
^th
to take to the police as all must have them ready for the passports. The police have decided that we must each have one at once. I do not know for what reason.

We heard today that if the war lasts two months longer we shall have a famine.

I wonder why they do not write to me from home?

I had a postcard from Emily saying herself and the children were in Köln on Saturday. Something over the passports to England I expect.

I also got a postcard from Arthur and he remarked that Herr Allorn was free (having naturalised) and he expected he had been to see me. And that I had received his message. Herr Allorn had not called here so Belle and I went to seek him. We never had such a cool reception. He told us nothing and said Arthur had only sent me greetings. He could not give us any idea of any further comforts we could send him and he never answered our questions ever. It is my opinion he has been jolly well frightened. Belle was very much astonished at our result. He goes directly into the army.

I had a visit from a lady here who is expecting her brother to become free. He goes directly into the army as soon as he is naturalised. He is thirty-four-years-old. She wishes he had stayed in Ruhleben. I am not sorry that Arthur is there now.

Today it has snowed all day and is still snowing even though it is late at night. If one had the heart to admire it then the Leden Strasse is a perfect treat. Every bush and tree is thick with snow and all the children with their sledges so merry. As a contrast we hear that Frau Kor, who lives opposite this hotel, has died with heart failure on hearing her only son was wounded. She was working in her business a couple of hours before her death.

There is nothing but misery all around.

Arthur's last postcard was not all bright. I can see that he is very low spirited.

Belle and I took a walk today to see the place under snow. It is really beautiful. The snow is quite eighteen inches thick. It has snowed without stop for thirty-eight hours and is still at it. It is not possible to describe the beauty of the place. The walk around the walls was simply perfect and many people were busy with their cameras. The snow plough had been all round and we had a path two yards wide banked each side with snow. The telephone lines are like thick ladders and there are so many broken. They hang like festoons everywhere and are thicker than a man's arm in snow. The fir trees are doubled over with the weight of the snow. Everywhere one hears the bells of the sleighs.

Each shopkeeper here keeps the snow runners ready for winter. They simply lift their everyday carriage or wagon from the wheels and place it on the runners. All the post vans, soldiers' carts, children's carriages etc. can be put on runners and you never see a pair of wheels. It seems so peaceful - the lovely white streets and the jingle of bells. Even the children's mail carts have bells.

The windows of my room are opposite the Wollenweber Strasse. It is a very old street of the 17
^th
and 18
^th
Century. The houses have very steep roofs, all kinds of gables, bay windows and little attics looking out of their deep mantle of snow and it is a perfect treat. Now and again we hear a rumble and hear the fall of snow from one or another of these roofs. But the houses have such deep overhangs that the snow clears the footway and falls directly into the street.

The soldiers make very merry and many a good game of snowballs I witness. The young girls and lads dare not throw snowballs at the soldiers when they are marching. They wait until they are under trees and then throw at the boughs so all the snow falls on them.

We saw a good joke this morning. Some girls did this trick, and when the front of the procession with the officer had turned a corner the four last soldiers in the procession pelted the girls awfully. A sergeant, who was walking in the streets, deliberately turned his back on them and stood looking at a fine garden as the girls got a good pelting. The soldiers then picked up their guns and ran after the procession and the people screamed with laughter. We left the sergeant admiring the garden scene. I admired him for his good sense. Those soldiers did so enjoy the two minutes on their own.

Some of these men are such nice fellows and I get quite used to them passing my window day after day, sometimes three times. I can single out faces and watch them each time. Then comes the day when they have the covered helmet and the corduroy trousers on. I see them no more. They have gone to the front.

I often cry when I miss them. But it is far worse when you see them a few weeks later in a bath chair and looking like death. One wonders how it is with his own people when it upsets a stranger so.

These days are too dreadful.

It is sad to go into the churches also – crowds of soldiers praying so fervently and during the Stations of the Cross. So many go away with the thought that they will not back come again.

The war seems wholesale murder. I hear so much I cannot write it.

The soldiers do not know when they leave here, or where they go to. The people do not know where they are until a letter comes to say. Many come back wounded a week later and many letters come home at the same time to say their last goodbye. A lady here got her first letter from her husband two weeks after his departure saying: ‘Beloved wife, my last greetings on our third wedding anniversary'.

That was all he was able to write being mortally wounded. She was at home with a one-year-old baby.

I could tell scores of sad tales that happen here in Hildesheim. When a man is advertised as missing his people do not know if he is a prisoner in England, France or Russia. Or if it means he was blown to bits and cannot be identified.

When you send a parcel or letter you simply address it to so and so, such and such a regiment and the post forwards it to whichever country he is in.

It is nine weeks since Arthur left here and there is no sign of him coming home at all.

Today rain has set in and the streets are dreadful with melting snow. There are no men to clean it and the telephone is quite at a standstill. So many wires are broken and so few men are left here to repair – all being at the front.

I have to take my photo to the police today.

Belle got a ‘Times' (it was a perfect treat) of December 25
^th
. It gave us such pleasure.

It is Belle's birthday so I went round to congratulate her. She had received a card from Arthur and a letter from Emily. The latter says they are on their way to Nijmegen (Netherlands) and the card was from Köln.

I had a visit also from Frau Grebe and her mother. She tells me that if her son gets away from Ruhleben then he must go to the front. He is thirty-five. Men up to forty-five are called up so I am glad Arthur is where he is.

It has rained all day and the snow is almost gone. One feels so sorry for the poor soldiers.

Tonight a three day preparation for a whole day of prayer commences. We go to a sermon in the cathedral for the first preparation tomorrow the 8
^th
, which is a fast day. Saturday is a day of preparation and confession. Sunday is for communion and the offering up of the whole day in devotion all over Germany for peace. It is a grand idea with the whole country (Catholics) at one in prayer and fasting and Holy Communion for the one great cause. Let us hope there is soon a result.

Belle, Rosie and I went to the Dom early. There was a fine preacher and the place was packed. But the less said about the sermon the better. Of course, England was to blame for everything.

We went to meet Frau v. d. Busch today it being her birthday. In the morning a policeman came here for my birth and marriage date etc. I got in a hobble when I went to the police for Arthur had not announced us when we came to stay here.

It appears that as soon as you come into a place to stay over a week you must go to the police of the place. You must give your age, place of birth, name etc. If you do not do so you are fined eight shillings. Of course they find you out if you stay longer. I suppose Arthur had more to think of. I asked if my man had not announced himself at the police, how was it that he was a prisoner. I thought we had been amused enough and said I thought the neglect lay upstairs with the police chief. I said that I could
not
understand them. I think they were glad to let me go. They were tired of hearing: ‘I understand not'.

In the evening we went to the Dom to hear what the Father had to say but he was too ill to preach. I was not sorry for I enjoyed the sermon from a different priest far better.

When I visited Rosie v.d. Busch today I said how I had expected Arthur, after he had written, to come home. But she said I must not wish him free as all the men up to forty-five had been up for inspection. If he came out of Ruhleben it meant the front for him. I am so glad he is not here.

Things are very quiet and the people seem a little downhearted. They explain that the very wet weather we have had prevents them from going on. They are convinced that they are steadily winning. Still you can see that they are uneasy over no news. They commonly speak of Russia being finished before Christmas but we hear nothing at all from there.

Eight hundred men go away from here tonight. They do not know where and they will not be allowed to write home their address. They are allowed just the regiment and company and name. The letters will find them either in France, Belgium or Russia. Their people do not know where they fight in this bad weather as all the soldiers are given the same clothing.

It was a memorable day for me as regards church. I never saw so many communicants in one church before. It was the finish of the three days of prayer and all who could were to confess and communicate for the peaceful end of the war.

Another Father has come to preach at the Dom. It is really marvellous where the people come from. When you think that the place is only a third the size of Stockport it has eight Catholic churches. Also that more than half of the population is Protestant. Every church was full and you could not get near the confessionals. Priests came on the altar and said Mass and went off again. Still there were priests giving communion all the time at the altar rails. I heard three complete Masses and half a fourth. Still there were people waiting for communion.

Everyone goes to their church now for help. No one else can give them comfort. People who live in a free country do not have any idea of what war means in a conscript country. Misery is everywhere you go and each day buries more men.

I saw one of our young waiters at the church. He seemed full of trouble and afterwards I questioned him. He told me he has three brothers at the front - nineteen, twenty-one and twenty-two-years-old. His father was called up last Thursday. He is forty-five years old. He was very busy slaughtering, as he is a butcher, when the telegram came at noon. He went at once to the barracks, in his working clothes, and his wife ran to get help in the business to finish the slaughtering. At eight o'clock in the evening she got a telegram to say he was already in uniform and was in Munster. The poor boy said: ‘My mother cannot cry any more. She has done so much. She can only pray for them all'.