I n   G e r m a n y   ( 1 9 1 4 – 1 8 )

1 – 2 – Part 3:  

Still at the Hotel Drei Könige in Baden-Baden, Cyril King has established some sort of routine for his new life in semi-captivity:

15/10/14 “Coote and I buy Norwegian papers and an occasional Dutch one and greedily work out the French and British reports, trying to find accounts of violent victories on our side – but not with much success…

I have a job at the Red Cross which occupies my afternoons – a glorified errand boy, carrying fruit from private houses to a shed to be weighed before it is made into puddings and jam, which I then carry to the different hospitals. It is quite hard work, and I cannot learn what relation a German pound bears to an English one.

The rest of the day I spend reading the papers or walking about the streets looking at the maps and trying in vain to see big changes.”

25/10/14. “The people in the hotel are very nice – an old spinster who speaks very good English but is frightfully bitter, and a widow with three young daughters, all older than myself, who knits socks whilst I knit scarves; and a French lady of about 30 who gives us French papers to read which she has smuggled in. She is very enthusiastic about England.

Coote has gone to live in another hotel with some men from Oxford, some other Englishmen and a few Russians, and it is very pleasant not to have to work…

The local rag has started a campaign against us and complains that the populace is too friendly. The hotels are one by one changing their French, Russian and English names into German ones!

We have now to report once a week at the police station, which is quite amusing as I meet the other Englishmen there. But last week I was 20 minutes late, and after waiting for an hour till they were willing to attend to me, was fined 5 marks and 20 pfennigs costs (2d). I’m sure it cost them almost that in paper and ink alone, as they filled up huge forms minutely for the occasion. Five marks though is a lot of money just now!

Everyone I meet is very patriotic and would obviously sacrifice everything for his country, and no one seems to doubt the righteousness of his cause for a moment.”

I n   G e r m a n y   ( 1 9 1 4 – 1 8 )

Part 1 – Part 2:

Cyril King and his family arrived in Baden-Baden on August 7th 1914 and were sent to the Hotel Drei Könige. Here, although they were allowed “complete freedom in the daytime within the precincts of the town,” they had to be indoors by 8pm every evening.

“24/8/14. I was walking with Coote this afternoon among the wooded hills on the outskirts of the town, when suddenly we heard the bells ringing and saw flags being posted everywhere.  We are tired of those beastly bells – they have been rung every other day since we came here and always for a greater victory. We are tired too of the innumerable German national anthems and the shouting and cheering. But this afternoon they are louder than ever. As usual ‘Extrablätter’ are being sold everywhere… and we see they have had their first victory over das Perfide Albion.

Soon the whole town will collect in the square below my window, and it will be midnight before they disperse. Every half-hour or so more extrablätter will be published as the number of prisoners rises, one national anthem after another will be sung over and over again, and every member of the royal family and almost every general in the German Army will be loudly cheered.”

They soon gathered that there was a good deal of bad feeling towards the English.

“They are most bitter against the English, particularly Sir Edward Grey, whom they accuse of not stopping the war when he could have done so quite easily, but are very contemptuous about our army of ‘mercenaries’ and laugh at the idea of trying to equip 500,000 soldiers out of nothing. The papers are full of Belgian and Russian atrocities and they say the use of dumdums is an outrage against civilisation…”

At this time the King family were clearly still hopeful of repatriation:

“We are assured that we shall be sent back as soon as the mobilisation of their troops is complete.”

I n   G e r m a n y   ( 1 9 1 4 – 1 8 )

The last we heard of Cyril King was in September 1914, when he failed to return to Winchester College for the new term. When war broke out, at the end of July 1914, he was on holiday in Germany with his family and was not allowed to return to this country. He remained in captivity there until the end of the war.

We are delighted to hear that he has now returned safe and sound and, despite missing his final year at Winchester, has been accepted at King’s College, Cambridge, to read Economics.

His journal of his time in captivity, which he has kindly provided for inclusion in the next edition of the ‘Draconian’ is of great interest and as it is extensive, will be published here in parts over the coming weeks.

Part 1.

“Schluchsee, Black Forest, Germany. 30/7/14.   Started from Winchester on the morning of the 25th and arrived here this afternoon. Undaunted by rumours of war! We are sure to be sent back to England if there is any trouble. Half-an-hour wait at Strasburg, but saw nothing unusual. Freiburg though was crowded and full of excitement. A troop train left the station while we were there amid tremendous enthusiasm – everyone was talking of war and the rumoured capture and execution of six French spies in the town this morning…

3/8/14. It is glorious here. We (my mother, four sisters and Coote from New College, who is to tutor me) are living in a cottage, six miles from the nearest station, among mountains, by the side of a very dark blue lake. All the hotel guests have already left.

‘Rumour’ is very busy and there are many tearful partings. Did a Greek prose this morning, but hardly a very good one. This afternoon we took out a boat and bathed in the lake…

Baden Baden 7/8/14. Yesterday morning early, three plain clothes detectives arrived at Schluchsee and told us to be ready to leave in half-an-hour. They put us and our luggage into two motors and we drove off. Every mile or so we were stopped by a rough barrier across the road and the detectives had to show papers, but we reached Freiburg Railway Station at midday. The town was so crowded that we could hardly move, and I felt very nervous when we had to make our way across the road to an hotel for lunch, but nothing exciting happened.

At half-past one we were taken back to the station yard, where we lined up with our luggage in a long queue for passes and tickets to here. The queue was composed chiefly of Russian invalids from a neighbouring health resort – a few men, but mostly women and children – and thick crowds stood gaping and talking on each side of it. By 3 o’clock we were in the train, but we didn’t reach our destination till midnight, as we stopped at every station to pick up more foreigners…”