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[Page 425]

[German censor's stamp:
Postprüfungsstelle des Gefangenenlagers
Friedrichsfeld bei Wesel
Geprüft und freigegeben 63]
[Right-hand page:]
all gone, a Belgian who was then well able to get about, asked me to allow him to be able to do what he could for me – He looks after me well. A young Scotchman left a few things behind for me, including a little Quaker Oats and so my (extra's) chef de cuisine, was able to make porridge for my breakfast on three mornings – I often draw him into conversation; my heavens, when he gets properly going, lá lá – such gesticulating, and, Oh: such a screamingly comic jumble of words – English, French, Belgian and German mixed together. I understand his English, – French and a few common German words, but as a result

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of his conversation being in part largely Belgian, I must look wise and keep careful check of his facial contortions, so that I may know when to scowl, when to laugh and when to exhibit, on my countenance, my incredulity.

The time passes slowly eneough without reading matter – The long days are indeed weary. Meal hours are about the only break in the days dreary perspective – Twill be a great relief when I'm able to get up. I really shouldn't be quite so weary now, for the Belgian causes me no end of amusement in one way or another. Yesterday afternoon he brought me a cup of tea and a nice slice of white bread, with raspberry jam on. By the way – the bread is sent

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