Lt Burnard, Royal Flying Corps WW1 diary
OTD 1918. Airman on Western Front with 35 Squadron, then prisoner of war. Ex-army #Somme #Passchendaele.
Friday. July 5. News of issue of grub turns out to be entirely unfounded. Wish I could find and kill the man who started the rumour!
Saw dentist today. Can’t say I enjoyed the visit. Had two stopped; and the nerve of little ’erbert is in process of being destroyed – not a painful process.
Thursday. July. 4. Feeling rather better. News of a issue of grub tomorrow. Also revisiting the dentist; still it’s no good getting grub if you can’t eat it, is it? Joined Chess Club today. Class A.
Wednesday. July. 3. Feeling very weak and consequently fed up. No sign of parcels yet. People in our room insist on talking about food, meals they have eaten, or intend to eat. Every book I pick up insists on describing meals at length. Oh hell!
Tuesday. July 2. Have heard that several people, on receipt of their first parcels, have made themselves ill. One is not surprised when one reflects that many of these chaps have had for the last 3 months one continuous struggle between hunger and discretion. It is the very easiest, and most desirable thing to eat the whole week’s bread ration in two days. Many do so, and half starve for five days. Personally I never overstep the exact days ration, but it’s a very miserable task this exact chopping off of the the day’s ration, and the weighing up in one’s mind 〈Can I afford to eat this spoonful of jam tonight, or should I save it for breakfast (God save the mark)〉
All the people who were with me at Hannover have had letters ere this. There should be a camp rule prohibiting the reading of letters in public!
Recently swopped my 5/- Boots stylo together with 10 marks for a fountain pen costing 35 marks. A good bargain, since all letters here must be written in ink.
Intend to smoke a pipe as soon as I can get any decent tobacco. Cigars at 1/6 would break my pocket if they became a habit.
Monday July 1. It’s rather appalling to think that I’ve been wearing the same underclothes now as when I was first captured, three months ago. Once they’ve been laundered, and once rinsed out; three times they’ve been baked. Voilà tout! I was very lucky to have been brought down while wearing two pairs of socks, one of mater’s make, and my big black boots. Some people were wearing thin socks and flying boots, which latter were confiscated, and some very primitive attempts at boot leather issued in lieu thereof. Likewise their socks are chiefly remarkable for the holes in them. News of a Red Cross issue today. Later: got another small, but very excellent issue of biscuits, bully beef, tea and sugar; and this time a little tobacco and cigarettes; not Red Cross stuff, but again sent by our interned civilians at Ruhleben. Bon!
Sunday, June 30th. Just three months since I was shot down. Today is our famous one-meal day. It struck me as very comic today to see a Guards officer carrying away three potatoes on a plate from the dining hall, to be saved for his supper!! How are the mighty fallen!
If fasting is a real aid to prayer we should be very prayerful here.
Saturday, June 29th. Feeling absolutely fed up, very hungry and rather weak. We get two soups a day, usually very good, although thin, and about seven ounces of black bread. Today the soups happen to be particularly thin. A room commander today got three days cells because a member of his room was found lying on his bed, which is against local rules.
Friday June 28th. Visited dental hospital. They examined my teeth, and, as far as I could make out, determined to stop all three. I was rather surprised. I quite thought that my little ’erbert, my Landshut bugbear, was a goner. Adjourned until another day. Was remanded.
Waiting impatiently for letters and parcels: 3½ months since I’ve heard from home.
Thursday June 27th. Plucked up courage and went sick with my teeth. Have set in motion machinery from which I can’t escape. Shall probably go to Dental Hospital in a day or two; issue of a small number of biscuits and a little bully beef, sugar and tea. Talk about ambrosia!
Tuesday June 25th. Getting into bed last night, putting my glasses on to a narrow ledge, I knocked off, I thought, my two studs down behind the ledge. One was a silver one which I got from Hanna before going on leave; and they are both as precious as gold, as they are so hard to get. I fumbled about behind the ledge, and searched in every hole and corner without result. I gave up the job in disgust, and proceeded to finish undressing, when I found them both. Still in my shirt! I think the Latin motto at the beginning of this diary is an ideal one for a pessimistic P.O.W. (prisoner of war)
〈Domi inopia, foris aes alienum,
Res mala, futurus multi asperior〉
〈At home want, abroad debts,
Things bad, future much worse〉
Great expectations from these Red Cross parcels which are supposed to be at the station.