The Scraper's Diary, March 7th 1947 Cuxhaven

We docked last night at 6.45 pm, changed our money and were driven to another transit camp.

There is more snow here than there was in England, and in the truck I was reminded once more how interlocked humanity is, by the simple mingling of our condensed breaths in the cold air.

We sat in the dining hall and were waited on by German women A lovely meal. My faith in the character of the British soldier went one mark blackwards when I heard the language and saw the manners of the draft troops when meeting Germans for the first time. They behave like conquerors and swine, and all are out for what they can get.

My aforesaid faith went down another notch when I heard the same blokes in the barrack room.

As reveille this morning was 04.15 hours, I, and several others, turned in as soon as we could - that was 10.15. We expected a little sleep, but from then until 12.45, when the last man came in, and the lights went out, there was a continued stream of slamming doors, stamping feet, raised voices, and open laughter. Mr. Kent speaks of the British soldier respecting another's sleep. He must be speaking of regulars, not conscripts.

o - o - o - o - o

Yesterday I played pontoon from 09.30 hours until 17.00 hours, with half an hour break for dinner. In that time I lost one and six. In ten minutes play after ten I lost ten bob, and finished up half a crown down on the whole journey, so far.

o - o - o - o - o

All that I can tell of Germany so far is that it is snowy and just getting light. The train has hard wooden seats, and has just stopped for ten minutes after going for five.

We've been up for four hours, and it's still only seven fifteen.

I forgot to mention how I loathe the British soldier's habit of being so proud of his ability to mispronounce and misunderstand one or two words of German.

Also, that the North sea was covered for seven hours of our journey yesterday, by broken sheet ice at least a foot thick.