Free As Berry and I Were Saying by Dornford Yates

number of persons yet alive who were acquainted with the German in his habit as he lived before the first war must be comparatively small. And very few accurate pictures of the German of that day have ever been presented. The only one I ever came across appeared in The Caravaners , which was written by the lady who wrote Elizabeth and her German Garden . In that she presented a picture of a German officer and his unfortunate wife which was so lifelike that nearly all who read it supposed it to be a lampoon. Why? Because they couldn’t believe it. They simply could not believe that any educated man could he so selfish, so complacent, so foolish, so arrogant, so offensive and so gauche . We are, of course, a tolerant lot, and we shrink from believing that other people are brutes. That is, in a way, a good fault: but it may prove extremely expensive. In Germany’s case, it did. For the average German is not only cursed with the failings which the lady in question exposed, but he is very gross and inherently cruel. There are, of course, exceptions – at least, there were. But they only proved the rule.
    “And now, having said my piece, which will do about as much good as a belch in a barrage—”
    “You filthy brute,” said Daphne. “Why must you be so disgusting?”
    “The reflection,” said her husband, “that, though my estimate is true, it will not be believed, induces, as always, congestion of the emotional ducts. I do not have to tell you that this must be dealt with at once; and the violent metaphor always affords me relief. However, as having frequently visited Germany before the first war, I am in a position to recount one or two items of behaviour which I witnessed myself in a country some of whose ancient cities undoubtedly fill the eye. And Boy shall contribute others…
    “On one occasion, I was escorting Aunt Adela, who had been distinguishing Wiesbaden, back to her English home. About half-past one we left our compartment and sought the restaurant-car. There we were allotted two seats at a table for four. Opposite us were two Germans – in excellent cue, for the German is fond of his food, and the luncheon served in those days was always extremely good. One of the Germans had a beard.
    “No doubt, the train was late, for the driver just then decided to make up time. The pace was greatly increased, and the coach began to sway and to take the points in its stride.
    “Soup was served – in soup plates. Afraid to risk it, Aunt Adela and I refused. But it takes more than the whim of an engine-driver to come between a German and his food. Our two vis-à-vis got down to it – literally. Anxious to lose not a drop, they approached their noses to their plates, in order to reduce the distance which their spoons would have to cover between their plates and their mouths. This was, no doubt, common sense, but the spectacle was hardly in the nature of an aperitif . However, they found it great fun, and they jested as they gobbled – and sometimes missed their mouths. And then the car gave the very hell of a lurch…
    “The bearded German stopped some of his soup with his face, but most with his beard. The other got his on his chest. But nothing could diminish their good humour. They simply roared with laughter, regarding each other with tears hopping down their cheeks. Then one smeared his chest with his napkin: the other dabbed at his face and then wrung out his beard into his plate. Then he picked up his spoon again …
    “Yes, I took Aunt Adela back to our carriage there. When we reached Cologne, I bought some sandwiches.”
    “I can only suppose,” said Daphne, “you want to make us sick.”
    “In a way, I do,” said Berry. “At least, not you, because I know you believe. If sickness is the price of belief let unbelievers be sick. After all, dogs will be dogs: if human beings are to imitate their less attractive pursuits…
    “One flash from Wiesbaden. Aunt Adela purchased a paper and, strolling