The Drummond sisters were born and raised on the Clarence River in Australia.
Early in the 20th Century they lived in Berlin, Germany, and worked for the opera company there, for many years.
When war broke out in 1914, they were ‘trapped’ for some time – Behind Enemy Lines. This is their story, in their own words.
‘Lute’ continues the sisters’ story of their plight of being – Behind Enemy Lines
Belief in the Good
Tuesday, September 15, 1914
Today we saw an illustrated paper, showing a group of English prisoners, taking their dinner. They are all shrieking and looking with such laughing contempt into basins of, well they don’t even know what, you can see by their faces. It’s a killing picture. I’ll save it. They will get very curious meat here. I’m sure; for only think, there was a letter in the paper yesterday, suggesting that the horses killed in the battle field could be saved for prisoners’ diet. It seems a really awful idea. I’m glad that we don’t live in a German boarding house. When one thinks of all the lovely horses killed in this war! Ah! Its terrible. The individual even doesn’t count. Even the chemist said that Germany commenced this war with a total disregard of human life, so now he supposed the other countries must follow suit. I am sure France and Belgium, to say nothing of the English Expeditionary Force, had their breaths taken away at the numbers and rapidity of the German system. Now, they are also learning, and used for the first time their Paris fortress guns in their battle on the Marne. This heavy artillery on the German side did all the damage in the geginning. No wonder the French soldiers mutinied at Luneville, and refused to face it. It meant useless resistance and certain massacre.
The Hague Conference is like the Ten Commandments. One knows the rules are good, and should be observed, but if the other fellow uses heavier artillery than humanity prescribes, then mustn’t I also in pure self-defence?
This war has also proved another great fact, that everything written on paper is about as binding as rotten string, and if there’s one word more than another that rubs us up the wrong way, it is this etyernal one of ‘Culture’, which we hear about every other minute. Fight if you will, like barbarians, but own up to it; then finish,and let ‘Culture’ resume its temporarily paralysed sway.
The post just rang. The letter is sealed and from the American Embassy. I open it. It contains:- “Inquiries concerning you have been received from London, and I would be obliged if you would call at the British Department of this Embassy at your earliest convience. Please bring your passport or such papers of identification as you may possess. The Ambassador”.
I suppose Miss Irving is getting anxious. We can’t get any news through to her. I’ve tried several times. We shall go in tomorrow morning. Jean is away at Hilders. They also have to live now on the Cassels Fund. So much a week- 15s and a rent allowance.
To be continued