When a printer is sent away to work as forced labour,
he tells his wife: 'When I write to you,
true accounts will be written in black,
but lies will be in red.
His first letter ran: "Everything here is fine,
the work is good, the people marvellous,
my accommodation luxurious -
there is even an ice-skating rink.
The only problem is that
I am unable to buy red ink.'