Shakespeare.

Shakespeare.

I think I owe all my luck to a mascot I carry in my knapsack. It is a beautiful crucifix, given to me by a Frenchwoman for helping her out of danger. It is silver, enamel, and marble, and she made me take it: A Driver of the Royal Field Artillery.

“A Sport”

When waiting for action we smoked cigarettes and ate apples and pears from the French orchard in which we were situated, while the good old owner—he was a sport—brought us out some coffee at four o’clock in the morning: A Private, of Cricklewood.

“Coo Naht”

I am making progress with my French, and I am not often at fault. Every time we go out people say “Good-night,” even if it is in the daytime, as that is all the English they seem to know. Little children say “Coo Naht”—that is the nearest they can get to the right pronunciation: Corpl. Fourneaux, Royal Engineers.

So Hospitable!

I was sent out one day with two chaps to search a wood and some houses to see if any Germans were hiding. As soon as we approached, the people (who had been hiding in cellars and other places), when they found we were Britishers, simply hugged us. They brought out eggs, bread and butter, and if we had stopped a bit longer it would have required a horse and cart to carry the things away: Pte. Gibson, Scottish Fusiliers.

The “Entente”

I have never seen such enthusiasm. Old men, women, and children fight in the streets to get close enough to shake hands with us, or beg a piece of cloth or a button from our uniforms as mementoes of the “Entente,” as they call it. At one village the women clamoured for locks of hair from us, and they had to get them. Even the sick are brought to the doors to see us pass: A Private Soldier.

Praise Indeed

The French cavalry are wonderful, though we never will admit that they are superior to ours. They never seem to tire. They will keep in the saddle for days without trouble, and are used to foraging for themselves wherever they go. In battle their bearing is magnificent. I have seen a mere handful of them charge twenty times their own number of Germans: Pte. H. Hill, 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoon Guards.

“A Blooming Nuisance”

The French girls are awfully keen about our men, and you should see them when we arrive in any of the towns. They come and link arms with us until they are a blooming nuisance. It’s just goodness of heart, and we don’t like to be chivying them off, so they usually get buttons, badges, or anything they can beg off us just for a keepsake. We couldn’t be better thought of: Trooper W. Green.

Brave Women

The French people are very kind. They gave us everything before leaving any one place. They told us to drink as much beer and wine as we wanted and then to turn on the taps so that the Germans could not get any when they came. I think the French women are braver than the men. They brought us fruit into the firing line regardless of the shells and bullets that were flying about: Pte. T. Lacey, Lancashire Fusiliers.

Only Water Left

I feel sorry for the poor French. Be thankful you are living in England! We passed through village after village on the march, and there was not a living soul in the houses; doors and windows were smashed open, and everything broken. We passed one house to which the two women that lived in it had just returned after the Germans had passed. As we passed they gave us a drink of water—that was the only thing the Germans had left them: Pte. Crombie, Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.

“Good Sports”

The French make a lot of us in camp, and when we pass each other in the field, no matter how busy the Frenchmen may be, they give us hearty cheers to encourage us on our way. There’s plenty of friendly rivalry between us when there’s hard fighting to be done, and when we do get there before the French they don’t grudge us our luck. They’re good sports right through to the core, and the British soldier asks nothing better from allies in the field: Lance-Corporal E. Hood.

“Give You Anything”

The French are so good-natured they would give anything, even to the last bit of bread in the house, to our people. To us invalids on our way through Paris they gave a good reception, bringing grapes, bananas, peaches, cigarettes, tobacco, and bouquets of flowers. They are thundering good-natured. To our mounted men the poorer classes would also bring out buckets of milk and of water, and the women would come with their aprons full of fruit. They would give you anything: A British Gunner.

Bearded like Pards

What strikes you most in this country is the enthusiasm of the people for their army. They have flocked to the colours by the thousand, and I fancy the biggest problem here is what to do with the men when you get them. Our own army looks small beside the French, but it is fit in every way, and we hear its praises sung in strange places. Some of our chaps look queer now that they have taken to letting their beards grow, and you would not know them: Private G. Busby.

“Fag” Making

We are always in the thick of it, and we are doing grand work. The whistle of the shells is not exactly Tango music, but still the troops are very cheerful. Most of the time we have had good weather, but just now the rain is a bit troublesome. The behaviour of the French people in the fighting area is wonderful. They are just splendid. It is very difficult to get a smoke here, and when anyone strikes a match it is amusing to see the rush. The British Tommies are getting quite expert at “fag” making: Pte. Kay, Northumberland Fusiliers.

The Little Children

The French “kiddies” all love the British Tommy, and would do anything to have a ride on one of our shoulders or hold our hands, and they stand on their heads with delight to receive a cap badge or something as a souvenir. Their bacca, which they call “tabac,” is cruel, and it costs more than English bacca in the long run, as it smokes so quickly and you have to smoke all day to get a smoke, whereas our bacca satisfies us in a minute or two. Their matches are horrible. “Allumettes” they call them, and they are a hundred a penny, and you have to wait half a minute for them to light and get asphyxiated in the bargain: A Private, from Mons.

In Hospital

All the other English wounded were sent to Havre, but somehow I got in with the French, and am here with them now. It is rather awkward, as I only know a few French words, but a French officer who has spent a lot of time in England comes and talks to me, and one of the nurses in another department knows our language and visits me whenever she can. The officer before-mentioned calls me “his Englishman,” and feels how strange it must be; he brings me English books and cigarettes, and looks after me like a father. These buildings are Roman Catholic schools and chapels, and stand in very nice grounds: Lance-Corporal Eccles.

Well Pleased

I have just had mother’s favourite potatoes and butter, French wine, fish, and rum and coffee, and apples and eggs to take home. I must say they are very nice people. They will do anything for you. It’s just like being in England. The only difference is the language. We can’t understand them, and they can’t us, but still we have done fine up to the present. You can get plenty of beer, but I would not disgrace myself with that, especially being on active service. I am very pleased with the way the French have treated us. They are good-hearted people. Don’t matter whom you see out, they all salute you, and the ladies bow to you. What more could you wish for? Pte. A. Rogers, Royal West Kent Regiment.

“Bonnie Fighters”

One thing, we are safely on the road to victory, without a doubt, and the gallant French army are doing great deeds. The town we are near is properly deserted, for during the day the enemy are shelling the surrounding country, and the villagers go up the hill into caves at daybreak, and go back to town at night. The French folk treat us very kindly, letting us use their wells and buckets to water our horses with, and letting us have anything we want, but the one outstanding difficulty is understanding what they say. Each regiment has an interpreter, and when we want anything in town we have to go to him and he puts us on the right road: Corpl. Cadwell, Royal Engineers.

“No Germany!”

They are a fine lot of people, the French. They will give the British troops anything. When we march through the streets men, women, and children run to the doors and wave their hands, throw kisses, and all that sort of thing. They are always pleased to see us, and in all cases they have aprons and baskets of fruit of all kinds, which they give us gratis. But the sight that touches the heart is to see the burning home of some poor old peasant, who can ill afford to lose a copper coin. But, believe me, the time is not far distant when there will be no Germany, and all I can say is, “God send it soon and sudden”: Pte. J. R. Coates, Royal Fusiliers (City of London Regiment).

No Singing Birds

A curious feature about this place is the almost complete absence of birds. One never hears birds singing as in England. The result is that the earth teems with spiders, etc., on which birds are accustomed to feed. I was on guard at —— during the past twenty-four hours, and it was intensely interesting to chat with French Tommies who gathered round our fire. They are frightfully “bucked” when they meet anyone English with whom they can talk. A large number of the H.A.C. speak French. For this reason, if for nothing else, the people here pay us a good deal of attention. They are deadly keen on getting souvenirs. If it is discovered that we have parted with our grenade or our shoulder letters, our leave is stopped. At the place where we landed 5 francs were offered for the letters “H.A.C.”: A Member of the Honourable Artillery Company.

Quite Royal!

The nearest approach to our reception in France is like what the King got when he came to Notts. There are hundreds of chaps in England who would give twenty years of their lives to get such a reception as we get wherever we go. I should advise any chaps coming to France to bring a corkscrew with them, because they will get loads of wine given them by the French peasants—they can’t do enough for us. And the girls! By Jove, there are some beauties—it’s Nottingham beauty over again. Our greatest needs at the present time are English cigs., blankets, and soap. I have only got thirty cigarettes left, and the chaps here will give anything from 1d. to 6d. for a cigarette. They are far more valuable than money. Another thing which is valuable is water. Water is more scarce than petrol. We have to walk about half a mile for water, and then it’s not very good. We’re not afraid of washing after one another in the same water. I’ve seen about a dozen wash in one bucket of water.... The French soldiers do look funny in red trousers and blue coats, compared with our khaki suits. Half our chaps are minus badges and buttons, which the French girls have taken as souvenirs—I got a little doll off one girl when we were at Rouen. I might mention that hardly any of the chaps have any money—I’ve got the large sum of 2½d.: Pte. F. Smith, Army Service Corps.