I discussed with my neighbour the fact that the Germans had more hatred for us than for the French.  He said the whole world would ridicule the Germans for the manner in which they had exploited the phrase “Gott strafe England,” writing it even on the walls anywhere and everywhere.  He added laughingly that it should not worry the English comrades.  “When they read ’Gott strafe England’ all they needed to reply was ‘Ypres, Ypres, Hurrah!’”

Poilu And Tommy

He informed me that he had been stationed for some time with his regiment near the English troops, and there had been loud lamentations among the Poilus because they had been obliged to say good-bye to their English comrades.  He added that the affection was not entirely disinterested.  The English comrades had excellent marmalade and jam and other good things which they shared with their French brothers, who, whilst excellently fed, do not indulge in these luxuries.  He told me a delightful tale of a French cook who, seeing an English soldier standing by, began to question him as to his particular branch of the service, informing him that he himself had had an exceedingly busy morning peeling potatoes and cleaning up the pots and pans.  After considerable conversation he inquired of the English comrade what he did for his living.  “Oh,” replied the Englishman, “I get my living fairly easily; nothing half so strenuous as peeling potatoes.  I am just a colonel."!!

The clean-shaven Tommy is the beloved of all France.  I remember seeing one gallant khaki knight carrying the market basket of a French maiden and repaying himself out of her store of apples.  I regret to say his pockets bulged suspiciously.  Whilst at a level crossing near by, the old lady in charge of the gate had an escort of “Tommies” who urged her to let the train “rip.”  This was somewhat ironical in view of the fact that the top speed in that part of the war zone was probably never more than ten miles an hour.

Tommy is never alone The children have learned that he loves their company and he is always surrounded by an escort of youthful admirers.  The children like to rummage in his pockets for souvenirs:  he must spend quite a good deal of his pay purchasing sweets so that they may not be disappointed and that there may be something for his little friends to find.  I remember seeing one Tommy, sitting in the dusty road with a large pot of marmalade between his legs, dealing out spoonfuls with perfect justice and impartiality to a circle of youngsters.  He speaks to them of his own little “nippers” at home and they in turn tell him of their father who is fighting, of their mother who now works in the fields, and of baby who is fearfully ignorant, does not know the difference between the French and the “Engleesch” and who insisted on calling the great English General who had stayed at their farm “Papa.”  It matters little that they cannot understand each other, and it does not in the least prevent them from holding lengthy conversations.