At The Headquarters Of The Generalissimo

At his Headquarters next morning I had the honour of being received by Generalissimo Joffre and telling him of the admiration and respect which we felt for him and for the magnificent fighting spirit of the troops under his able command.  He replied modestly by speaking of the British army.  He referred to the offensive on the Somme, and said, “You may well be proud of your young soldiers; they are excellent soldiers, much superior to the Germans in every way, a most admirable infantry; they attack the Germans hand to hand with grenades or with the bayonet and push them back everywhere; the Germans have been absolutely stupefied to find such troops before them.”  The General then paid a tribute to the Canadian and Australian troops and told me that that day the Australians had taken new territory, adding, “And not only have they taken it, but, like their British and Canadian brothers, what they take they will hold.”

I explained to General Joffre that, whilst I was not collecting autographs, I had with me the menu of the dinner in the Citadel at Verdun and that it would give me great pleasure to have his name added to the signatures already on that menu.  All the signatures were on one side, so I turned the menu over in order to offer him a clear space, but he turned it back again, saying, “Please let me sign on this side.  I find myself in good company with the defenders of Verdun.”

At departing he said to me, “We may all be happy now since certainly we are on the right side of the hill.” ("Nous sommes sur la bonne pente.”)

In case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who has spent her time working for the men at the Front, I would like to tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter what they contain.  Fraternity and Equality reign supreme in the trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of sharing his store of good things with his comrades.  There is seldom a request made to the French behind the lines that they do not attempt to fulfil.  I remember last winter, passing through a town in the provinces, I noticed that the elderly men appeared to be scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather.  It appeared that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul coats.  Only those who are well acquainted with French provincial life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of opulence and commercial success.

It is perhaps in the Post Offices that you find yourself nearest to the heart of “France behind the lines.”

One morning I endeavoured to send a parcel to a French soldier.  I took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same errand.  A white-haired woman before me gave the Post Office Clerk infinite trouble.  They are not renowned for their patience and I marvelled at his gentleness until he explained.  “Her son died five weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels.”