We lunched in the small but hospitable village of Sezanne, in company with a most charming invalided officer who informed us that he was the principal in that district of the S.D.R.D.R. (Service de Recherche des Rattiers) (the Principal Recruiting Officer for Rat-catchers).  In other words, he is spending his time endeavouring to persuade suitable “bow-wows” to enlist in the service of their country.  Likely dogs are trained until they do not bark, and become entirely accustomed to the sound of firing; they are then pronounced “Aptes a faire campagne,” or “Fit for service,” receive their livret militaire, or certificates—­for not every chance dog is allowed in the trenches—­and are dispatched to the trenches on a rat-hunting campaign.

From Sezanne we proceeded direct to the new camp for German prisoners at Cannantre.  The prisoners were mostly men who had been taken in the recent fighting on the Somme or round Verdun.  The camp was already excellently installed, and the prisoners were busy in groups gardening, making bread, or sitting before great heaps of potatoes, preparing them for the evening meal.  The German sense of order was everywhere in evidence.  In the long barracks where the men slept the beds were tidy, and above each bed was a small shelf, each shelf arranged in exactly the same order, the principal ornaments being a mug, fork, and spoon; and just as each bed resembled each other bed, so the fork and spoon were placed in their respective mugs at exactly the same angle.  There were small partitioned apartments for the noncommissioned officers.  The French Commander of the camp told us that the German love of holding some form of office was everywhere apparent.  The French made no attempt to command the prisoners themselves, but always chose men from amongst the prisoners who were placed in authority over their comrades.  The prisoners rejoiced exceedingly and promptly increased in self-importance and, alas! decreased in manners, if they were given the smallest position which raised them above the level of the rest of the men.

In the barrack where they were cutting up bread for the prisoners, we asked the men if they deeply regretted their captivity.  They replied unanimously that they were “rather glad to be well fed,” which seemed an answer in itself.  They did not, however, appreciate the white bread and stated that they preferred their own black bread.  The French officers commanding the camp treat the prisoners as naughty children who must be “kept in the corner” and punished for their own good.  In all my travels through France I have never seen any bitterness shown towards the prisoners.  I remember once at Nevers we passed a group of German prisoners, and amongst them was a wounded man who was lying in a small cart.  A handbag had fallen across his leg, and none of his comrades attempted to remove it.  A French woman, pushing her way between the guards, lifted it off and gave it to one of the Germans to carry.  When the guards tried to remonstrate, she replied simply, “J’ai un fils prisonnier la-bas, faut esperer qu’une allemande ferait autant pour lui” ("I have a son who is a prisoner in their land, let us hope that some German woman will do as much for him").