Entering Vitry-le-Francois we had a splendid example of the typical “motto” of the French trooper, “II ne faut pas s’en faire” One of the motor cars had broken down, and the officer-occupants, who were evidently not on an urgent mission, had gone to sleep on the banks by the side of the road whilst the chauffeur was making the necessary repairs.  We offered him assistance, but he was progressing quite well alone.  Later on another officer related to me his experience when his car broke down at midnight some twelve miles from a village.  The chauffeur was making slow headway with the repairs.  The officer enquired whether he really understood the job, and received the reply, “Yes, mon Lieutenant, I think I do, but I am rather a novice, as before the war I was a lion-tamer!” Apparently the gallant son of Gaul found it easier to tame lions than to repair motors.

Hunting For Generals

We left Vitry-le-Francois at six o’clock next morning, and started “the hunt for Generals.”  It is by no means easy to discover where the actual Headquarters of the General of any particular sector is situated.

We were not yet really on the “White Road” to Verdun, and there was still much to be seen that delighted the eyes.  In one yellow cornfield there appeared to be enormous poppies.  On approaching we discovered a detachment of Tirailleurs from Algiers, sitting in groups, and the “poppies” were the red fezes of the men—­a gorgeous blending of crimson and gold.  We threw a large box of cigarettes to them and were greeted with shouts of joy and thanks.  The Tirailleurs are the enfants terribles of the French Army.  One noble son of Africa who was being treated in one of the hospitals once presented me with an aluminium ring made from a piece of German shell.  I asked him to make one for one of my comrades who was working at home, and he informed me that nothing would have given greater pleasure, but unfortunately he had no more aluminium.  Later in the day, passing through the ward, I saw him surrounded by five or six Parisian ladies who were showering sweets, cigarettes and flowers on him, whilst he was responding by presenting each of them with an aluminium ring.  When they had left I went to him and told him “Mahmud, that was not kind.  I asked you for a ring and you said you had not got any more aluminium.”  He smiled and his nurse, who was passing, added, “No, he had not got any more aluminium, but when he is better he will get forty-eight hours’ punishment; he has been into the kitchen, stolen one of our best aluminium saucepans, and has been making souvenirs for the ladies.”  He made no attempt to justify his action beyond stating:  “Moi, pas si mauvais, toi pas faux souvenir” ("I am not so bad, I did not try to give you a fake souvenir").

Another of our chocolate coloured patients found in the grounds of the hospital an old umbrella.  Its ribs stuck out and it was full of holes, but it gave him the idea of royalty and daily he sat up in bed in the ward with the umbrella unfurled whilst he laid down the law to his comrades.  The nurses endeavoured to persuade him to hand it over at night.  He obstinately refused, insisting that “he knew his comrades,” and he feared that one of them would certainly steal the treasure, so he preferred to keep it in the bed with him.