At Villers-le-Sec we came upon the headquarters of the cooks for that section of the Front.  The cook is one of the most important men in a French regiment; he serves many ends.  When carrying the food through the communicating trenches to the front line trenches he is always supposed to bring to the men the latest news, the latest tale which is going the round of the camp, and anything that may happen to interest them.  If he has not got any news he must manufacture and produce some kind of story.  It is really necessary for him to be not only a cook but also an author.

There is a tale going the round of the French Army how one section of the Cooks, although unarmed, managed to take some twenty German prisoners.  As they went on their way, they saw the Germans in the distance approaching them; the Head Cook quietly drew the field kitchens behind a clump of trees and bushes, placed his men in a row, each with a cooking utensil in his hand, and as the Germans passed shouted to them to surrender.  The sun fell on the handles of the saucepans, causing them to shine like bayonets, and the Germans, taken unawares, laid down their arms.  The Head Cook then stepped out and one by one took the rifles from the enemy and handed them to his men.  It was only when he had disarmed the Germans and armed his comrades that he gave the signal for them to step out, and the Germans saw that they had been taken by a ruse.  One can imagine the joy of the French troops in the next village when, with a soup ladle in his hand, his assistants armed with German rifles, followed by the soup kitchen and twenty prisoners—­he marched in to report.

An Instance Of Quick Wit

It is curious how near humour is to tragedy in war, how quick wit may serve a useful purpose, and even save life.  A young French medical student told me that he owed his life to the quick wit of the women of a village and the sense of humour of a Saxon officer.  Whilst passing from one hospital to another he was captured by a small German patrol, and in spite of his papers proving that he was attached to the Red Cross Service, he was tried as a spy and condemned to be shot.  At the opening of his trial the women had been interested spectators, towards the end all of them had vanished.  He was placed against a barn door, the firing squad lined up, when from behind the hedge bordering a wood, the women began to bombard the soldiers with eggs.  The aim was excellent, not one man escaped; the German officer laughed at the plight of his men and, in the brief respite accorded, the young man dashed towards the hedge and vanished in the undergrowth.  The Germans fired a few shots but there was no organised attempt to follow him, probably because their own position was not too secure.  He was loth to leave the women to face the music, but they insisted that it was pour la patrie and that they were quite capable of taking care of themselves.  Later he again visited the village and the women told him that beyond obliging them to clean the soldiers’ clothes thoroughly, the German officer had inflicted no other punishment upon them.