The youth of Guynemer was like his childhood.  As a student of higher mathematics his combative tendencies were not at all changed.  “At recreation he was very fond of roller-skating, which in his case gave rise to many disputes and much pugilism.  Having no respect for boys who would not play, he would skate into the midst of their group, pushing them about, seizing their arms and forcing them to waltz round and round with him like weather-cocks.  Then he would be off at his highest speed, pursued by his victims.  Blows were exchanged, which did not prevent him from repeating the same thing a few seconds later.  At the end of recreation, with his hair disordered, his clothes covered with dust, his face and hands muddy, Guynemer was exhausted.  But the strongest of his comrades could not frighten him; on the contrary, he attacked these by preference.  The masters were often obliged to intervene and separate the combatants.  Guynemer would then straighten up like a cock, his eyes sparkling and obtruding, and, unable to do more, would crush his adversary with piquant and sometimes cutting words uttered in a dry, railing voice."[9]

[Footnote 9:  Unpublished notes by Abbe Chesnais.]

Talking, however, was not his forte, and his nervousness made him sputter.  His speech was vibrant, trenchant, like hammerstrokes, and he said things to which there was no answer.  He had a horror of discussion:  he was already all action.

This violence and frenzied action would have driven him to the most unreasonable and dangerous audacity if they had not been counterbalanced by his sense of honor.  “He was one of those,” wrote a comrade of Guynemer’s, M. Jean Constantin, now lieutenant of artillery, “for whom honor is sacred, and must not be disregarded under any pretext; and in his life, in his relations with his comrades, his candor and loyalty were only equaled by his goodness.  Often, in the midst of our games, some dispute arose.  Where are the friends who have never had a dispute?  Sometimes we were both so obstinate that we fought, but after that he was willing to renounce the privilege of the last word.  He never could have endured bringing trouble upon his fellow-students.  He never hesitated to admit a fault; and, what is much better, once when one of his comrades, who was a good student, had inadvertently made a foolish mistake which might have lowered his marks, I saw Georges accuse himself and take the punishment in his place.  His comrade never knew anything about it, for Georges did that sort of thing almost clandestinely, and with the simplicity and modesty which were always the great charm of his character.”