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.
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.