Passing through one tent hospital an Algerian called out to me:
"Ohe, la blonde, viens ici! J'ai quelque chose de beau a te
montrer." (Come here, fair girl, I have something pretty to show
you.) He was sitting up in bed, and, as I approached, unbuttoned
his bed-jacket and insisted on my examining the tag of his vest on
which was written, "Leader, London." The vest had come in a
parcel of goods from the London Committee of the French Red
Cross, and I only wished that the angel of goodness and
tenderness, who is the Presidente of the Croix Rouge, Mme. de la
Panouse, and that Mr. D. H. Illingworth, Mr. Philip Wilkins, and all
her able lieutenants, could have seen the pleasure on the face of
this swarthy defender of France. In the next bed was a Senegalais
who endeavoured to attract my attention by keeping up a running
compliment to my compatriots, my King, and myself. He must
have chanted fifty times: "Vive les English, Georges, et toil" He
continued even after I had rewarded him with some cigarettes.
The Senegalais and the Algerians are really great children,
especially when they are wounded. I have seen convalescent
Senegalais and Algerians in Paris spend hours in the Champs
Elysees watching the entertainment at the open-air marionette
theatre. The antics of the dolls kept them amused. They are
admitted to the enclosure free, and there is no longer any room for
the children who frequented the show in happier days. These latter
form a disconsolate circle on the outside, whilst the younger ones,
who do not suffer from colour prejudice, scramble onto the knees
of the black soldiers.
The sister in charge was a true daughter of the "Lady of the
Lamp." Provided they are really ill, she sympathises with all the
grumblers, but scolds them if they have reached the convalescent
stage. She carries a small book in which she enters imaginary
good points to those who have the tables by their beds tidy, and
she pinned an invisible medal on the chest of a convalescent who
was helping to carry trays of food to his comrades. She is indeed a
General, saving men for France.
Not a man escaped her attention, and as we passed through the
tents she gave to each of her "chers enfants," black or white, a
cheering smile or a kindly word. She did, however, whilst talking to
us, omit to salute a Senegalais. Before she passed out of the tent
he commenced to call after her, "Toi pas gentille aujourd'hui, moi
battre toi." (You are not good to me to-day; me beat you.) This, it
appears, is his little joke--he will never beat any one again, since
he lost both his arms when his trench was blown up by a land
mine.
It was at Triancourt that I first saw in operation the motor-cars that
had been sent out fitted with bath tubs for the troops, and also a
very fine car fitted up by the London Committee of the French Red
Cross as a moving dental hospital.
I regret to add that a "Poilu" near by disrespectfully referred to it as
"another of the horrors of war," adding that in times of peace there
was some kind of personal liberty, whereas now "a man could not
have toothache without being forced to have it ended, and that
there was no possibility of escaping a dentist who hunted you
down by motor."
It was suggested that as I had had a touch of toothache the night
before, I might take my place in the chair and give an example of
British pluck to the assembled "Poilus." I hastened to impress on
the surgeon that I hated notoriety and would prefer to remain
modestly in the background. I even pushed aside with scorn the
proffered bribe of six "Boche," buttons, assuring the man that "I
would keep my toothache as a souvenir."
At one of the hospitals beside the bed of a dying man sat a little
old man writing letters. They told me that before the war he had
owned the most flourishing wine shop in the village. He had fled
before the approach of the German troops, but later returned to his
village and installed himself in the hospital as scribe. He wrote
from morning until night, and, watching him stretching his lean old
hands, I asked him if he suffered much pain from writers' cramp.
He looked at me almost reproachfully before answering, "Mademoiselle,
it is the least I can do for my country; besides my pain is so slight
and that of the comrades so great. I am proud, indeed proud,
that at sixty-seven years of age I am not useless."
I was shown a copy of the last letter dictated by a young French
officer, and I asked to be allowed to copy it--it was indeed a letter
of a "chic" type.
Chers Parrain et Marraine,
Je vous ecris a vous pour ne pas tuer Maman qu'un pareil coup
surprendrait trop.
J'ai ete blesse le ... devant ... J'ai deux blessures hideuses et je
n'en aurai pas pour bien longtemps. Les majors ne me le cachent
meme pas.
Je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir fait mon devoir.
Prevenez done mes parents le mieux que vous pourrez; qu'ils ne
cherchent pas a venir, ils n'en auraient pas le temps.
Adieu vous tous que j'aimais.