France is a lovely country, but the sun has been very hot and
trying--almost as bad as India. The roads are lined with apple and pear
trees, which are now laden with fruit, and the troops are not in want
of anything in that line: _Quartermaster-Sergeant R. Hodge_.
“Cheer, Boys, Cheer”
It’s enough to give you fits to hear the Frenchmen trying to pick up
the words of “Cheer, Boys, Cheer,” which we sing with a great go on
the march. They haven’t any notion of what the words mean, but they can
tell from our manner that they mean we’re in great heart, and that’s
infectious here: _Sergt. W. Holmes, Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders_.
Couldn’t Understand!
We never see a paper here; only a French one, and you should see the
sport when our fellows try to read one. Everyone has his own way of
reading it. The French people are very nice, also very generous. The
only drawback is we can’t understand them--only just a few words now
and again: _Sergt. D. O’Donnell, 2nd Royal Irish_.