The French people could not do enough for us when we landed at
Boulogne. They were principally struck with the Highlanders. They had
been told we were the most daring of the British forces, and one woman
shouted out in admiration as we marched past, “There go the women from
hell.” She thought that was the biggest compliment she could pay us: _A
Seaforth Highlander_.
Her “Soldat”
The French people run out with bread and wine and fruit, and press
them on the soldiers as they march through the villages. To-day we
are camped by a field of lucerne, which is fortunate, as no hay is
available. The tinned meat is very good, and we get French bread at
times, which is excellent. Yesterday, passing through a village early,
I went into a small buvette, and got coffee and some chocolate. The
good woman refused all payment, saying she had a son who was “soldat,”
and I could not get her to take any money at all: _Anonymous_.