THE LANDING OF THE FORCE
"_Shall not thou and I, between Saint Dennis and Saint George, compound
a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople, and
take the Turk by the beard?_"
The dominant note in the reception which the French gave to the Force
on landing was undoubtedly that of _relief_. Happy in showering little
courtesies, surprised and delighted with everything British--all these,
but it was relief which came uppermost in their minds. The feeling
which the old pilot had expressed in his "comme ça va bien, maintenant."
And as transport after transport slid quietly to her berth alongside
the broad Rouen quays, discharged her freight of men, horses, guns,
stores, lorries, and the countless trappings of a modern army, and then
as quickly and noiselessly vacated the berth for her successor, so
increased the wonder and delight of the good Normandy folk.
That _les anglais_ should really have arrived was splendid enough, but
that they should also bring with them their own food and cooking
arrangements--"mais c'est tonnant! et quelle organisation!"
Everyone spoke in admiring comment about it. And how Rouen crowded
down to the quays or out to the rest camps to watch _les anglais_
cooking their dinners! Army stores those few days were sadly depleted
of tins of jam, biscuits and "grocery ration." How could one refuse
the hungry look in the eye of a motherly matron as she espied a packet
of the famous English tea?
And the children! We learned for the first time how hungry children
could be when they saw biscuits and jam.
Make a fuss of the kiddies and you have won the mothers! And if you
have won the mothers and women of France you have conquered "la belle
France" herself. And _les anglais_ conquered France in those few days
at the French ports. The happiest of victories, and one which augured
well for the future.
Nothing pleased the French more than British courtesy and gentleness to
women and children; and their kindness to and care of their horses.
British love of personal cleanliness, and the unfailing cheeriness of
the men, these have, of course, long since become proverbial. But then
it was all new to France, almost to the world, and so one records these
things as first impressions.
And the Scotties. Everyone knows how the lads from north of the Tweed
made sad havoc among French hearts. Have they not always done so since
Frenchmen and Scotsmen first clasped hands in alliance?
If a Scotsman was asked once a day whether he wore anything under his
kilt he was asked a hundred times. And truth compels me to add that it
was generally the ladies who put the question. What the answer was I
never found out. I imagine that our lads were not sorry to hide their
blushes in the troop trains which carried them forward to the frontier.
But all these little details have been so admirably recorded by Philip
Gibbs in his masterly book, "The Soul of the War," that there is really
not much more to tell. I shall have still a little to add in the next
chapter, when it comes to trekking up country.
I had some little cause on the first day of landing to regret the
exuberance of French hospitality. Half my men, they were mostly
Special Reservists, suddenly disappeared into the unknown directly they
set foot on shore. And they hadn't a week's pay in their pockets
either.
Eventually I got them rounded up and next morning there were
twenty-five prisoners, "caps off," for "office." To say they were
surprised is to give a very poor indication of their feelings when they
found varying degrees of punishment awarded to them.
But this was nothing to the ludicrous expressions of the men when all
the remainder were paraded and informed what they had to expect on
active service. It ran somewhat as follows:
"When a sentry, sleeping upon his post."
Punishment--DEATH.
"Leaving his C.O. to go in search of
plunder." Punishment--DEATH.
"Forcing a safeguard."--DEATH.
"Quitting his guard without leave."--DEATH.
"Disobeying the lawful command of his
superior officer."--DEATH.
And so on, the lightest punishment being about fourteen years' Rigorous
Imprisonment.
Their faces got longer and longer as the list proceeded, and it was a
very meek detachment who turned to their dinners on the quay-side. And
that was the beginning and end of any trouble with those good lads
until the day when they, or the poor remnant who pulled through,
crowded round to sing "Auld lang syne" and give me a farewell cheer.
Fine work they did, and always as cheery and lovable as any unit in the
Force.
Disembarkation was carried on with the same admirable efficiency which
had characterised embarkation. A large number of British Staff
officers had, I believe, crossed to France immediately upon
mobilisation. There, in collaboration with French colleagues, every
possible arrangement was made for the reception of the Force.
Rest camps were pitched or billets were allotted, branches of the Army
Post Office were established, a field cashier was installed at the
Banque de France and imprests in French notes for the men's pay could
be obtained on demand.
Of course everybody had seized the few hours' holiday on board ship to
write more or less lengthy letters home, hoping, in their innocence,
that the ship's officers would post them on returning to England.
Alas! before ever the ship was berthed, an all-powerful bogy swarmed up
the companion way and greedily snatched away the ship's correspondence.
Calling for a brush and a barrel of black fluid, he gleefully set to
work upon the letters and postcards. When he had finished with them
(and it took him a good couple of hours on our ship) they looked like
the slips of paper you use in the parlour round-game where the first
player writes a line and leaves the next to continue the sentence.
We had all given the most vivid description of our adventures, filling
page after page. When the precious documents ultimately reached their
destination, our fond parents, or best girls, must have been gratified
to find that their four-page letter had dwindled down to:
"MY DEAR FATHER,--
(Four pages of brush and fluid work.)
"Well, I think I have told you all the news now. My love to the Mater
and, cheer-oh, we shall soon be home again.
"Your affect. son,
"----"
It was very interesting to compare the way in which French and British
temperaments expressed themselves; intensely interesting to note how
each so quickly became the complement of the other.
One knew so well the attitude of disdain of anything foreign which
invariably characterises the Briton abroad; an unfortunate attitude
which has been encouraged, or so it would almost seem, by the
invariable courtesy, under the most irritating conditions, of men and
women of the Latin races.
Here were some seventy or eighty thousand men thrust headlong into a
strange country. Probably at least two-thirds of that number had never
been out of England before. Everyone knows the impression which your
average Englishman of the middle and lower classes has of French men
and French women. Certainly it has not been very complimentary. How
would our men now bear themselves?
And if our attitude to the French has for the most part been one of
cold disdain and amusement, the French would seem to have regarded us,
as a race, with incredulity, tempered by such a degree of irritation as
their native courtesy would permit. This, together with an under
current of admiration.
"_Que j'aime la hardiesse anglaise!_" says Voltaire, "_que j'aime les
gens qui disent ce qu'ils pensent._"
During those early August days before the Retreat there was little real
opportunity to modify racial opinions. But if British disdain was not
yet effaced, the overwhelming reception by the French went far to break
it down. Soon it was to be washed clean away in the blood sacrament
which united French and English in a closer tie than that of
brothers-in-arms.
French methods and customs still amused our men, but the amusement
became that light-hearted gaiety, in tackling and surmounting trifling
difficulties in a foreign country, which is quite irresistible. Here
the British soldier or sailor is always at his very best, and the
anecdotes of his adventures in French villages and towns would fill a
volume.
Wiseacres who try to invent some universal language should certainly
base it upon that of Thomas A. in a strange country. He is equally at
home in China, Peru, the wilds of Africa or Spain.
The fact which astonished him more than anything else about the French
language was that all the children spoke it. He could understand
grown-ups learning it in time; but how the kiddies were able to talk it
with such amazing fluency, that was quite beyond him.
As for the French attitude of mind, I am inclined to think that their
incredulity, admiration and irritation were all intensified; the last
named, however, being even less in evidence than before.
The attitude of the French women is easier to define. It is literally
true to remark that, from highest to lowest in the land, there were no
half measures in their welcome. One can say this now because the fact
has long since been recognised and openly discussed in France. This,
however, is not the place in which to make more than passing reference
to a subject which, apart from the purely human aspect, is more a
matter for the student of physiology or psychology.
"Combien de coeurs vous avez ravagé dans un si petit délai que vous
avez stationné ici," a French girl once remarked, "et cependant on ne
devrait pas refuser aux anglais les baisers qu'ils nous demandent
puisqu'ils se donnent pour nous."
And the last half of the sentence admirably sums up the French woman's
point of view.
This landing of the portion of the Force at Rouen was typical of what
happened at Boulogne or Havre. John Buchan, in his first volume of the
"History of the War," has given a most interesting glimpse of incidents
at the former port.
In no case did the troops remain at these bases for more than a couple
of days. Nobody appeared to have the least idea of what was going on
up at the frontiers, but time was obviously of importance.
No one knew where they were bound for; no one appeared to have the
slightest presentiment of the tragedy, and the magnificence of the days
which were so soon to crowd upon them. Still the cheery,
light-hearted, end-of-term spirit. A summer holiday on the Continong!
Cheer-oh!
And so they were merry parties of men which boarded the funny French
trains; where you had to clamber up the sides of the carriages from
platforms which didn't really exist, and where you were packed in like
a Cup Tie crowd returning from the Crystal Palace.
How the horses hated those French trucks. Never before had they
suffered such indignity. I would not have been a stableman on duty in
one of those trucks for many a month's pay.
"Mais, quelles bêtes!" said the railway officials. And the porters
would run and fetch the stationmaster and gesticulate at the
Compagnie's trucks, which had begun to look like bundles of firewood
long before the frontier was reached.
"Third return Clapham Junction, please," said the company wag.
"Wotto! Berlin! Not 'arf," shouted the rest....
And off the trains would steam, every compartment labelled "Berlin."
It's rather pathetic how history repeats itself. This time the French
were silent. They _knew_.
So, forward into the unknown!