Life in the trenches appears by no means to be the irksome and
dreadful thing it is reported to be. According to soldiers just
back in Paris from the firing line troops that are supposed to face
each other grimly across a fire-swept space only a few hundred yards
wide are not the bloodthirsty fellows we all took them for.
They carry chivalry into their work, and certain conventions, all
making for comfort, have been tacitly established between them.
For example, toward midday both sides suspend fire in order that
they may eat luncheon in peace. They would undoubtedly oblige each
other when the evening meal is due but for the unhappy fact that the
dinner hours of the contending armies do not tally.
Obviously, says a facetious Frenchman, it is somebody's duty to see
that the meal hours of the opposing forces synchronize exactly. The
soldiers entertain each other with music, the trenches on either
side furnishing items turn and turn about.