About Christmas of 1917 I was on the Somme with one of the most
Cockney of the many battalions of the Royal Fusiliers. As we sheltered
in dug-outs from the "gale" Fritz was putting over, to our surprise
we heard a voice greet us in French, "_Allons, mes enfants_: _Ça va
toujours_."
Looking up we beheld an old man in shabby suit and battered hat who
seemed the typical French peasant. "Well, of all the old idiots,"
called out the sergeant. "Shut yer face an' 'ook it, ye blamed old
fool." For answer the old man gave the sergeant the surprise of his
life by seizing him in a grip of iron and planting a resounding kiss on
each cheek, French fashion.
Just at that moment some brass hats came along and the mystery was
explained. The "old fool" was the late Georges Clemenceau, then French
War Minister, who had come to see for himself what it was like in our
sector and had lost his guides.
"An' to think that 'e kissed me just like I was a kid, after I'd told
'im to 'ook it," commented the sergeant afterwards. "Wonder wot 'e'd 'a
done 'ad I told 'im to go to 'ell, as I'd 'alf a mind to."
Years later I was one of a party of the British Legion received in
Paris by "The Tiger," and I recalled the incident. "Père La Victoire"
laughed heartily. "That Cockney sergeant was right," he said, "I was an
old fool to go about like that in the line, but then somebody has got
to play the fool in war-time, so that there may be no follies left for
the wise heads to indulge in."--_H. Stockman, Hôtel Terminus, Rue St.
Lazare, Paris, VIIIème, France._