HE WANTED POTATOES
A section of British infantry entered a French village in the evening and were going to billet for the night, so many thought it a good chance to cook a hot supper. A private had foraged round and found everything to make a good Irish stew except the potatoes. Being unable to speak French, he asked his section commander what was the French for potatoes. The section commander, being a bit of a wit and scenting some fun, replied, “Bon soir” (“Good evening”).
The private in perfect good faith went up to a house door and was answered by a Frenchwoman, who did not understand one word of English, and the following conversation occurred:
Private—“Bon soir.”
Frenchwoman—“Bon soir, monsieur.”
Private—“Yes, bon soir.”
Frenchwoman—“Bon soir, monsieur.”
Private—“Yes, yes! Some bon soirs, please.”
Thomas Atkins, seeing the look of amazement on the good Frenchwoman’s face, and seeing a potato lying in the roadway, thought he had better adopt different tactics, so, picking up the potato and showing it to the woman, said: “Here, missus, give us some of these blooming spuds!”