Then there is a turn military which discloses the nature of the friendly encounters between the Poilu and the girls of the village through which he is passing.
There is some really good singing. And there is always a song in English, delivered with a naïve crudity of pronunciation, to which the English soldiers respond at the chorus with allied fervour. "The Only Girl," "Who were you with Last Night?" "Here we are Again," are the favourites.
The ushers are girls. They know how to keep in order the crowd of lewd French youths in spirited attire who affect the pit, who, without restraint, would make the place unbearable. Mostly the ushers do it with their tongues; where these weapons fail they cuff them, and cuff them hard—no mere show of violence. The French termagant is a fearsome creature. She's here, and she's conducting on the tram-cars. There she is a match for any man. No lout is free to dispute her authority. She always emerges from a battle of words master of the situation. Master is the word. The conductors are the only girls (though mostly women) in Rouen who are not pretty as a class. Individuals are, but the class is unsexed, growing moustaches which are often more than incipient. The only womanly thing about them is their black dress and perky, red-edged cap. They give the impression that they would do well in the trenches. The theatre ushers—who are "chuckers-out" too—are less masculine and less plain-featured. The management chooses them with half an eye to feature, with a regard chiefly to physical strength. The tramways manager lays no store by looks. Why should he? Good looks don't draw custom on the cars. But he does ensure that they shall be able to take care of themselves, and "boss" the vehicle.
CHAPTER V
LA BOUILLE
The steamer leaves the Quai de Paris every afternoon at two. Most days it is crowded. The War does not hinder women and the ineligible and les blessés from taking their pleasure down the lovely Seine. Why should it? People should in war-time look to the efficiency of civilians as well as of soldiers. It is as profitable, to this end, that the Seine pleasure-boats should run as that the London theatres should keep open under the darkened anti-Zeppelin sky.
It's women who crowd the boat, with their sons and their younger brothers. There's also a leavening of handsome women who go down for purposes not considered virtuous by the British. There are many soldiers—en permission, with powers of enjoyment equal to those of the Tommy who shouts to the liftmaid in the Tube: "Hurry up, miss! I've only got ten days!" These fellows from the trenches, with their women hanging upon them, are prepared to compress much into their leave. There are a few wanting limbs, who are not on leave.