And there certainly are problems. Take, for instance, the guarding of the roads. Naturally enough, even in the British War Zone the French are loath to give up command of the road. One cannot expect them to forget completely that only one hundred years ago we were on a hostile and not on a friendly mission! And so until recently they guarded the barriers with fixed bayonets. Alas! the valiant men whose zealous watch was apt to prove irksome have now been called up to the firing-line. We shall no longer be tempted (those of us who are facetiously inclined) to play pranks.
There was a certain art in producing, instead of one's military pass, a card of membership of some long-forgotten club or any legal-looking document, providing it bore a portrait affixed, and, brandishing it in the watchful guard's face with a loud "Laissez-passer militaire," dash on to one's destination. An old Hippodrome ticket has been known to act as well. Ten chances to one, being unable to read English, the guard would let one through, and the delay would be amply repaid by the good laugh.
But as I said, the many minor barriers have disappeared, and there is no bluffing the men who guard the entrance and egress to the town.
June 30th. Since the German introduction of methods of warfare that would shame a savage—the poison gas, the sinking of the Lusitania—the whole attitude of our men towards the enemy has changed, and one can safely predict that next Christmas there will be no exchange of civilities and cigarettes with the Huns as there was last.
Even at home the sluggards seem to be rousing; and the "Frightfulness" whereby the Germans hope to scare Britain into a compromise is, on the contrary, acting as a much-needed tonic.
One is struck out here by the psychology of the youthful subalterns. The high anticipation of "getting out," the silent horror of which they say so little when they are brought face to face with the "Real Thing," and which, once conquered, leads to a resigned fatalism.
It's the same with all of them. "Che sarà, sarà, and if we are to be hit, well, the sooner it's over the better, only it would be nice to know if it's to be an arm, or sight or—the other thing. No matter, anyhow. We shall know it soon enough, and in the meantime there is that long-delayed ninety-six hours' leave in the future to dream of——"
Aye, that leave that many of them will never get!