The civilian population of France show their appreciation of the Australians in many ways. They are ready at any moment to give rooms in their homes to men back from the lines, to prepare hot meals for them, dry their clothes, wash and mend their underclothing.
On one occasion the Prefect of the Department of the Somme on behalf of the French Government conveyed to the Australian Commander the admiration and appreciation of the French people for the Australian Army, not only for the work done by the soldiers in the field when they fought against the invaders of France, but also for the behaviour of the troops when quartered in the back area with the civilian population, and the care taken of all property belonging to the people.
Wherever the Diggers go they seem to win the universal affection of women and children. An officer told me how these big men, rough in many ways, fiery in language and frank to the point of brutality at times, when they came to the ruined homes near Villers-Bretonneux, set themselves during lulls in the fighting to the kindly job of repairing the houses, salving the property, setting the religious pictures at correct angles on the walls and mending the broken shrines. They placed cradles and children's toys in the safety of the cellars so that these might be ready to hand when the little ones returned to their homes again. Having done this they took up the fighting again, so that the country might be made ready for the home-coming of the refugees.
Among the soldiers in the café were many of those who had fought at Villers-Bretonneux and made history in defence of Amiens. But at present a distance removed from the scene of war they were absorbed in amusements and games that caused them to forget all about the life of the firing line.
At one corner of the room half a dozen men were playing "Two up," winning and losing much money, others were talking of past operations on the field, tracing with beer-wetted fingers the lines held by themselves and the enemy. A tall dark man sat by the stove, his half-empty glass on the floor at his feet and a big bowled pipe in his mouth.
"What's your battalion?" he suddenly inquired, fixing his eye on a man near him, one whom he had never met before. This Digger, a youngster with a slight fringe of down on his upper lip, was leaning both elbows on the table and gazing contemplatively at the empty glass which stood in front of him.
"I'm fifth——" was the answer.
"Know old Harry C——?" inquired the tall man.
"Should think I do," said the other. "Knew him in Brighton. Played football against his team. Fine fellow, old Harry."
"Killed?"