, in other words, not to upset one's digestion by
unnecessary worrying. The phrase is typical of the mentality of the
Poilu, who accepts anything and everything that may happen,
whether it be merely slight physical discomfort, or intense
suffering, as part of the willing sacrifice which he made on the day
that, leaving his homestead and his daily occupation, he took up
arms "offering his body as a shield to defend the heart of France."

Everything might be worse than it is, says the Poilu, and so he has
composed a Litany. Every regiment has a different version, but
always with the same basis.

"Of two things one is certain: Either you're mobilised or you're not
mobilised. If you're not mobilised, there is no need to worry; if you
are mobilised, of two things one is certain: Either you're behind the
lines or you're on the Front. If you're behind the lines there is no
need to worry; if you're on the Front, of two things one is certain:
Either you're resting in a safe place or you're exposed to danger. If
you're resting in a safe place there is no need to worry; if you're
exposed to danger, of two things one is certain: Either you're
wounded or you're not wounded. If you're not wounded, there is no
need to worry; if you are wounded, of two things one is certain:
Either you're wounded seriously or you're wounded slightly. If
you're wounded slightly there is no need to worry; if you're
wounded seriously, of two things one is certain: Either you recover
or you die. If you recover there is no need to worry; if you die you
can't worry."

When once past the "Wall of China," as the French authorities call
the difficult approaches to the war zone, Meaux was the first town
of importance at which we stopped. We had an opportunity to
sample the army bread, as the driver of a passing bread wagon
flung a large round loaf into our motor.

According to all accounts received from the French soldiers who
are in the prison camps of Germany, one of the greatest hardships
is the lack of white bread, and they have employed various
subterfuges in the endeavour to let their relatives know that they
wish to have bread sent to them.

Some of the Bretons writing home nickname bread "Monsieur
Barras," and when there was a very great shortage they would
write to their families: "Ce pauvre Monsieur Barras ne se porte pas
tres bien a present." (M. Barras is not very well at present.) Finally
the Germans discovered the real significance of M. Bar