t, but
without a great deal of enthusiasm showing on the surface. Later on I
saw French soldiers on the march several times. They get over the
ground very fast; but it is more go as you please with them than with
us. I have often noticed how grave these poilus look, even after the
war was over. Nothing of the reckless fun and explosive good humour of
the British soldier. If the latter is not having a rotten time he is
wonderfully cheerful and often light-hearted.

I have also seen the French soldiers holding the line in a quiet part;
and indeed we 'took over' from them there. They do not expose
themselves nearly so much as we do near the trenches. Everything
seemed to be done with scientific method and every one seemed to know
exactly what to do on all occasions. They hold their front line
thinly, trusting in case of accidents to recover it by a
counter-attack. And if the French are not fighting a battle they
generally keep their front as quiet as they can. This of course is all
very different from our own system. If we had a quiet part of the
line, it was generally because we had silenced the enemy's guns and
trench-mortars by fighting.

I had one great chance of studying the French officer at home in these
trenches. Shortly before taking over the French Regimental Commander
in the line asked our Brigadier, Brigade-Major, and 'one other
officer' to visit the trenches, but to be sure and call in at
Regimental H.Q. before proceeding up the line. This was really an
invitation of goodwill and ceremony rather than an invitation to
examine the line. But as this was not quite understood at the time I
was included in the party as Brigade Bombing Officer, rather than the
Staff-Captain or Machine-Gun Officer, either of whom should have gone
in my place. So on a terribly cold day at the end of January 1917 we
set off, and after a long ride from Dernancourt to Fontaine-les-Cappy
in a motor-car, we arrived near Regimental H.Q. and proceeded there on
foot. The Brigadier was a fair French linguist, I had about two words
of French, and the Brigade-Major had none. So it was just as well that
the junior Etat-Major happened to be a fluent English speaker.
Indeed, he had spent a good time in Newcastle and knew not only
England but the north. We were welcomed by the French Brigadier with
every mark of courtesy and goodwill. It is the custom for a French
officer to salute his superior and then to shake hands with him. The
salute is given