LAND AND WATER. 
September 25, 1915. 
DRAINING A FRENCH VILLAGE. 
By a R.A.M.G Sergeant. 
OL'R village here is a charming little place. 
Silting in a half-mown meadow 1 can see it 
now beyond two fields — a few red roofs 
hidden in willows and aspens, its exquisite 
church tower and carved steeple standing up 
above roofs and trees. On my right is a line of aspens 
(in French, pcupliers de Canada, and known colloquially 
as Canadas) marks the stream's bank and on my left are 
the two large barns and the orchard where we are 
billeted. Behind me an aged man and his wife are 
engaged in the difficult task of mowing tliat part of the 
meadow which has been wired over as an entanglement : 
they have been patiently at it now for some weeks, and 
the precious hay is loaded on to a wagon resembling a 
Noah's Ark, which is dragged by a cow. The cow 
grazes peacefully for hours while the wagon is filling. 
Over this " pastoral " the baby swallows have been 
playing, strengthening their young wings for autumn 
flight; but now they have flown up into the air in a little 
cloud and gone off to their nests. A few fields away is 
the canal — the broad and stately waterway lined with 
giant Canadas that backs nearly the whole length of our 
line. The banks narrow to a bottle-neck at the swing 
bridges that occur every mile or so; there is only just 
room here for the large grey Red Cross barges to pass. 
These barges pass majestically at regular intervals 
during the day, attended by two steam tugs — one in 
front pulling and one behind prodding. The tugs are 
Thames or Humber vessels familiar to residents of 
Chelsea, and familiar voices are heard upon them. 
Barges and Bridges. 
When a Red Cross barge passes one of these swing 
bridges (that seem to be worked by children) everyone 
runs out of doors and hangs over the abutments and rails 
trying to look on deck. Our troops have entrenched 
this canal. In one cottage garden on the bank the 
owners have not been in the least disturbed by the 
changes, and have their crop of peas half at ground level, 
and half on the top of a dug-out. 
Well, we descended upon this village about five 
weeks ago, nose somewhat out of joint, having told our- 
selves for some days that we were en route for the trenches. 
Two hospitals were set up, one in a school and one in a 
mill, both cleaned scrupulously and rendered spotless 
with whitewash. The divisional sick come here and a 
few cases of wounded. A few minor operations 
are done. Those of us who were not occupied 
with hospital work had plenty of work to do 
cleanmg the camp, village, and neighbourhood. 
Ihe villagers had had experience of English before 
but not of that inquisitive zeal into their sanitarv 
arrangements that presently became apparent. Their 
niost secret cess-pits were invaded. Dogs who had been 
chamed up for years in unspeakable dirty backyards 
were set barkmg. Cats and other things that had been 
buried for years in the friendly mud of the town sewer 
duch were ruthlessly exposed. Mr. R., one of our 
oflicers, descended upon them every morning with half 
a dozen ruthless men in grey shirtsleeves, and a terror 
of a sergeant, whose bro.d back, red neck, and dS- 
approvmg eye seemed to embody all the Aggressive 
attributes of John Bull. -SfaicsMve 
S.r/°'"^n''^'^^''°"-'^'''''^^ ^^ f"-st tried to protest to 
thefbacStdl"^^^" ^^ ^"^ ^^"''"-' ^'■^^••"/^n 
16 
its two to three feet of mud. It is supplied b'y a pipe 
from the river partly choked up. The first thing done 
was to double the supply of water. Then the inhabitants 
saw with alarm the water behind their backyards rising 
inch by inch, and those persons were specially alarmed 
who had their back doors and side doors opening on to 
a footboard across the sewer : the water rose upwards 
to their threshold, and swirled along, scouring out the 
mud of years. 
Sluicing the Main Sewer. 
Another imaccountable piece of work was as follows 
— the incredibly energetic English officers discovered 
a weir and a sluice some way down the stream below the 
village. This sluice used in normal times to be opened 
once a year, and the sewer ditch thereby drained dry 
for the purposes of inspection. It had a two or three foot 
head of water against it. But the officer and his sergeant 
went every morning, and, bending their two powerful 
backs, hauled up the sluice unaided, and watched with 
interest the debris of the village pass by in a turbid 
cataract into the river. This performance the officer used 
to term (in trenchant medical) " passing a catheter on 
the village." This caused the water to drop as rapidly 
as it had risen, and then complaints came from certain 
brasserie yards that their water had gone and they could 
no longer water their horses. 
When the sewer had thus been swilled and emptied 
for several weeks the whole place was much improved, 
but Mr. R. at one time vowed that he went in danger 
of his life. He described to me a voyage of discovery 
he took up the more secret reaches of the sewer behind 
the backs of certain estaminets. Progress was difficult 
owing to the crumbling banks, walls eaten away, tin 
cans and green scum. Irate faces peeped over yard 
walls and through larder windows, tongues were heard 
behind doors, and once a dog pushed his teeth through a 
gap in a hedge, snarling horribly. 
An Autocratic Sergeant. 
When the water was clean, or comparatively so, 
a new trouble arose over the question whether the 
inhabitants might continue to use it for what they 
deemed its natural purpose— viz., to throw into it their 
slops, their beef bones, and all and sundry. Sergeant P. 
declared they must not, and, for a brief period,' 
endeavoured to force his will upon the community. 
Those who benefited by a back access could escape his 
vigilance, but many were obliged to reach the sewer 
down the man street. Then a sight for the gods was 
the spectacle of some irritable, perplexed, frightened 
housewife peeping out of her front door and waiting 
until Sergeant P.'s broad back had receded far down the 
street— then her dash with a pail of slops to the ditch 
and back again. 
Sergeant P. was the man who made the famous 
remark about French people (whom he does not under- 
stand, and consequently does not like) : " These 'ere 
people talk and talk, but I'm darned if they under- 
stand their own blooming language." 
in ./"i%!f ^°'"P^"y I have collected names of flowers 
Ir. !-n, ^^-jdens round about. Some of the names 
are cottage rather than classic. But we tried all we 
could to get them correct. Marigold, pansies and violas, 
begomas and petunias, small shrubs of fuchsias 
fS'"'"''^^'^"'' ^^^''^ P""")' stocks, candyS 
small snapdragons nasturtiums, pyrethrum, chrysan' 
tlienium to come thrift for borders. love-lies-bleedJ,g- 
Lifw^iiSms' '''''■'-' «— hyme,, pinks, a^ 
