i6 
LAND & WATER 
November g, 1916 
and the pleasure of sharing -his store of good tilings with . 
his comrades. There. is seldom a rctjucst made to the 
French behind the hncs that they do not attempt to 
lulhl. I remember last winter, passing through a town 
in the provinces, I noticed that the elderly men appeared 
to be scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. 
It appeared that the call had gone forth for fur coats 
for the troops, and all the worthy citizens of the town 
forwarded to the trenches their caracul coats. Only 
those who are well acquainted with French provincial 
life can know what it means to them to part with these 
signs of opulence and commercial success. 
France Behind the Line 
It is perhaps in the post ollices that you lind your- 
self nearest to the heart of " France behind the lines." 
One morning I endeavourad to send a parcel to a French 
soldier ; I took my place in a long line of waiting women 
bound on the same errand. A white haired woman be- 
fore me gave the Post Office clerk infinite trouble. They 
are not renowned for their patience and I marvelled at his 
gentleness, until he explained " fier son died five weeks 
ago but she still continues to send him parcels." 
To another old lady he pointed out that she had 
written two numbers on the parcel. " You don't want 
two numbers, Mother. Which is your boy's number, tell me 
and I will strike out the other ? '' " Leave them both," she 
answered, " Who knows whether my dear lad will be there 
to receive the parcel ? If he is not, I want it to go to some 
other Mother's son." 
Affection means much to these men who are suffering 
and they respond at once to any sympathy shown to 
them. One man informed us with pride that when he 
left his native village he was " decked like an altar of 
the Blessed Virgin on the first of May." In other words, 
covered with flowers. 
There are but few lonely soldiers now, since those who 
ha\-e no families to write to them receive letters and 
parcels from the Godmothers who have adopted them. 
The men anxiously await the news of their adopted re- 
latives and spend hours writing replies. They love to 
receive letters, but needless to say a parcel is even more 
welcome. 
I remember seeing one man writing page after page. 
I suggested to him that he must have a particularly 
charming godmother. " Mademoiselle," he replied, " I 
have no time for a godmother since I myself am a god- 
father." He then explained that far away in his village 
there was a young assistant in his shop, " and (iod knows 
the boy loves France, but both his lungs are touched, so 
they won't take him, but I write and tcil him that the 
good God has given me strength for two, that I fight for 
him and for rnyself, and that we are both doing well for 
France." I went back in imagination to the village, I 
could see the glint in the boys' eyes, realise how the blood 
pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of, not the 
personal pronoun " I " in the singular, but the plural 
" We are doing well for France," for one glorious moment 
he was part of the hosts of France and in spirit serving 
his Motherland. It is that spirit of the French nation 
that their enemies will never imderstand. 
On one occasion a young German officer, covered with 
mud from head to foot, was brought before one of the 
French Generals. He had been taken fighting cleanly, 
and the General was anxious to show him kindness. He 
asked him if he wo\ild not prefer to cleanse himself before 
examination. The young German drew himself up and 
replied ; " Look at me, (k'licral, I am covered from 
head to foot with mud, and that nmd is the soil of F'rance 
—you will never possess as much soil in Germany." The 
General turned to him with that gentle courtesy which 
marks the higher commands in France and answered : 
" Monsieur, we may never possess as much soil in Ger- 
many, but there is something that you will never possess, 
and," until you conquer it, you cannot vanquish France, 
it is the spirit of the l-Vench people." ■ ; • ' 
The iMcncli find it difficult to understand thearrogance 
which appears ingrained in the German charaeler and 
which existed before the war. •' ' 
1 read once that in the Guests Book of a Frencli Hotel 
a Teutonic visitor wrote : . ■■■t 
L'Allcmagne csl la premiere nation du monde." ■ 
The next French visitor merely added : 
" Yes." " Allemagne is the first country of the 
world if we take them in alphabetical order." 
I left tlie Mar zone with an increased respect, if this 
were possible, for the men of l<"rancc. They have altered 
tiicir uniforms but the spirit is unchanged. They are no 
longer in the red and blue of the old days, but in shadqs of 
green, grey and blue, colours blending to form one mighty 
ocean — wave on wave of patriotism — beating against and 
wearing down the rocks of military preparedness of 40 
years, and as no man has yet been able to say to the 
Ocean stop, so no man shall cry " Halt " to the Armies of 
France. 
I have spoken much of the men of France, but 
the women have also earned our respect— those 
splendid peasant women, who even in times of peace 
worked, and now carry a double burden on their shoulders 
— the middle class women, endeavouring to keep together 
the little business built up by the man with years of toil, 
stinting themselves tq save five francs to send a parcel to 
the man at the front that he may not suspect that there 
is not still every comfort in the little homestead — the noble 
women of FYancc, who in past years could not be seen, before 
noon, since my lady was at her toilette, and who can be seen 
now, their hands scratched and bleeding, kneeling on the 
floors of the hospitals scrubbing, proud and happy to take 
their part in national service. The men owe much of 
their courage to the attitude of the women who stand 
behind them, turning their tears to smiles to urge their 
men to even greater deeds of heroism. 
A Spartan Mother 
In one of our hospitals was a young lad of 17 who had 
managed to enlist as an "engage volonlairc " by lying as 
to his age. His old mother came to visit him, and she 
told me he was the last of her three sons ; the two cider 
ones had died the first week of the war at Pont-a-Mousson, 
and her little home had been burned to the ground. The 
boy had spent his. time inventing new and terrible 
methods of dealing with the enemy, but with his mother 
he became a child again and tenderly patted the old face. 
Seeing the lad in his mother's arms, and forgetting for 
one moment the spirit of the French nation, I asked her 
if she would not be glad if her boy was so wounded that she 
might take him home. She was only an old peasant 
woman, but her eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed with anger, 
and turning to me she said : 
" Mademoiselle, how dare you say such a thing to me ? 
If all the mothers, wives and sweethearts thought as you 
what would happen to the country ? Gustave has only one 
thing to do, get well quickly and fight for Mother France." 
Because these women of France have sent their men 
forth to die, eyes dry, with stiff lips and head erect, do 
not think that they do not mourn for them. When night 
casts her kindly mantle of darkness over all, when they 
are hidden from the eyes of the world, it is then that the 
proud heads droop and are bent upon their arms, as the 
women cry out in the bitterness of their souls for the 
men who have gone from them. Yet they realise that 
behind them stands the greatest Mother of all — Mother 
France, who sees coming towards her, from all frontiers, 
line on line of ambulances with their burden of suffering 
humanity, yet watches along other routes her sons going 
forth in thousands, laughter in their eyes, songs on 
their lips, ready and willing to die for her. 
France draws around her her tattered and bloodstained 
robe, yet what matters the outer raiment ? Bcliind 
it shines fortli her glorious, exultant .soul, and she lifts 
up her head rejoicing and ])roclaims to the world that 
when she appealed, man, woman, and child — the whole 
of the French nation answered to her call. 
CHA NGE OF ADDR ESS 
Owing to the Government having commandeered the 
offices of "LAND AND WATER," the address of 
its Editorial and Advertising Offices are henceforth : 
OLD SERJEANTS" INN, 
5, CHANCERY LANE, 
LONDON. W.C. 
Telcohonc: HOLBORN 2828. 
