BRITISH SOLDIERS IN FRANCE.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LXIX, Issue LXIX, 17 March 1915, Page 3

BRITISH SOLDIERS IN FRANCE.

ALLIED TROOPS FRATERNISE

Miss Augusta Foote, a San Francisco girl, who is contributing to the Bulletin a series of articles on "How I saw Europe at War," writes:— "Paris, as might be supposed, is soldier mad. Wherever troops go they are received with something like adoration. But when the convalescent wounded are strong enough to promenade, these heroes and sufferers are nearly mobbed by the populace. The convalescents, as a rule, take the air in groups, made up of %he varied allied nationalities—for a Frenchman on such occasions always wants to have by his side the English, Belgians, Turcos and Hindoos. They are in high spirits, as they walk along the streets, very chummy, all talking at once, and perhaps none understanding the other's language. The foreign troops make some kind of a wild stab at talking French, and to promote this laudable intent they rae provided with dictionaries and phrase books which are supposed to cover the entire realm of general conversation. It is quite a sight at times to see several earnest men holding discourses through the medium of these linguistic guides.

Of course the girls are deeply interested and never tire of giving little tokens of goodwill, such as cigarettes and flowers, to the wounded men who ai*e able to walk the streets. And the men, of course, want to look the part of the knight errant and "preux chevalier." Most of the foreigners have some stock speech that they do not understand in the least, in which "ma belle fille," "vobeaux yeux," and other gallant allusions, pleasing to the gentler sex, take a leading part. They are always trying to do the right thing at the right time, though sometimes rather rattled when a question of etiquette suddenly pops up. One afternoon, for instance, I was riding in a street train, as usual occupied by women. Enter a uniformed turbaned Hindoo, a fine specimen of manhood, who would have made an ideal Moor for Shakespeare's Othello. Here was a dilemma, more disooncerti"T than an enemy's front, bristling with artillery- The dusky warrior, seemed to think something was expected of him, but just what he had not the faintest notion. Suddenly the warrior's face was brightened under the kindly influence of an idea. He liad a bag of peanuts in his hand. Arising from hist seat, he graciously presented the opened bag to each and every woman. All the ladies took one or two. It was my fortune to be the last, and he dumped the remaining peanuts in my lap. All of us had a laugh, and the Hindoo resumed his seat proudly, with the air of satisfaction of one who had just g/me through, a successful military action.. In France, as in every other country ]n Europe, whether belligerent or otherwise, nine-tenths of the women spend all their leisure time knitting for 4he. soldiers in the trenches. Even on the streets you see them at their work. T+, is no harm to say it now, but_ there is good reason to believe that this was overdone. Even before I left- France stories were afloat that the soldiers in the trenches were using knitted goods for gun swabs and the like.