Then, his
expression changing from jovial good-humour to grimness, he added: "You
know, I call him 'Zepp,' because he kills the little ones" ("parcequ'il
tue les tous petits").
In one small cantonment where 200 _poilus_ sang, shouted, ate, drank,
and danced together to the strain of a wheezy gramophone, or in one word
were "resting," I started to investigate the various kinds of pets owned
by the troopers. Cats, dogs, and monkeys were common, whilst one _poilu_
was the proud possessor of a parrot which he had purchased from a
refugee obliged to fly from his home. He hastened to assure us that the
bird had learned his "vocabulary" from his former proprietor. A study
in black and white was a group of three or four white mice, nestling
against the neck of a Senegalais.
The English Tommy is quite as devoted to animals as is his French
brother. I remember crossing one bitter February day from Boulogne to
Folkestone. Alongside the boat, on the quay at Boulogne, were lined up
the men who had been granted leave. Arrayed in their shaggy fur coats,
they resembled little the smart British Tommy of peace times. It was
really wonderful how much the men managed to conceal under those fur
coats, or else the eye of the officer inspecting them was intentionally
not too keen.
Up the gangway trooped the men, and I noticed that two of them walked
slowly and cautiously. The boat safely out of harbour, one of them
produced from his chest a large tabby cat, whilst the other placed a
fine cock on the deck.
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