"Oh," replied the Englishman, "I get my living fairly
easily--nothing half so strenuous as peeling potatoes. I am just a
colonel."
The clean-shaven Tommy is the beloved of all France. I remember seeing
one gallant khaki knight carrying the market-basket of a French maiden
and repaying himself out of her store of apples. I regret to say his
pockets bulged suspiciously. Whilst at a level crossing near by, the old
lady in charge of the gate had an escort of "Tommies" who urged her to
let the train "rip." This was somewhat ironical in view of the fact that
the top speed in that part of the war zone was probably never more than
ten miles an hour.
Tommy is never alone. The children have learned that he loves their
company, and he is always surrounded by an escort of youthful admirers.
The children like to rummage in his pockets for souvenirs. He must
spend quite a good deal of his pay purchasing sweets, so that they may
not be disappointed and that there may be something for his little
friends to find. I remember seeing one Tommy, sitting in the dusty road
with a large pot of marmalade between his legs, dealing out spoonfuls
with perfect justice and impartiality to a circle of youngsters. He
speaks to them of his own little "nippers" at home, and they in turn
tell him of their father who is fighting, of their mother who now works
in the fields, and of baby who is fearfully ignorant, does not know the
difference between the French and the "Engleesch," and who insisted on
calling the great English General who had stayed at their farm "papa.
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