The French make a lot of us in camp, and when we pass each other in the field, no matter how busy the Frenchmen may be, they give us hearty cheers to encourage us on our way. There’s plenty of friendly rivalry between us when there’s hard fighting to be done, and when we do get there before the French they don’t grudge us our luck. They’re good sports right through to the core, and the British soldier asks nothing better from allies in the field: _Lance-Corporal E. Hood_. “Give You Anything” The French are so good-natured they would give anything, even to the last bit of bread in the house, to our people. To us invalids on our way through Paris they gave a good reception, bringing grapes, bananas, peaches, cigarettes, tobacco, and bouquets of flowers. They are thundering good-natured. To our mounted men the poorer classes would also bring out buckets of milk and of water, and the women would come with their aprons full of fruit. They would give you anything: _A British Gunner_. Bearded like Pards What strikes you most in this country is the enthusiasm of the people for their army. They have flocked to the colours by the thousand, and I fancy the biggest problem here is what to do with the men when you get them. Our own army looks small beside the French, but it is fit in every way, and we hear its praises sung in strange places. Some of our chaps look queer now that they have taken to letting their beards grow, and you would not know them: _Private G. Busby_. “Fag” Making We are always in the thick of it, and we are doing grand work. The whistle of the shells is not exactly Tango music, but still the troops are very cheerful. Most of the time we have had good weather, but just now the rain is a bit troublesome. The behaviour of the French people in the fighting area is wonderful. They are just splendid. It is very difficult to get a smoke here, and when anyone strikes a match it is amusing to see the rush. The British Tommies are getting quite expert at “fag” making: _Pte. Kay, Northumberland Fusiliers_. The Little Children The French “kiddies” all love the British Tommy, and would do anything to have a ride on one of our shoulders or hold our hands, and they stand on their heads with delight to receive a cap badge or something as a souvenir. Their bacca, which they call “tabac,” is cruel, and it costs more than English bacca in the long run, as it smokes so quickly and you have to smoke all day to get a smoke, whereas our bacca satisfies us in a minute or two. Their matches are horrible. “Allumettes” they call them, and they are a hundred a penny, and you have to wait half a minute for them to light and get asphyxiated in the bargain: _A Private, from Mons_. In Hospital