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Updated: June 23, 2025
A French poilu in a little book of reminiscences tells with glee how a German observation aviator deceived his batteries. A considerable body of French troops being halted in an open field, out of sight of the enemy batteries, found the glare of the sun oppressive, and having some time to wait threw down their equipment and betook themselves to the cool shadows of a neighbouring wood.
From all the dug-outs heads popped out, and the first movement of surprise at seeing a woman in the trenches turned to a smile of delight, since the poilu is at all times a chivalrous gentleman. One man was telling me of the magnificent work that had been accomplished by his "compagnie." I congratulated him and told him he must be happy to be in such a company.
Let's get behind those concrete and stone walls and search for a spot where we can hold out and stand a siege till our fellows counter-attack and relieve us." The veteran poilu of the party smote his hands together and tilted his steel helmet backward. "Mon Dieu," he cried, "but that is it! Our Henri has thought of a splendid thing for us. Ecoutez!
I regret to add that a "Poilu" near by disrespectfully referred to it as "another of the horrors of war," adding that in times of peace there was some kind of personal liberty, whereas now "a man could not have toothache without being forced to have it ended, and that there was no possibility of escaping a dentist who hunted you down by motor."
In one small cantonment where two hundred 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.
The phrase is typical of the mentality of the Poilu, who accepts anything and everything that may happen, whether it be merely slight physical discomfort, or intense suffering, as part of the willing sacrifice which he made on the day that, leaving his homestead and his daily occupation, he took up arms "offering his body as a shield to defend the heart of France."
A poilu who was en permission and who was sitting at the next table, turned to him, saying, "You have no right to grumble: you receive 10 to 12 francs a day for making shells, and we poor devils get 5 sous a day for stopping them!"
I saw a scene with a French poilu one day in the Street of the Three Pebbles, during those battles of the Somme, when the French troops were fighting on our right from Maricourt southward toward Roye. It was like a scene from "Gaspard." The poilu was a middle-aged man, and very drunk on some foul spirit which he had bought in a low cafe down by the river.
The men are for the most part shortish, very thick-set, and burned by the sun to the color of a much-used saddle. I rather expected to see bearded, unkempt fellows, but I found them clean-shaven and extraordinarily neat. The Italian military authorities do not approve of the poilu.
They are clambering at the windows and playing in the dirt before the door, all clad in a many-colored collection of scraps which an ingenious mother has pieced together. A little boy, wearing the blue callot of a poilu on the back of his head, sits on the doorsill. He smiles and stands up, and tells me his mother is inside.
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