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Updated: May 27, 2025
I hesitated for an instant, thinking that it might be difficult for him to pronounce my real name, and then, with the most praiseworthy intentions, intimated that I was known as “Tom.” But I could not have made a worse selection; the chief could not master it: “Tommo,” “Tomma,” “Tommee,” everything but plain “Tom.” As he persisted in garnishing the word with an additional syllable, I compromised the matter with him at the word “Tommo”; and by that name I went during the entire period of my stay in the valley.
'Tommo, 'Tomma', 'Tommee', everything but plain 'Tom'. As he persisted in garnishing the word with an additional syllable, I compromised the matter with him at the word 'Tommo'; and by that name I went during the entire period of my stay in the valley. The same proceeding was gone through with Toby, whose mellifluous appellation was more easily caught.
For that matter, the French peasants love the English. They never saw any before, and their admiration and devotion to "Tommee," as they call him, is unbounded. They think him so "chic," and he is. No one not even I, who so love them could ever accuse the "piou- piou" of being chic.
They don't understand very much of each other's speech, but they "muddle through," as Atkins puts it, with "any old lingo." The French call out, "Bravo, Tommee!" and share cigarettes with him: and Atkins, not very sure of his new comrades' military Christian name, replies with a cheery "Right, Oh!"
You can keep the cake you po-ah Tommee." Copper rammed the good stuff into his long-cold pipe and puffed luxuriously. Two years ago the sister of gunner-guard De Souza, East India Railway, had, at a dance given by the sergeants to the Allahabad Railway Volunteers, informed Copper that she could not think of waltzing with "a poo-ah Tommee."
"When Clemmy saw the name on the rifle, he asked what it meant and I told him it was named after a pal of mine back home in the U.S.A. Tom Slade. Little I knew you were waltzing around the war zone on that thing of yours. I almost laughed in his face when he said, 'M'soo Tommee should be proud."
Chairs were pushed back in the living room. Down the back steps came a rapid, clumsy, heavy tread. Then the loud, coarse voice of the cook. "Tommee Tommee! I wonder whar dat chile gone to!" The front door opened with a burst of voices. Enemies of freedom were closing in from every side. Freedom and slavery hung in the crimson pressing thumb.
'By Gar! said a third patient opposite, sitting up suddenly and speaking in the disjointed but strangely musical dialect of the French-Canadian, 'she is a wise feller, dis Scoachie. 'Bonn swoir, Frenchy, said the Cockney graciously. ''Ow alley you mantenongs? 'Verra good, Tommee. How is de godam bow bells?
Boulogne, which two weeks before had been cheering the advent of "Tommee Atkeens" singing "Why should we be downhearted?" was ominously lifeless. It was a town without soldiers; a town of brick and mortar and pavements whose very defencelessness was its best security should the Germans come. The only British there were a few stray wounded officers and men who had found their way back from Mons.
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