She was a pleasant-
looking, fat girl, with beady black eyes. She told us that she had been
living in Ypres up till a fortnight before. I suppose as a servant or
possibly in a shop. It seems that at first she found nothing
disagreeable in the bombardment, but of late things had got so hot that
she determined to leave. Indeed, although she looked the picture of
health and good spirits, she told us that towards the end she had felt
rather nervous. She had been near too many bursting shells and burning
houses and seen too many people killed. In fact, as the Tommies would
say, she could not stick it any longer. I asked her how she had got
away. The answer was simple. She had merely walked down the road to
Poperinghe and then, "fetching a compass" like St. Paul, had got into
"Dickybush" and so home. "A very long walk?" I queried. At this she
giggled, and added that "les soldats Anglais sont si gentils." She had
had a good many lifts in motor-cars on the road. I did not doubt it. She
was just the kind of girl, perfectly straight and of good intent I am
sure, who, whether in peace or war, would get lifts from any British
soldier engaged in driving anything, from a motor-car to a gun.
Pages:
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491