Hun. He is rather like a child who for four years has been crying
incessantly for the moon. Having got it, he says, "Well, I'm glad
I've got it; now let's get on with something else," and takes not the
slightest interest in the silly old moon he has acquired with so much
trouble.

There are two things to which he cannot quite accustom himself: not
being allowed to fraternize with the inhabitants and the realisation
that his laboriously acquired knowledge of the French language is no
longer of any avail. He will never quite get over the former of these
two disabilities, but he is coping courageously with the latter.
For instance, in place of the "No bon" of yesterday, "Nix goot" now
explains that "Your saucepan I borrowed has a hole in it; please, I
didn't do it." For the rest, change of environment makes very little
difference to him. Given a cooker, a water-cart and the necessary
rations, a British oasis will appear and be prepared to flourish in
any old desert you like.

No, I am wrong. There is another difficulty which as yet he has not
been able entirely to overcome. I cannot describe the consternation
which came over the Company when I informed them that there was no
longer any need to scrounge; in fact, I forbade it. At first they
thought it was just a Company Commander's humour and paid it the usual
compliments of the parade; but when they found I was serious they were
simply appalled. It was as if I had taken the very spice out of their
existence. Not to be able to go out and "win" a handful of fuel for
the evening's fug and for the brewing of those unwholesome messes in
the tin canteen? Bolshevism itself could not have propounded a more
revolutionary principle. Heartbroken some of the old soldiers came
to me afterwards. "What are we to do, Sir?" they said. "We only go