It was at Fère Champinoise that we passed through the first village
which had been entirely destroyed by the retreating Germans. Only half
the church was standing, but services are still held there every Sunday.
Very little attempt has been made to rebuild the ruined houses. Were I
one of the villagers, I would prefer to raze to the ground all that
remained of the desecrated homesteads and build afresh new dwellings;
happy in the knowledge that with the victory of the Allies would start a
period of absolute security, prosperity, and peace.

It was on the same day that we had the privilege of beholding some of
the 400-cm. guns of France, all prepared and ready to travel at a
minute's notice along the railway lines to the section where they might
be needed. Some idea of their size may be obtained from the fact that
there were ten axles to the base on which they travel. They were all
disguised by the system of _camouflage_ employed by the French Army, and
at a very short distance they blend with the landscape and become almost
invisible. Each gun bears a different name, "Alsace," "Lorraine," etc.,
and with that strange irony and cynical wit of the French trooper, at
the request of the men of one battery, one huge gun has been christened
"Mosquito," "because it stings."

The French often use a bitter and biting humour in speaking of the
enemy. For instance, amongst the many pets of the men, the strangest I
saw was a small hawk sitting on the wrist of a soldier who had trained
him. The bird was the personification of evil. If anyone approached, he
snapped at them and endeavoured to bite them. I asked the man why he
kept him, and he replied that they had quite good sport in the trenches
when they allowed the hawk to hunt small birds and field-mice. Then, his
expression changing from jovial good-humour to grimness, he added: "You
know, I call him 'Zepp,' because he kills the little ones" ("parcequ'il