_France, May 23rd._


I sat down to write an article about a log-chopping competition. But the
irony of writing such things with other things on one's mind is too much
even for a war correspondent. One's pen goes on strike. One impression
above all has been brought home in the two months we have spent in
France. For some reason, people at home are colossally ignorant of the
task now in front of them. We have now seen three theatres of war, and
it was the same everywhere. Indeed, in Gallipoli we ourselves were just
as ignorant of the state of affairs elsewhere. All the news we had of
Salonica came from the English newspapers. We thought, "However
difficult things may be here, at any rate the Salonica army is only
waiting for a few more men before it cuts the railway to
Constantinople." Then somebody came from Salonica, and we found that the
army there was comforting itself with exactly the same reflections about
us. As for England, everyone who reached us from there arrived with the
conviction that we needed only a few more men to push through.

When the attempt to get through from Suvla failed the public turned to
Bulgaria, and, on the strength of what they read, many of those on the
Peninsula could not help doing the same. Now that we see with our eyes
the nature of Britain's task in France, there is only one depressing
thing about it, and that is that one doubts if the British people have
any more idea of its magnitude than it had of the difficulties of
Gallipoli.

The world hears from the British public vague talk of some future
offensive. It goes without saying that we hear nothing of any plans