THE BATTLE OF FRANCE
dresses like the heroes of that anticipation. The
silhouette is completed by a forage cap* A colonel's
uniform is almost the same as his men's. And even
the Scottish, when on active service, may perhaps
swap their multi-coloured kilt for the new battle-
dress. The picturesque has been drummed out of
the armies.
In its place mystery envelops them. In 1914
military secrets were not too well guarded. The
plans for the offensives were discussed in the
drawing-rooms of London and Paris. In 1939 the
British Army has brought the art of camouflage
almost to the point of invisibility. Thousands of
men, wagons, guns and cars vanish into the
countryside, mingle indistinguishably with the hay-
stacks, the woods and the farms, drape themselves
with nets, sea-weed and branches and then disperse
so ingeniously that finding them becomes a game,
which is made more difficult by the strictness of
orders and *I don't know'—the soldier's inevitable
answer to any question.
In 1914, if you wanted to visit the headquarters of
the Nth Division, you rang up one of its officers and
he would tell you: 'We're at Poperinghe.' In 1939
you cannot call up any formation unless you know
its code name. You will be told, for instance, that
the Nth Division is called 'Curtain'. The next
morning, when you pick up the field telephone,
your faithless memory will whisper instead of
16