Comments on: Further War-Poster Prettiness http://timebound.wordpress.com/2008/03/14/further-war-poster-prettiness/ Thu, 14 Aug 2008 22:53:19 +0000 http://wordpress.com/ hourly 1 By: louisrenault http://timebound.wordpress.com/2008/03/14/further-war-poster-prettiness/#comment-8 louisrenault Sat, 15 Mar 2008 02:28:04 +0000 http://timebound.wordpress.com/?p=15#comment-8 That is what we used to call it, vraiment! *wink* That is what we used to call it, vraiment! *wink*

]]> By: Miss Verity http://timebound.wordpress.com/2008/03/14/further-war-poster-prettiness/#comment-7 Miss Verity Fri, 14 Mar 2008 17:16:45 +0000 http://timebound.wordpress.com/?p=15#comment-7 "Shared his last cigarette," indeed--is that what you young people call it? “Shared his last cigarette,” indeed–is that what you young people call it?

]]> By: louisrenault http://timebound.wordpress.com/2008/03/14/further-war-poster-prettiness/#comment-6 louisrenault Fri, 14 Mar 2008 16:37:16 +0000 http://timebound.wordpress.com/?p=15#comment-6 I once knew a chap - a very dapper little Captain in the Foreign Legion - who, in his off-hours, liked to dress up in women's clothes and go to the cabaret. He didn't actually do anything there - well, nothing besides what one usually does at the cabaret - and when he returned to quarters, he would wipe off his makeup, roll down his stockings and be himself again. He was one of the bravest men I ever knew, hardly sissyish, despite his love of satin and lip rouge. I remember he died at Verdun, in the last war...he was defending an untenable position when a shell exploded literally on top of him. I had been talking to him mere moments earlier; we'd shared his last cigarette. "Eh bien, Renault," he said, "I must away." And he went over the top. I never saw him again... I once knew a chap – a very dapper little Captain in the Foreign Legion – who, in his off-hours, liked to dress up in women’s clothes and go to the cabaret. He didn’t actually do anything there – well, nothing besides what one usually does at the cabaret – and when he returned to quarters, he would wipe off his makeup, roll down his stockings and be himself again.

He was one of the bravest men I ever knew, hardly sissyish, despite his love of satin and lip rouge. I remember he died at Verdun, in the last war…he was defending an untenable position when a shell exploded literally on top of him. I had been talking to him mere moments earlier; we’d shared his last cigarette. “Eh bien, Renault,” he said, “I must away.” And he went over the top. I never saw him again…

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