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28 WITH THE GERMAN ARMIES IN THE WEST
my own land where the eye is accustomed to dwell on these
dark green, solemn firs standing like sentinels by the road-
side. It is a beautiful piece of country. The smell of damp
earth and juicy pine-needles rises in the air and reminds one
vividly of the country on the road from Rawalpindi to Kashmir.
From the top of the hills a vast perspective opens up to-
wards the south-west. Once again the road runs in serpentine
curves down from the Thiiringer Wald. The forest here consists
largely of foliaged trees rather than conifers. Marksuhl is
situated in a broken piece of country, where the higher-lying
parts are occupied by clusters of trees whilst the rest of the land
is cultivated. At Vacha we cross the important River Werra.
From this point we progress again at lightning pace. Villages,
fields, meadows, farms, gardens and leafy coppices, everything
seems to fly past us.
Here we have Hiinfeld in Hesse. Let us stop a moment and
drink a cup of tea. There is a cosy dining-room in the res-
taurant. At a table sits a nurse with the Red Cross badge on
her arm talking to two gentlemen, evidently doctors, for they
speak of the care of the wounded soldiers. A few sportsmen
enter with their bags full of partridges and hares. They are
dressed in brown and green, with sporting-looking felt hats
with plumes, and carry their guns on the shoulder.
We jump into the car once more and proceed to the old
bishopric of Fulda, which does not long engage our attention,
then across bridges and streams through a series of villages,
one of which with its sinuous main street is called Schliichtern.
We continue to be delayed by poultry, geese and dogs, but
the children seem to have learnt to leave the roadway clear.
The boys give us a military salute and shoulder their little
wooden guns, whilst the little children play on steps and
benches, the mothers waving to us almost affectionately as if
to say, " Give him my love and God bless him and you and
the whole of our country !
"
Via Gelnhausen we travel on to Hanau, in which neigh-
bourliood we come across swarms of civilian cyclists. " Who
on earth are these people, are they recruits on the way to join
the army ? " I ask, " Bless you, no ; they are workmen from
the factories and workshops at Hanau returning to their
villages at the end of their day." Big and majestic the Main
sends its muddy waters towards the sea. It is raining a little,
the roads are soaked but just as good. We can see that we
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