There was the family in one country town which had an unexpected visit from a nephew. This boy was stationed miles away, but he too had to bail out of his stricken plane. He had landed in the village street. "Where am 1?" was his first question to the bystanders. They told him. "That's good," said he; "I've got an uncle here." He lunched with the family before returning to his base.
The other day a woman was standing lin her kitchen shelling peas for luncheon when in walked a German, one of the crew of a bomber which had fallen in a near-by field. She made a capture. The etiquette of treating captured Germans is a delicate one. They usually ask for beer and cigarettes. If there are public houses near by, they usually get the former. But the other day one crashed near a lonely road on which was only one pub. The German asked for a pint. There was some discussion among his captors, but finally it was decided that one pint would be all right.
Even in areas where bombs have caused death and tragedy there is unshaken moral. Shops with all windows blown out put up signs, "Business as Usual." "Yes, our house is gone," calls one woman to another, "but we're all right and that's what matters, isn't it?" One would think perhaps that the sight of the pathetic cheap trinkets of the very poor scattered in the streets might cause some nervous disorder. But it doesn't.
After an air-raid is always a good time to collect for the Spitfire Fund, just as in the last war the Zeppelins were Britain's best recruiting agents.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.