THIS IS WHY I SHALL REMEMBER ENGLAND

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 269, 18 August 1944, Page 8

THIS IS WHY I SHALL REMEMBER ENGLAND

American Soldier’s Farewell Letter

MAY be leaving England, perhaps never to return. Before I go I want to tell you some of the things I shall never forget--the scenes atid episodes that have impressed me during my two years as an..American soldier in Britain. It has been an exciting time; not only because we have been in a strange land, with new sights to see. new friends to

meet, and a new way of life to learn. But also because we have been watching and helping the growth of Allied fighting power on this armed-camp island, ready now to implement the gréatest military adventure in history. * * * | REMEMBER

~ that first night in «© England, standing in a wheat field in East Anglia and watching cascades of green incendiaries drifting down. This is it, we told ourselves. We are in it at last. But it was hard to convifice our selves, for here were these crazy English standing in their gardens watching the raid as if it were a Fourth of july spectacle. It was hard to boast about our own experiences when all around us were five-year-olds who had lived through more than we had ever known. The black-out astonished us. It was so’ oppressively black. It still gives us @ feeling that the houses behind ‘the staring windows are abandoned, lifeless. The atmosphere of rural Suffolk, the workers in the fields, the stillness, the emptiness of the roads, the quiet of the village streets — these things made us feel that we had come to a country where all but a remnant of the people had moved away. We changed our minds when we saw the teeming towns on market day, and walked the streets on Saturday evenings, and when we saw the hordes of people in London and other big cities. EMORABLE days. . . . Watching our first cricket match on the fields of St. Albans, within sight of the Roman ruins, and later having a beer with Eric, the Warwickshire soldier... .

Boxford, where two girls waited at their window every morning for eight months to wave as we drove past. We never once spoke to them, but we were friends. I shall remember a Sunday in June punting on the River Cam, and talking to the don who badly needed a shave, haircut and press, but who had (we later learned) just been knighted. . . Biking to Lavenham with Vivian for a look at that perfect Tudor village and a drink at the Swan. ... Walking across

the tmeadows with Joan to listen to the skylarks, those most irresponsible of sunstruck birds. I shall not forget the friendly evenings at the Unicorn, where we would buy each other rounds of ale and argue through the blue haze, and settle. all the problems that baffled the world. ...

Derby Day at Newmarket, where 9000 came to see a race that was run behind a hill, and the same 9000, tried to get back to London on one train, ... There were churches . . . the don

who spent hours showing us Durham, and the woman verger in Canterbury .. , Lincoln and Peterborough and Ely, and the beautiful smaller churches. . . Above all, Boston Stump, lit by the last rays of the setting sun,

and shining across the fens like a white sword. a * a WE shall remember Piccadilly Circus after dark. . . the milling swarms of people, the men who pretend to sell newspapers, the 50 different uniforms. ... The drunks, the pedlars and the police,... The girl who sang operatic arias from the rere as everyone cheered .. . the sailor, who. played his violin and danced in the Morden train, when everyone joined in "Dear Liverpool." This was England with its hair down. But we shall remember, too, our Christmas parties for the orphans and evacuee children. No one could ever forget those parties, with the kids yelling and gobbling ice cream, sitting on our shoulders and singing for us... going home along the lanes clutching armfuls of toys and candy, chewing gum and biscuits. Fifteen hundred we had at one party. It was not all fun. There was the mud of the airfield building, the tents that leaked, the north wind that blew, and lots of rain. (continued on next page)

To The Editor, Sir,-Some days ago I received from" England the encl extract from the "Daily Express." It struck me as being a very fine tribute from one American to England. It also reminded me, an Englishman, of some of the scenes and places I knew now long ago, and I thought that some others in New Zealand might like to see it, and I know of no better way of giving them the soneartunity then the pages of "The

Listener.

TOM

BLOODWORTH

( Auckland ).

There were trains that did not arrive on time and telegrams that did not arrive at all. ... We got. stranded in the overcrowded towns. One night it was Hull, and another night it was Chesterfield (the police helped us here), and again it was Grantham. But we always seemed to find a bed somewhere, a friendly weicome, and the month’s egg ration on our breakfast plate, no matter how loudly we protested. xe * ad HERE were haunting scenes-the mist hanging on the silent mountains round Loch Lomond that day when everything dripped, and the solitude of the place heightened by the wail of a bagpipe far up in the hills... . The steady drone of the bombers going out over the coast at night, a prayer on our lips for each .. . and,

above all, the doleful moan of the air raid warning carried along by the wind from one hill-top to another. Sombre pictures, too. The shelterers each night in the London Underground; the faces of the children sleeping on the floors under the feet of passers by, in draughts of dusty air, The battered face of Hull and Bristol and London, with their’ exposed, embarrassed scars. You who have lived here and watched the damage grow, cannot know the shock to one who suddenly comes on it around a corner. * * % HERE it is, or a small part of it, anyway. There you have the face

of Britain as we have seen in these two years. We have met you all now, the workers and the dons, the teachers and the deans, the bishops and the soldiers, young girls, farmers, miners,

publicans and children, an earl or two, and an M.P. We thank you for your hospitality, for opening your homes to us, for smiling at us and dancing with us, for marrying some of us, for being patient with our faults, for listening to our talk with tolerance, for struggling with ~our quaint tongue and then adopting it.

For playing host to this vast army of foreigners without letting it get .you down. For showing us quiet courage and stamina, and the patience that is your greatest virtue and worst handicap. We will remember England. . , .

Robert

Arbib