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W. Earl Hall World War II stories, 1944
Letter #4
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slug-Flies Ocean-4 pg 1 by W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Manading Editor (Letter No. 4) Passed for Publication 22 Aug 1944 London--(Air Mail) The last time I crossed the Atlantic ocean, I spent 11 days on what wasn't considered a bad ocean liner. It wasn't noted for speed and the weather was a bit rough Last week I covered the same distance in less than 20 hours of actual flying time, with comfort and conveniences that compare favorably with the most modern railroad train. As we winged through the darkness one night, I harked back to a day less than 20 years ago when fame came to a young American for a lone flight over this same expanse of water. That young man was saluted as "intrepid." And indeed he was. But there's a satisfying assurance today for a passenger in the roar of those 4 great motors out there in front. It's my painful duty to confess that this particular novice at long-distance flying actually crossed the ocean without once seeing the open sea. The story is that when there wasn't darkness, there was a thick--and beautiful--layer of clouds between me and the water. If that isn't one for the books, it's at least one for my own diary! Facilities on the giant ship included a dining room and lounge. Sleeping accommodations take the form of upper and lower berths, with each well over 7 feet long. Food, served in the most formal way by the ship steward, opened up with a delicious consommé and marched along by courses in the most approved manner. "It won't be like this when you get to London," the Britishers in our party kept reminding us. And they were dead right. You can live all right on a London menu--but you won't get fat, I assure you. More about that later. Our party on the plane consisted of 11 from Britain, 5 from Canada, 1 from India, 1 from Australia and 2 from the United States--both newspaper men. My American colleague on this mission is Fred Christopherson, editor of the Sioux Falls, S. Dak., Argus-Leader, one of the middle west's excellent daily newspapers. Two of the Britishers, one a woman, had represented their government at the Breton Woods, N. Ham., monetary conference. A diplomat from a Central American republic was returning to enter the RAF, in an administrative capacity on account of his age. Then there were others with missions so confidential that they couldn't be mentioned. All in all, it was a most interesting party. From the Canadians we learned the latest score politically in our dominion neighbor and from the English passengers we obtained a pre-view of the British Isles--places to be visited, persons to be seen, and the like. Our final leg into London involved a railroad trip of something more than 100 miles. At each of the several sizable cities passed through, long queues of uniformed boys--mostly Americans--waited to get aboard. By the time we reached here, the conductor was having to descend to the station platforms to more from one car to another. The English countryside was beautiful--but beautiful in a different way from 1927 when I visited here. Now it's a utilitarian beauty. The areas which then were in parks and golf courses, etc., are now turned to food-producing. The result is that whereas once only about 30 per cent of the food requirements for this tight little island were produced on home soil, the percentage now--despite the tens of thousands of acres in airports--has approached 75 per cent. But more about this on another day. -- 30 --
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slug-Flies Ocean-4 pg 1 by W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Manading Editor (Letter No. 4) Passed for Publication 22 Aug 1944 London--(Air Mail) The last time I crossed the Atlantic ocean, I spent 11 days on what wasn't considered a bad ocean liner. It wasn't noted for speed and the weather was a bit rough Last week I covered the same distance in less than 20 hours of actual flying time, with comfort and conveniences that compare favorably with the most modern railroad train. As we winged through the darkness one night, I harked back to a day less than 20 years ago when fame came to a young American for a lone flight over this same expanse of water. That young man was saluted as "intrepid." And indeed he was. But there's a satisfying assurance today for a passenger in the roar of those 4 great motors out there in front. It's my painful duty to confess that this particular novice at long-distance flying actually crossed the ocean without once seeing the open sea. The story is that when there wasn't darkness, there was a thick--and beautiful--layer of clouds between me and the water. If that isn't one for the books, it's at least one for my own diary! Facilities on the giant ship included a dining room and lounge. Sleeping accommodations take the form of upper and lower berths, with each well over 7 feet long. Food, served in the most formal way by the ship steward, opened up with a delicious consommé and marched along by courses in the most approved manner. "It won't be like this when you get to London," the Britishers in our party kept reminding us. And they were dead right. You can live all right on a London menu--but you won't get fat, I assure you. More about that later. Our party on the plane consisted of 11 from Britain, 5 from Canada, 1 from India, 1 from Australia and 2 from the United States--both newspaper men. My American colleague on this mission is Fred Christopherson, editor of the Sioux Falls, S. Dak., Argus-Leader, one of the middle west's excellent daily newspapers. Two of the Britishers, one a woman, had represented their government at the Breton Woods, N. Ham., monetary conference. A diplomat from a Central American republic was returning to enter the RAF, in an administrative capacity on account of his age. Then there were others with missions so confidential that they couldn't be mentioned. All in all, it was a most interesting party. From the Canadians we learned the latest score politically in our dominion neighbor and from the English passengers we obtained a pre-view of the British Isles--places to be visited, persons to be seen, and the like. Our final leg into London involved a railroad trip of something more than 100 miles. At each of the several sizable cities passed through, long queues of uniformed boys--mostly Americans--waited to get aboard. By the time we reached here, the conductor was having to descend to the station platforms to more from one car to another. The English countryside was beautiful--but beautiful in a different way from 1927 when I visited here. Now it's a utilitarian beauty. The areas which then were in parks and golf courses, etc., are now turned to food-producing. The result is that whereas once only about 30 per cent of the food requirements for this tight little island were produced on home soil, the percentage now--despite the tens of thousands of acres in airports--has approached 75 per cent. But more about this on another day. -- 30 --
World War II Diaries and Letters
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