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W. Earl Hall World War II stories, 1944
Letter #34
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slug-Join Yanks-4 By W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor Letter No. 34 London--(Special Air Mail)--This is about the activities of one American newspaper editor on a Sunday forenoon in the world's largest city. My day began at least 2 hours before I had planned. I was awakened by a flying bomb overhead. Full consciousness came to me when I heard the motor sputter and cut off--then a blast which, although almost a mile away, shook the movable objects in my hotel room. Although it was only a bit after 7 o'clock, I found that going back to sleep was impossible. I wasn't actually scared, you understand--not very much at least. I was just a bit restless. I peered out my window and saw that it was going to be a clear day, a phenomenon not too common in this man's town even in August when English weather is supposed to be at its best. "A grand day to go to the roof and see London, maybe including a fly bomb," thought I. And I acted on the suggestion The ascent involved 5 flights of stairs and I found myself looking out on one of the most interesting sections of this great sprawling city. Far in the distance were the turrets of London tower. Closer at hand, a little to the left, the dome of St. Paul's cathedral. A bit more to the fore were Westminster Abbey and the Parliament buildings. Much closer at hand, across a wooded park, Buckingham palace. The kind and queen--not at home now, I should add--are my temporary neighbors! Buses, jeeps and motorcycles roared along on the avenue below. At each quarter hour, chimes from a half dozen cathedrals and campaniles drifted up to me on my lofty perch. Planes roared in the distance, but no more doodle bugs. At 10:30 music from a military band could be heard over the roar of motors. The changing of the guard was under way at the palace. "That's something I must see," I thought. Again to think was to act. It was the Welsh guards' day on duty and the precision with which they went through their drill had the admiration of a large number of American soldiers, some on week-end leave from bases elsewhere, others on duty here in London. From a bobby on duty I learned that 5 guard organizations--Welsh, Irish, Coldstreams and 2 that escape my memory--go through a like ritual on alternate days, each in order. All the while I kept wondering what havoc had been wrought by that bloody (a favorite English adjective) fly bomb which had subtracted 2 hours from my night's sleep. So I joined up with a couple of American soldiers (one from Detroit, the other from the Bronx in New York) for jaunt to the place where it had landed. As has happened numberless times, it had come down squarely in the center of a wooded park. Two giant trees 30 feet from the crater had been denuded of leaves. An exposed waterpipe a bit further away had been penetrated by flying metal. Bits of the devilish machine itself were scattered about in a radius of 100 feet. The crater itself was about 15 feet across and no more than 2 feet deep. It had filled with water from the damaged pipe. Bombs dropped during the 1940 blitz had a penetrating effect but the explosive effect from buzz bombs is lateral and upward. Londoners and men in uniforms of a hundred different types and markings were out in force, strolling in the park lanes and lazing on grass or benches. The crowd around the bomb crater wasn't half as large as would be attracted by a residence fire in Mason City. This, I think, is reflective of the extent to which those in this great city have come to take their war in stride. -- 30 --
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slug-Join Yanks-4 By W. EARL HALL Globe-Gazette Managing Editor Letter No. 34 London--(Special Air Mail)--This is about the activities of one American newspaper editor on a Sunday forenoon in the world's largest city. My day began at least 2 hours before I had planned. I was awakened by a flying bomb overhead. Full consciousness came to me when I heard the motor sputter and cut off--then a blast which, although almost a mile away, shook the movable objects in my hotel room. Although it was only a bit after 7 o'clock, I found that going back to sleep was impossible. I wasn't actually scared, you understand--not very much at least. I was just a bit restless. I peered out my window and saw that it was going to be a clear day, a phenomenon not too common in this man's town even in August when English weather is supposed to be at its best. "A grand day to go to the roof and see London, maybe including a fly bomb," thought I. And I acted on the suggestion The ascent involved 5 flights of stairs and I found myself looking out on one of the most interesting sections of this great sprawling city. Far in the distance were the turrets of London tower. Closer at hand, a little to the left, the dome of St. Paul's cathedral. A bit more to the fore were Westminster Abbey and the Parliament buildings. Much closer at hand, across a wooded park, Buckingham palace. The kind and queen--not at home now, I should add--are my temporary neighbors! Buses, jeeps and motorcycles roared along on the avenue below. At each quarter hour, chimes from a half dozen cathedrals and campaniles drifted up to me on my lofty perch. Planes roared in the distance, but no more doodle bugs. At 10:30 music from a military band could be heard over the roar of motors. The changing of the guard was under way at the palace. "That's something I must see," I thought. Again to think was to act. It was the Welsh guards' day on duty and the precision with which they went through their drill had the admiration of a large number of American soldiers, some on week-end leave from bases elsewhere, others on duty here in London. From a bobby on duty I learned that 5 guard organizations--Welsh, Irish, Coldstreams and 2 that escape my memory--go through a like ritual on alternate days, each in order. All the while I kept wondering what havoc had been wrought by that bloody (a favorite English adjective) fly bomb which had subtracted 2 hours from my night's sleep. So I joined up with a couple of American soldiers (one from Detroit, the other from the Bronx in New York) for jaunt to the place where it had landed. As has happened numberless times, it had come down squarely in the center of a wooded park. Two giant trees 30 feet from the crater had been denuded of leaves. An exposed waterpipe a bit further away had been penetrated by flying metal. Bits of the devilish machine itself were scattered about in a radius of 100 feet. The crater itself was about 15 feet across and no more than 2 feet deep. It had filled with water from the damaged pipe. Bombs dropped during the 1940 blitz had a penetrating effect but the explosive effect from buzz bombs is lateral and upward. Londoners and men in uniforms of a hundred different types and markings were out in force, strolling in the park lanes and lazing on grass or benches. The crowd around the bomb crater wasn't half as large as would be attracted by a residence fire in Mason City. This, I think, is reflective of the extent to which those in this great city have come to take their war in stride. -- 30 --
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