The Pittsburgh Press (May 9, 1944)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
London, England – (by wireless)
On the way across Africa I struck up an acquaintance with two British officers – Lt. Col. Colin Linton and Lt. Col. Jack Donaldson.
Linton is a Scot, a Sandhurst graduate and a Regular Army officer. He is not quite 30.
Donaldson did social work before the war. He is in his late 30s. His wife has turned farmer since the war and has written a book about it.
The viewpoints of the two colonels are very dissimilar – a social worker contrasted to a professional soldier – but they are both the kind of people you like. During those long days of waiting in Casablanca we would load around for hours whole those two argued good-naturedly and I pay on the bed and grinned.
We had hoped we might continue to England together, and we did. we flew in a converted bomber with old-fashioned seats.
I had got a big box lunch the night before for us to take along, but this time lunch was provided. We had a conglomeration of passengers, all military, running through four nationalities. Most of them were English, but we also had French, American and German. Yes, I said German. There were three prisoners, from a captured U-boat crew, with a British captain in charge. They sat just ahead of us.
What knowledge justified priority?
We all wondered what knowledge the Germans could possess that would justify flying them with high priority all the way to England, but we didn’t ask questions.
The three were very young, strong of body and good-looking too, and yet with sort of brutal faces. They talked very little among themselves. In fact, they slept most of the trip. The British captain spoke German, but he talked with them only in giving instructions.
Our cabin windows were blacked out during the night. The whole interior of the cabin was sheathed with heavy, padded cloth. But when dawn came the pads were taken down so we could see the sunrise.
The cabin was heated and we were not uncomfortable, except that we were not allowed to smoke. But soon after the takeoff, most of the passengers were asleep in their chairs.
Most everybody has some little quirk about traveling, and mine takes the form of airplane motors playing tunes. It’s just as clear as though there were an orchestra in the cabin. And to me they always play “You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine.”
And so out there over the ocean the motors of our big plane droned on and on with “You Are My Sunshine,” and I couldn’t go to sleep. I think I was the only one awake when, long past midnight, I could sense that we were getting terribly high, for it was getting chilly and hard to breathe.
Motors stop playing tune
Then one of the crew came back to the cabin with a flashlight. He seemed worried, seeing me awake. He flashed his light and said with alarm in his voice, “Do you feel all right?”
I said I did. Then he said, “You sure you fell all right?” I said, “Sure, I feel all right.” Then he said, “If you are feeling faint, let me know.” I said, “All right,” and asked how high we were.
“Fifteen thousand,” he said, and then he added in a tone as though taking me into a horrible confidence: “And we are icing bad.”
Being the worrier type, I immediately expected the plane to fall out of control and plunge into the ocean three miles below us. Suddenly the motors stopped playing my tune, and it seemed to me they were all out of rhythm and vibrating badly.
For an hour I was as tense as piano wire, expecting the worst any moment. But nothing happened, and at last the sandman got the best of me and I slept till daylight.
Col. Donaldson woke me up to look at the sunrise. It was a majestic thing. We were above an ocean of mountainous clouds and the sun came up violently red over the snow-white horizon. Everybody was awake looking, but grogginess got the better of men and after one look I went back to sleep.
Wonderful to be safely in England
Finally after many hours we landed, and we climbed out stiffly. The first cigarette almost knocked us over. The air was snappy, but the sun was shining and it felt wonderful to be safely in England, for I had sort of dreaded the trip.
RAF and USAAF people saw us through the formalities. We ate breakfast in an RAF dining room. In an hour we were in another plane on the way to London. By noon we had landed at an airdrome near London where I had been many times before, and a big bus was waiting to take us into the city.
The British colonels were very happy. They had been away from England for years, and by suppertime they would see their wives. We gave each other our addresses.
I had left London for Africa one dark and mysterious night a year and a half ago. Many times since then I had never expected to see England again. But here it was, fresh and green and pretty.
And although I was still far from home and family, it was a wonderful thing to be returning, for I have loved London ever since first seeing it in the Blitz and it has become sort of my overseas home.