The Pittsburgh Press (May 10, 1944)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
London, England – (by wireless)
I can’t seem to make up my mind about London this trip.
Some say that they can see in people’s conduct the strain of waiting on the invasion – that tempers are short and nerves taut. Yet the English seem to me just as imperturbable as ever.
Some say the English have been at war so long they’ve forgotten about peacetime life and are resigned like sheep to the war dragging on and on. But I don’t sense any such resignation.
It is certainly true that Britain has adjusted herself to wartime life, but that doesn’t mean blind, perpetual acceptance. People have learned to get along. American aid, and years of learning how to do, have eased the meager war life of the early days. There is more food now, and it is better than it used to be. There are more people on the streets, more shopping, more Sunday strollers in the parks.
I had supposed the people would look shabbier than a year and a half ago, but to me they look neater. And the physical city itself seems less dreary than in the fall of 1942.
English as polite as ever
As for short tempers, I haven’t seen any. Maybe it’s just because I have been accustomed to the screaming outbursts at each other of the emotional Italians. But from what I’ve seen so far, the English are as kind and polite to each other as they always were.
All in all, my first impression is that England is better, all around, than it was a year and a half ago, of course spring may have something to do with it. The days are warm and the buds are out and flowers are blooming, and everything always seems kind of wonderful to me in springtime.
Every day the London papers quote all the German rumors on invasion. They print the predictions of the German radio, and pieces from neutral countries saying the invasion will have to occur between 4:39 a.m. today and 4:41 a.m. tomorrow, or else be put off for a month. They print pictures of German fortifications, and tell of the sudden regrouping and rushing around of German troops. They conjecture on the thunderous explosions heard daily on the French side of the Channel.
Since the only invasion news we have is what the Germans predict, this echo from Germany has the effect, upon me at least, of a war of nerves.
London is crawling with Americans, both Army and civilian. All headquarters cities are alike in their overcrowding, their exaggerated discipline, and what appears to be military overstaffing.
Some say London is as bad as Washington. Some say it is worse. I do know that the section where American offices are most highly concentrated is a funny sight at lunchtime or in late afternoon. American uniforms pour out of the buildings in floods. On some streets an Englishman stands out as incongruously as he would in North Platte, Nebraska. Desk officers and fliers and WACs and nurses abound.
Two things that amuse the British are the “pink” trousers our officers wear and our perpetual saluting.
The American Army is very strict about saluting here. Everybody has to salute. Second lieutenants salute other second lieutenants. Arms flail up and down by the thousands as though everybody was crazy. People jab each other in the eyes saluting.
Sidewalk traffic one way
On one short street much traveled by Americans they have had to make sidewalk traffic one-way, presumably to prevent saluting casualties.
A friend of mine, a captain recently arrived from Africa, was stopped the other day by another captain just over from America who bawled the living daylights out of him for not returning his salute. My captain friend said he couldn’t because his right arm had become muscle-bound from waving it too much.
They’re strict about dress here too. You have to wear your dress blouse and either pinks or dark-green dress trousers. Everybody looks just so-so and exactly like everybody else.
I thought I looked very pretty when I got here, for all my clothes were clean for the first time in months. But I hadn’t reckoned with the headquarters atmosphere. I have never been stared at so much in my life as during my first three days here.
For I had on a British battle jacket, OD pants, and infantry boots. They never had seen anybody dressed like that before. Nobody knew what his strange apparition was, but they all played safe and saluted it anyhow – and then turned and stared belligerently at it. I think sheer awe is all that kept the MPs from picking me up.
Finally, after three days, I dug up a trunk I had left here a year and a half ago and got out my old brown civilian suit and gray hat, and now I’m all right. People just think I’m a bedraggled bank clerk, and it’s much better.