While In London a year or two ago I came across a little
pamphlet called Over There. It contained the text of a typescript that
was given to American servicemen before they left home for Britain during World
War II.
It's a
revealing little treatise. More than one million American troops were stationed
in Britain between 1942 and the invasion of Nazi-occupied Europe in June, 1944.
Most of them had never been abroad before, and so the aim of Over There -- according to a foreword by
Oxford University, which has republished it
-- was to prepare them for life in a very different country, and to try
to prevent any friction between the newcomers and their British hosts.
Whoever
wrote these seven pages had a remarkable grasp of simple, direct English, an
impressive knowledge of psychology, and an amazing understanding of the most
relevant differences between the Americans and the British. When the original
leaflet was distributed, its contents created more than a few raised eyebrows
across the Atlantic, because it presented an unusually frank and objective view
of Britain and the British; much more telling than they could ever have written
themselves. The London newspapers were fascinated. In The (London) Times of
July 1942, there was a laudatory if tongue-in-cheek critique of the pamphlet,
comparing it with the works of Irving, Emerson and Hawthorne, all of whom, of
course, had tried to interpret Britain to their American readers. In the
self-important language of Britain’s The
Times of those days, an editorial said: "None of those American authors' august expositions
has the spotlit directness of this revelation of plain horse sense, and an
understanding of evident truths."
To us,
seventy years on in a new millennium, the text of Over There may seem somewhat
didactic and preachy and, with 20/20 hindsight, there is too much rah-rah
breast-beating about "beating Hitler on his home ground." For example: "Hitler knows they (Britain
and America) are both powerful countries, tough and resourceful. He knows that
they, with other united nations, mean his crushing defeat in the
end." The more likely truth is
that, only a year after America had entered a war, and when Britain and its
empire had been fighting alone for more than two years, Hitler must have felt
the odds were strongly in his favor. At that moment the Nazis occupied pretty
much all of Europe, and were already flexing their muscles in North Africa.
The
pamphlet quickly gets down to business. Its first advice is to forget past
history. If you're an Irish-American, it suggests, you may see the Brits as the
persecutors of the Irish. Forget about
the enemy Redcoats in the American Revolution, and the war of 1812, "There
is no time today to fight old wars again, or bring up old grievances. We don't
worry about which side our grandfathers were on during the Civil War, because
it doesn't mean anything now."
It's
with great tact that the author tackles the legendary reserve and -- though it
doesn't say it in such terms -- the stuffiness and stand-offishness of us, the
Brits. The thing to do, the booklet
says, is not to deny these differences but to admit them openly, and try to
understand them. "For instance," it says," the British are more
reserved in conduct that we. On a small crowded island where forty-five million
people live, each man (sic) learns to guard his privacy carefully -- and is equally
careful not to invade another man's privacy.
"So
if Britons sit in trains or buses without striking up a conversation with you,
it doesn't mean they are being haughty or unfriendly . . . they don't speak to
you because they don't want to appear intrusive or rude." Those aren’t the
true reasons for the Brits' starchy aloofness, but it was a pretty good
attempt.
The
pamphlet takes a lot of trouble to discourage its readers from bragging or
showing-off, especially about money. Saying, correctly, that American
services’pay was the highest in the world, it goes on, "The British Tommy
is apt to be specially touchy about his wages and yours. Keep this in mind. Use
common sense, and don't rub him up the wrong way.” This was good advice. The GI’s hosts were indeed
resentful that their allies were paid tremendously more. On a more personal
level they were jealous of the US forces’ uniforms, which were better-cut with
higher quality cloth. Dressed in their thick, hairy, poorly cut, clunky-looking
battle-dress uniforms, the Britissh “Tommies” found themselves swept aside by
the local girls in the pub, who were all
over these apparently prosperous visitors who came with nylon stockings and PX
goodies, and talked like Errol Flynn or Clark Gable. It’s not surprising that
the British troops labeled these intruders “over-paid, over-sexed, and over
here.”
The author
tried to tell readers, many of them rookies, that for all their sissy accents
and soft-spoken politeness, the British were strong and resilient, and deserved
a little respect for what they’d so far endured. “Sixty thousand British
civilians – men, women and children – have already died under bombs, and yet
their morale is unbreakable and high. A nation doesn’t come through that if it
doesn’t have plain, common guts. The British are tough, strong people, and good
allies. You won’t be able to tell them much about ‘taking it’” And here comes
the rah-rah again: “They are not particularly interested in taking it any more.
They’re far more interested in getting together in solid friendship with us, so
that we can all start dishing it out to Hitler.”
The booklet
points out that comparisons are often invidious, and not a good idea; that
England is smaller than North Carolina or Iowa, and that bragging about bigness
– of buildings, mountains, family farms in places such as Texas and yes, money,
wouldn’t go down in battered, small-scale Britain. The pamphlet says: “The
British care little about size. For instance, London has no skyscrapers . . .
they’ll point out buildings like Westminster Abbey . . . and the Tower of
London, which was built almost a thousand years ago. They mean as much to the
British as Mount Vernon or Lincoln’s birthplace do to us.”
And so
it goes on. The GIs are warned to be sensitive to the stringent rationing of
food, clothes and cigarettes and other necessities, because Britain was under
siege. Few civilians were allowed gasoline, and their cars were shut up in
their garages “for the duration,” on bricks or railroad ties. There’s a warning
that the towns and villages will look scruffy and unkempt, and that even
England’s famous gardens will be growing only vegetables. Also, that many
buildings will be unpainted and in disrepair, not only because there was little
manpower, but also because most industries were hell bent on making tanks, guns
and other war supplies for themselves, the British Empire forces and the
Russians.
A part
of the booklet describes “The People and their Customs,” covering such
important topics as “warm beer” and the “impossible” money system. And there’s
a none too successful attempt to describe cricket, soccer and Rugby.
Naturally,
there’s advice about British vocabulary and pronunciation, which includes a
caution that the natives “will pronounce all the ‘a’s in banana as in ‘father.’
However funny you may think this is, you will be able to understand people who
talk this way, and they will be able to understand you.”
On the
last page of the pamphlet there are “Some Important Do’s and Don’ts,” most of
which reiterate the points made elswhere. Noteworthy others are: “If you’re
invited to eat with a family, don’t eat too much. Otherwise you may eat up
their weekly rations. NEVER (actually in
capitals) criticize the King and Queen. In your dealings with the British,
let this be your slogan: it is always impolite to criticize your hosts; it is
militarily stupid to criticize your allies.”
There’s
one thing wrong with that mention of bananas. Because of the ever-present
threat of attack by German U-boats that blockaded the British Isles, such
luxuries were unknown after 1941, so
people probably never mentioned them to their allied guests. I remember an
American boy, a New Yorker, arriving as a pupil at my boarding school in 1942.
His name was Lou Taylor. He was a quiet, likable boy, and we nicknamed him Long Island Lou.
On his
first day at the school, Lou brought a bunch of bananas, and I recall the hush,
and then the excitement, when it was carried into the dining hall with some
ceremony by the headmaster who, with help from the head boy, peeled them, and
proceeded to cut them in pieces so that all the boys could taste them.
Each piece was at most half an inch thick, and we ate
them silently, and very slowly. They were the last bananas we saw until 1945.
