Island Eye

Somewhere off the Adriatic coast of Yugoslavia, in clear sight of the German-held Dalmatian shore, is a small island covered with heather and dotted with red-roofed, green-shuttered houses. In Cairo last week R.A.F. spokesmen told about the advance post maintained on the island. Its occupants: U.S. and British forces working hand in glove with Partisan natives. All the islanders old enough to talk swear by Marshal Tito.

The heterogeneous personnel of this outpost collect weather data and send it to Allied forecasters in Italy; they warn and guide Allied fighters and fighter-bombers raiding the Dalmatian coast; they operate a launch which goes out in any weather to pick up Allied flyers downed at sea.

On a high hilltop, every day, all day long, an R.A.F. lieutenant equipped with binoculars and telephone sits on a fuel can, spotting aircraft. Two other spotters are Partisan girls roosting on the island's only snow-clad peak. When planes approach they signal by firing their rifles, and these signals are relayed in like manner to battle headquarters, which sounds a siren to alert the island's anti-aircraft gunners.

There is no money on the island, and trade is carried on by barter. The U.S. and British soldiers can get a chicken for two pounds of flour, three eggs for a pound of rice. They live in the farmhouses, where housewives serve their meals, wash their clothes. By day they play soccer with the island men, who are remarkably good and usually beat them. By night they gather in barns with Partisan girls, dance by lantern light to the music of accordions and guitars.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.