Report on the G.I.

Few weeks before Invasion Day, the south England village of Chandler's Ford awoke one morning to find it had become a concentration point for U.S. troops. None watched them more appraisingly than a British soldier's wife, Mrs. Joan Hopper, who had previously found that Americans seemed "just like us" (TIME, July 31). After they had left for France she wrote this report:

One night we were disturbed by the din of wheels and tracks for hours, and next morning we saw we were "invaded" by the American Army.

After then, we never knew when the roads would be empty or full. Some [troops] stayed twelve hours, others two weeks, others three days; we just didn't know. The first crowd was a shock. They were untidy, insolent; their "pin-ups," which they plastered all over their lorries and guns, were pretty hot, and the remarks painted underneath, and the names of lorries, gave offense. We thought "So this is the American Army." The next batch was duly snubbed, poor fellows, and although they were well-behaved we refused to thaw. The third batch was a fine example of military efficiency and good behavior, and they soon won our friendship. Their lorries, equipment, uniforms were spotless; they nailed tins to every post and tree for the rubbish, dug pits to burn it, swept the roads to keep them neat, were courteous and never rowdy or rude.

The Welcome Guests. From then on all the batches who came were decent, and we enjoyed having them around and felt very sorry they couldn't accept the hospitality of our homes, as the majority were ordered to stand by their equipment. The sights we saw as we walked to the shops, bus and work were sometimes funny -- and sometimes rather sad.

Sometimes the men had traveled all night, and arrived in our area dead-tired, and once the lorries, jeeps, tanks, etc. were parked in the spaces allotted, they fell asleep, and slept like logs on the tops of lorries, on the pavement, on ammunition. Some slept on the bonnets of lorries, others inside with their feet poking out --sometimes without boots on. Those who stayed a few days made themselves hammocks and slung them between the buffers of vehicles, or erected microscopic tents and crawled inside. If they were parked outside a house with a lawn, they slept on it after dark, as it was a bit softer.

I used to start walking on a pavement, step over and round sleeping men, and then use the road, dodge to avoid a speeding jeep, hop behind a lorry to get away from fast baseball players, be compelled to walk on the road again, only to jump clear of a rash driver, and so on down the road between a double line of huge lorries, where men played cards sitting on petrol tins, shaved with a mere drop of water, using the small windscreen mirror to see how they were progressing, and washed clothes in about one pint of water to a whole packet of soap powder.

Outdoor Housekeeping. We saw washing on little lines strung up anywhere, on a wire fence, between two bumpers, two branches, across the pavement. During the hot days they wore trunks of the briefest style, looked very healthy and brown, and happy too. They really behaved like boys, playing ball, wrestling, and all sorts of queer games, and how they loved harmonicas, banjos and guitars.

My most embarrassing moment, when I was walking along a houseless stretch, was to spot a soldier on the top of a lorry changing trousers (the insides of the lorries were packed full with stores). At the crucial moment, when I was sure I'd have to turn about, he turned, saw me, colored as scarlet as I felt, clutched his trousers, and held them like grim death.

The time I laughed loudly was when a huge colored soldier came tripping along the road, holding the tails of his coat out like wings. Goodness, he was a funny sight.

One afternoon four soldiers crossed the road with the obvious intention of speaking to me. For a second I panicked, wondering what was coming, when one said, "You must excuse us, madam, but we must tell you, your two children are the most beautiful we've seen; they're so lovely." All of us in our area remarked how fond of children the Yanks were. They appeared to be perpetually surrounded by our offspring, playing with them every available minute and giving them souvenirs.

A Special Word. May I just add a special word of praise in favor of your colored troops. What we had heard of them had not been favorable, but although we had hundreds in the area at odd times, and although I see them every day out here, I have never heard of any unpleasant incidents. They seem to get quite a lot of fun out of life without annoyance to anyone. They're very well-behaved, polite and quiet, in fact, good Americans.

When your men are back home once more, I do hope they'll remember us kindly. We're a conventional little island, slow to accept changes, slow to make friends. It's taken us a long time to appreciate and like the Yanks, and it's taken the war to bring about that change.

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