Evening star., 1941-03-16
By Phyllis BOhOme.
(Arranged by North American Newspaper Alliance 1nc)

the devil above, or at dusk from the
looters below.
Their windows are broken and glass
less. Their every form of transport is
delayed or destroyed; many of their
customers cannot pay them for their
goods; yet they carry on. They perm
and wave hair; they deliver each others
parcels and stores. They continue to fry
fish and chips Small restaurants open
in air raids to meet public needs at the
risk of their lives
Yes, dearie, all me glass as gone" an
indomitable woman in charge of a Gig
arctic and sweet shop remarked cheer
fully. But what says is-if you've got
your roof, you've got everythink!"
Cockney Wit
The cockneys have not lost their wit:
danger but sharpens it. An old lady
was heard asking one of the demolition
squad: What made the large hole in
the road-was it a bomb?" NO, lady"
was the reply from the depth of the
crater, mice"
A bus conductor told a passenger that
he had been bombed out of three differ
ent homes in 10 days. He ended up by
saying, I'm getting to hate that bloke
Hitler as much as he hates mel"
Yet there are suffering and terror that
stretch behind these flashes of cockney
wit, like the dark background of storm
behind summer lightning.
There were 24,OOO homeless people in
Stepney and Bethnal Green at the mo-
ment of writing. There are only two
deep shelters in this district, and in these
shelters there is no sanitation, no heat
ing, no food. In Mapping Old Stairs,
and the Limehouse region, the shelters
are so close to the river that they are
always wet.
Everywhere in these dockside districts
the crushed houses were cruel yet a
gallant sight. Bombed but not beaten"
was scrawled up on many small broken
shops. Little Union Jacks waved over
fallen heaps of rubble that had once
been houses.
Il got furniture enough out my
house las night when it was took. to
furnish two whole rooms,' one cheerful
woman told us, "and a lady nearby, she
has two empties and she said might
take them-iSn't it grand?"
Maternal HerOiSm.
I took a particular note of a Stepnev
member of the Women's Volunteer Serv-
ice. She was well dressed and had an
enchanting, happy face. Every one who
spoke to her was made more cheerful by
the radiation of her good will and gentle
ness. She seemed to be everywhere at
once, without hurry or any sign of
fatigue. I found that besides working
all day and every day in this bombed
area, she drove daily an hour in and out
of London, to her own home and chill
dren in the country. To drive during
the blackout, through the streets of
London, with a raid on, requires tre-
mendous courage, and she did this every
day, and would go on doing it until
the war ended.
Wherever I went in dangerous places;
in moments of special emergency, or
difficulty, I kept coming on these women;
until I found myself reminded of Philip
Brooks saying: DUTY makes us do
things we'll, but love makes us do them
beautifully" These women were lovers.
I asked the head of the w. V. S. about
my friend in Stepney-I had forgotten
her name, but when said, "she is like
bunch of daffodils on winters day"
her chief replied: Il know exactly whom
you mean. 1t is Mrs. F. The curious
part of it is, she used to do nothing but
play bridge, and now she is most GER
tainly one of our best workers"
But if the amateurs sometimes, as
long ago, "outran Peter" what can be
said of the London professional workers
with their smaller means and more iron
duties? Every day they have three bat
tles-transport going and coming, and
work under conditions that would appal
lions.
My own typists work in the city's CEN
ter. Opposite their offices, general post
Office lies in ruins. Behind them bomb
tore away part of their own building
and the whole of its neighbor. The girls
go to and from their work sometimes
through streets on fire; sometimes on
foot; sometimes in q strangers car;
sometimes standing In barrage at q