"I bet we're going to have a swell time in London," Bill told me. "We sure have started off right!" We certainly had!
We had three days shore leave and we started out next day--sixteen of us--in our best bibs and tuckers, to see the sights. Were we glad to get ashore? Chorus--we were! We took a little train--funniest train I ever saw. Reminded me of the Jim Crow cars back home. They were divided into first, second and third class, but over there uniforms can ride wherever they choose, and we are expected to pay only half of a third-class fare.
Remember, we were one of the first shipload of American sailors to put foot in London, and as such we were one of the sights of the city. Crowds! Say! New Year's Eve around Times Square or Mardi Gras back home had nothing on the mob we drew there in Charing Cross.
They fought to see us. They elbowed and pushed and wormed their way in. The girls threw their arms around us and kissed us, and the men cheered, but that wasn't all. They wanted to wish on the eagles on our sleeve--all of them did. And they wanted souvenirs--anything for souvenirs--buttons or American loose change.
"Give us American dimes," they'd cry. "Give us American dimes," and they fought for them. I had some Confederate money with me. They snapped it up.
Two bobbies--they are the English policemen, you know--came to our rescue, and packed us into taxies, but not before the crowd surged around us exclaiming about our caps--our little white canvas hats. They had never seen any like them. They wanted those, too. I don't know what would have become of us if the police hadn't taken a hand.
Say, by that time, we were hungry and thirsty, but we didn't dare get out for fear of starting another young mob. I felt like the President on inauguration day, or the King, or someone.
"Stop at a beanery," yelled Bill to our driver, a little old man with round shoulders and a shiny coat. He cocked an eye at us.
Bill replied, "As me Allies, the French, put it, 'Jay fame.'"
Our driver wasn't a French scholar. He looked at me.
"Food," I said. "In plain Anglo-Saxon, I hunger--I crave nourishment."
"Oh," he said, "I see, sir," and he dumped us out before a restaurant. We went in.
"Ham and eggs," we all shouted. Every good American sailor always orders that, but our waiter didn't care.