Der O'Glock, Vat Ist?

The British War Office released some information last week which had given it an acute case of the shakes. Recently two members of the British Security Police dressed themselves up in German uniforms and started out in broad British daylight to see whether Britain was on the qui vive. Bareheaded, without overcoats, one in the blue of a Luftwaffe officer, the other in German infantry grey, they first took a pleasant bus ride from London to Gerrard's Cross 17 miles away. They talked socially with their fellow passengers in guttural, Germanic English. One passenger thought they were Russians, others favored the hypothesis that they were Poles or Czechs. They asked questions of a British Army captain--who answered them.

Leaving the bus just outside of Gerrard's Cross, they inquired the way to town of an R.A.F. officer, who graciously obliged. "Guten Morgen," said the polite men in the German uniforms.

When they dropped into the Gerrard's Cross police station to report their intentions, they ran into an eccentric Briton, Sergeant Donald Robbie, who whipped out a pistol and backed them against the wall. But, having disillusioned the Sergeant, they spent an agreeable two hours strolling the town. Everywhere they talked snatches of German and their Germanic English. In a workmen's pub the proprietor recognized one of them as a former vacuum-cleaner salesman named Harry Pringle who had sometimes called before the war. Said the proprietor to Harry Pringle: "What are you doing in that getup?" Harry Pringle told him. Otherwise there seemed to be very little interest. During the whole two hours only one person was suspicious enough to phone the police station.

Sometimes the men in the Nazi uniforms stopped civilians on the street and asked "Der o'glock, vat ist?" The civilians told them the time of day, but it did not seem as if they really knew.

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