H. M. Snappy Subjects

Few British parents sent children to the U.S. for wartime safekeeping without serious qualms--many a troubled family wondered if their pink-cheeked tot could readjust to life in Milwaukee, Wis. or Kennebunk, Me. Last week, as 69 young British war refugees started home again, some of their U.S. foster parents wondered how England would readjust to them. It seemed obvious that some changes would be made when the Empire's small fry got back.

All were excited at the prospect of seeing their fathers and mothers again. But five years of chewing U.S. gum, watching U.S. ball games and listening to Frank Sinatra had left their mark. Many had lost their childhood accents, and all had achieved a glib mastery of U.S. slang. Said twelve-year-old Norman Whitehead, after a final subway ride and ice-cream binge: "I'm going to tell my parents that I painted the town red--that will defeat them."

Some of the youngsters could remember England only hazily. Others were frankly dubious about life in the British Isles. Like explorers setting off for darkest Africa, some had provisioned themselves heavily with flapjack flour, maple syrup, gum, catsup and other gastronomic delights. Small boys clutched baseball mitts and comic books. Older girls wore open-toed shoes, shuddered at an awful possibility--England might be "too dead" after the giddy pace in U.S. high schools.

Said 15-year-old Pamela Morrison, fresh from the gilded movie-palaces and milkshake counters of Rochester, N.Y.: "I'm going back to live in a house 500 years old--in a hick town."

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