In this plea, then, for a firmer Anglo-American friendship I address
the civilian populations of both countries. The fate of such a
friendship is in their hands. In the Eden of national destinies God
is walking; yet there are those who bray their ancient grievances so
loudly that they all but drown the sound of His footsteps.

Being an Englishman it will be more courteous to commence with the
fools of my own flesh and blood. Let me paint a contrast.

Last October I sailed back from New York with a company of American
officers; they consisted in the main of trained airmen, Navy experts
and engineers. Before my departure the extraordinary sternness of
America, her keenness to rival her allies in self-denial, her willing
mobilisation of all her resources, had confirmed my optimism gained in
the trenches, that the Allies must win; the mere thought of compromise
was impossible and blasphemous. This optimism was enhanced on the
voyage by the conduct of the officers who were my companions. They
carried their spirit of dedication to an excess that was almost
irksome. They refused to play cards. They were determined not
to relax. Every minute they could snatch was spent in studying
text-books. Their country had come into the war so late that they
resented any moment lost from making themselves proficient. When
expostulated with they explained themselves by saying, "When we've
done our bit it will be time to amuse ourselves." They were dull
company, but, in a time of war, inspiring. All their talk was of when
they reached England. Their enthusiasm for the Britisher was such
that they expected to be swept into a rarer atmosphere by the closer
contact with heroism.

We had an Englishman with us--obviously a consumptive. He typified for