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-—aBB* 0 It’s really meat-y hash! Plenty of fine
A m g%l - corned beef, and every bit of potato rich with meat flavor. A trace of onion . . . just-right 7 seasoning. It all adds up to perfection. r You see. Libby chefs have a special trick of cooking the beef, potatoes and seasonings to a flavor-blend that’s superb! All you do is heat the hash. We're sorry we can’t urge you to have our wonderful Corned Beef Hash of ten, because wartime restrictions have limited the pack. But when you find Libby's at your food store, your folks are in for a treat. ( We ve l>een pre paring corned beef for over 70 years, and have a special "know-hou '.'') When your dealer is out of Libby’s Hash, then take another of our famous canned meats. Every one is delicious. LIBBY, MCNEILL * LIBBY, CHICAGO 9, ILLINOIS LISTEN TO "MY TRUE STOBY" . . . thrilling real life dramas! Every morning Mon. thru Fri. 10:15 EWT, 9:15 CWT, 1 1:30 MWT, 10:30 PWT. Blue Network. I , 1 Chill a can of Libby s ( brned , Beef Hash. Slice hash in six I i portions. Pan fry in hot fat | until well browned. Scree with tossed salad. Screes three. LIBBY'S DEVILED HAM-It’s truly fine ham . . . c<x>ked. ground and "deviled" with _ choice spices. The thing for lunch box sandwiches! So thrifty, handy, and so good. Make sure it's Libby’s you get. LIBBY’S VIENNA SAUSAGE — A perfect “find'’ on the pantry shelf for a quick meal. These tender sausages are tantaliz ing with the taste of hard wood fire smoking. Libby’s arc famous. It Surprised Her A True Story by ARTHUR BARTLETT Tkli W—k llaH wr»*r In £nvlond I (fIucIvs was so calm about the robot Ixtmhs. But this time.. . ENGLAND WHEN Hitler unloosed his robot bombs (better known now as "buzz bombs” or "doodlebugs"), I was in London where some of the first ones landed. It was no fun. You would see or hear one of the Things coming through the sky. getting nearer and nearer. You would know it was pure chance where it would crash. You would recall what you had seen at places where others had crashed, the people who had been living their normal lives one moment and the next moment, homeless, injured, dead. You would hear the motor of the Thing suddenly cut off, and you would know that within seconds that particular Thing would have done its work. But until you heard the ex plosion you didn't know whether it would be you or somebody else who would be in its descending path. "The Thing" That Fiiee The one place 1 found in those days where, after a spell of watching from the roof, I could regain the calm detachment which saves nerves from becoming intoler ably taut, was the little bar in the base ment of my hotel. Here, in convivial com pany, you talked about events around you as if they were merely matters of current interest, having no momentary relation to your own life — as we back home might discuss the World Series. It was, of course, an attitude rather than a reality. I suppose I was about the only person who came there who had not been through bombings in earlier war years. Most of the customers had lost friends or loved ones. They understood very well that high explosives dropping from the sky can be a very personal matter. I think, because they did understand it, they carefully avoided showing any sign of it. That was the Englishman's instinctive block against hysterics or panic. She Had the Right Idea Gladys, the barmaid, was a past mistress of the technique. Tall, dark and friendly — with that privileged brand of friendliness which makes the English barmaid the most inviolate of females — she would discuss the Hitlerian weapon from any angle, then turn to another subject as casually as if the Derby or the night’s dinner menu were of exactly the same conversational weight. A novice trying to play the game might avoid mentioning (lying bombs at all. But not Gladys. "I’cxir Mr. Meadows.” she would say, "had his windows blown in last night. I wonder what that devil Hitler is thinking about, don't you? That's two-and-six, dear. Have you decided where you are going on your holiday?” If then*- had been ordinary lxmib* I doubt if there would have lx-cti as much comeraatiou about them. Being new, they opened new fields of discussion. Our Nearest Miss Pilotless planes? How did they work? What were they like? Everybody had his own theory, but gradually the facts became known and the newspapers began calling the Things by the less mysterious name of buzz bombs. So did the customers in Gladys’ bar. Since there was little more to be said about them, except that they were or were not overhead, the conversation turned to other subjects. It was on quite another subject — I don’t remember now what it was — when we got our nearest miss. Suddenly the floor seemed to stir under our feet, the atmosphere pressed against our eardrums, glasses rat tled and puffs of dust rose from the corners where it had accumulated. The explosion itself was sharp and over in a moment. That was all. The Thing, as we learned soon after ward, had struck hundreds of yards away, * and. though a mother and child had been buried in the rubble of their home, we were unscathed. Birth of a Nam* I say that was all, hut it wasn’t, quite. For at the moment of explosion Gladys screamed. It wasn’t much of a scream. But the fact that she had screamed at all filled Gladys with shame. She muttered abjectly: "It surprised me. I wasn't ex pecting it, that’s all.” The men in the bar grinned reassuringly and in a moment Gladys had recovered her self. "Oh well," she said lightly, “you know that song — how does it go now? — ‘The rvxxllebugs will get you if you don't watch out.’ ” It was the first time I had heard the Things called doodlebugs, though within a day or two it was universal here and had be gun to spread to the United States. I shall always believe that it was Gladys, the barmaid, covering her confusion at having broken the code, who gave them the name.