BBC Richard Dimbleby Reports on German Civili

I was sitting in the kitchen of a small, country-town hotel. We had come into the German kitchen, not to fraternise, that strictly forbidden practice, but because we had seen a large radio set there and wanted to hear the BBC news at nine o'clock.

It took us some time to find London on the dial, and the announcer had already begun the bulletin when we brought his voice loud and clear into the room. The hotel family was already there when we came in.

The old white-haired man who watched us fearfully, I think the German to told him terrible stories of what we would do. His two not unattractive daughters by no means frightened, and his grey-haired wife who sat knitting at the table.

A woman friend was visiting them, one of the smarter women of the little town, with her hair caught up in a bright turban, and wearing what looked to me very like fully fashioned silk stockings.

They, at least the women, were ready and anxious to talk, but we made it pretty clear that we had come in only to hear the wireless. As we sat listening to the news about this battle area, I watched the reaction of this German family which had been engulfed in the fighting a very short time before, and could

hear it going on now if we'd turned off the set. They were listening quite intently, understanding no English, but catching the German place names as Freddy Gris would mention them. And as I watched them have thought struck me.

This was a recycle from London of our success, of the growing and spreading defeat of their country. And yet there was not one sound or sign of regret on their faces. No shock, no despair, no alarm.