The Press: Military Indiscretions

A German secret service agent, after World War I, wrote a book revealing some innocent sources of military information that he had made use of in Great Britain.

From parish papers, school magazines, county journals, German intelligence culled many a tidbit telling about war factories, ports of embarkation, regiments at the front.

Last week Britain, fearing invasion, belatedly issued a warning to all head masters and editors of 36,000 religious periodicals (total circulation: 30,000,000 ), against military indiscretions. Said Britain’s censor: “Don’t advertise the fact that your church hall is being occupied by troops. Don’t say that the path leading to the churchyard is blocked by a machine gun post.” Horrible examples quoted by the censor :

> Last October, in a magazine published by one of Britain’s oldest public schools, names of Old Boys on the staffs of four B. E. F. divisions were listed, their units identified.

> A parish correspondent told how a certain regiment “ate 10,563 buns at the local church canteen . . . hoping that as good buns would be given them at — — ,” naming the embarkation port from which they were to sail.

> A clergyman, writing for a county journal, gave the name and location of a new aircraft plant, boasted: “Since the establishment of the new works, my congregation has grown.” Hoardings. Because of Britain’s paper shortage, the Ministry of Supply recently ruled that British newspapers can no longer placard London with posters announcing the latest headlines in each edition. Instead, on durable sheets backed with linen, the Evening News sedately proclaims “News From All Battlefronts,” the Evening Standard simply “Latest.” Last week London’s 5,000 gnarled, grizzled, middle-aged newsboys invented a substitute for these unsatisfactory placards. They blacked the plywood hoardings (billboards) on which posters were once clipped, wrote their own headlines in chalk. Sample heads:

> Outside the stately columns of the Ritz: “Italian Hot Chestnut [sic] General Captured.”

> At Piccadilly Circus: “R. A. F. Droppa Da Bomba on Libya, Yes? No?”

> In Oxford Street: “French Have Stopped Fighting But What the Hell!”

> In Soho: “Duke and Duchess of Wind sor Have Arrived At —.”

Good Men. For many years Britain’s Press Association (news agency) has tested its teletype machines with a time-honored sentence. One morning last week P. A. machines began to hum, clacked out instead: “Now is the time for all good men and true to come to the aid of their country.” Said P. A.: “We have eliminated party factions.”