" Beauty, like sorrow," wrote Dekker, " dwelleth every- where."
But I should not have selected as very beautiful the German steel helmet, which I dislike only less than the heavy jack-boots that on two occasions have filled me with foreboding akin to fear. Once was at Godesberg, after dis- cussions had broken down between Chamberlain and Hitler and war seemed not only inevitable but also imminent. At three or four in the morning I suddenly decided that the Nazis would allow none of the diplomatic correspondents sleeping in that luxurious hotel to return to Britain to carry on their work, and the heavy tread of the sentry outside the front door sounded very sinister. The other occasion—well, that was a longish story which has given me a lasting sympathy for those who try to leave Germany against Hitler's will. But some weeks ago the Koelnische Zeitung was explaining how the Germans in the last war had come to appreciate the beauty as well as the utility of the steel helmet, which had become " a symbol of the soldierly spirit." The British, American and French " tin hats " were dismissed with contempt as "barber's basins," entirely lacking "the noble lines which dis- tinguish the German steel helmet." VERNON BARTLETT.
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