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The war again came home to us when we were invited to lunch at Cliveden, Lady Astor's famous estate. A mutual friend had engineered the invitation. She telephoned to confirm it. After one or two of her effortless witticisms, she said, bluntly, "I hope you have brought some goodies over from America." It took me a moment to understand that by "goodies" she meant just plain food, not candy or confectionary. Like most Americans who went to England in those days, we had stocked up with tinned food for friends, meats and fruits that simply were not available there. Many English children had never tasted an orange and I heard a little girl say, when she bit into a slice of white bread, "It tastes like cake!" In the crate of food that Frances and I assembled before leaving New York there was one large slab of bacon. Lady Astor bellowed over the telephone, "Bacon! Oh, lovely. Please bring it with you on Sunday." When we sat down at table, an enormous