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Word: blimeys (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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Gurgled a Tommy: "You'd think sentiment like that would turn your stomach. But blimey, it's marvelous." Beamed the Daily Mail: "Riotously amusing." Even the thunderous Times felt that it offered "valuable lessons to the English music hall." Overnight Irving Berlin's This Is The Army was a London smash...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Theater: Blimey! | 11/22/1943 | See Source »

...soldiers soon discovered who Mr. Bullfinch was. "Blimey, it's Winnie," they said. "Winnie's come out into the bloomin' desert." "Hey, Winnie," shouted Private Stanley Collins, an Australian, "Have you got a spare cigar?" Winnie handed over a fragrant Hoyo de Monterrey...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Foreign News: Mr. Bullfinch Takes a Trip | 8/31/1942 | See Source »

...federation, wearing a red tie and a red carnation. Housewives, "to demonstrate their political convictions," hung red petticoats on their clotheslines. The Duke smiled, talked, offered agricultural advice to kitchen gardeners. The petticoats disappeared. The secretary threw away his carnation. He could not get rid of his tie. "Blimey," he said, "I can't run around in front of a duke without a tie." Later the Duke organized his youth camps, a kind of British NYA, widely copied in the Dominions...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Changed Men | 8/25/1941 | See Source »

...been frightened? Blimey, no! Why be frightened on a nice, easy trip, with a bar for the crew, and cards, and the best British tobacco? But the men were glad to be in New York, all the same-glad to be out of danger, glad to be heroes, glad, above all, to be where beer flowed free and there was no such thing as blackout. "Know what I'm going to do next?" exulted Quartermaster Cronin. "I'm going up to Times Square and just walk around and let the lights shine on me." Before the evening...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: AT SEA: Q. E. Deed | 3/18/1940 | See Source »

...leeched natives whom he had ruled, by voodoo devils, by the weakness of the mortal flesh. Three shots rang out. His Majesty fell, staggered forward, collapsed at the feet of Smithers, white, rum-soaked, trader. "Where's year 'igh an' mighty airs now, yer bloomin' Majesty? Gawd blimey, but yer died in the 'eighth o' style...

Author: By J. H. S., | Title: CRIMSON PLAYGOER | 9/25/1933 | See Source »

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