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...impeccable grandmother; in London. At 27, red-haired Elinor Sutherland attracted longtime bachelor and coupon-clipper Clayton Glyn with her wasp waist, green eyes, and the social splash she made when four white-tied suitors leaped into a lake at her command. In 1892 (she claimed) he hired Brighton's swimming baths for their exclusive honeymoon use. In Three Weeks (1907) she revealed the effects on each other of a Swiss hotel, a Russian enchantress, a clean young Englishman, and a tigerskin rug. In Hollywood in 1927 she modernized these horse-&-buggyish ardors in the road-sterish form...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Milestones, Oct. 4, 1943 | 10/4/1943 | See Source »

This raid was only one of many hundreds of tip-&-run raids. The same day another coastal town was hit. England's Atlantic City, Brighton, had nearly a hundred raids. The Germans choose misty days and they swoop out of the clouds, sometimes with their engines switched off, spray the town with bullets, dump their bombs and are off before the ack-ack is effective...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Foreign News: Tippers & Runners | 6/7/1943 | See Source »

Random Sowing. Bombs and bullets do strange things when dropped and fired at random. In Brighton an army eleven was playing cricket against the local police. Lieut. G. W. Wood was bowling when a bomb hit the playing green. "I found myself blown some distance away," he said. The chief constable, waiting to bat, threw himself down and an iron girder fell across his neck...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Foreign News: Tippers & Runners | 6/7/1943 | See Source »

Murille Grieve of Cobham and Violet May Nicholson of Kingston-upon-Thames arrived at Brighton for a brief vacation. They stepped into a shop and were blown up to the next floor and buried in the debris, unable to move, not knowing whether they were dying or not. Eight hours later they were dug out. In a week they were ready to leave the hospital...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Foreign News: Tippers & Runners | 6/7/1943 | See Source »

Stand up there on the ramp behind the press-box. Cast your eyes over that magnificent panorama of baseball, football, and softball fields. Then, gaze towards the Field House. Land, land, land. All the way to the fences and off into the purple haze of Brighton it stretches. What a nightmare for Henry George...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: THE MAIL | 5/17/1943 | See Source »

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