Word: pluckings
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Next, go to your radio set. Approach the object with all the pent up sneer you can muster. (This last direction is straight from Frend.) Then, with rapidly successive strokes, pluck each shiny tube from its smug receptacle, clutch gleefully in both hands, and with a heinous whoop," or whatever other sound may best express your innermost emotions, smash one at a time against the book-piled desk at which you've sat so many hot nights. After this act of delicious reprisal, grab the nearest blunt weapon, and bludgeon to permanent silence the obstinate object of your electronic muddle...
Each morning company guards pluck children from mothers' sides as they pass the plant gates. Eight and a half hours daily the moppets play, snooze, ingest assorted vitamins, watch test planes zoom by. Mothers pay 50? a day for food, Curtiss-Wright pays the overhead. Beamed one mother recently: "It's marvelous for Terry.. He eats his squash and tomato now without trouble and can even tie his shoes...
...story of British pluck made the rounds in London's pubs last week. At a dinner part to which Red Army officers had invited their British colleagues, the Russians topped off the meal with a batch of rousing Russian folk songs. Asked to reciprocate with some folk songs of their own, the British officers went into an embarrassed huddle. Only song they could think of was the Eton Boating Song, which they promptly boomed out with old school fervor. Impressed, the Russians asked to be taught the words and tune. Soon, weeping in their vodka, the sturdy Muscovites bellowed...
...Manpower is just around the corner. The nation has let experienced farm hands follow the lure of higher wages to the cities, to become rank apprentices at a new trade. It has let draft boards pluck skilled and infinitely precious war workers from industry. It has let the Navy's busy recruiting trucks roam the nation, picking and choosing, skimming off the cream of American manpower with hardly a thought to national policy. Now the month of crisis is at hand...
...Fritz Todt, who built the wondrously interlaced strong points in the unused Westwall, lies over the oppressed land. German gunners stand at their stations in fortress and foxhole, ready to spin the threads of their fire into the tightly woven fabric of resistance to invasion. British bombers and fighters pluck the threads and blast the weavers, whipping across the Channel in great swarms. Every day there is rebuilding to be done. Every day calls for more characteristically German refinement of a defense system that can never be woven too stoutly, nor extended too deeply into the interior...