Word: vodka
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Comrades of the Cucumber. The best and the worst of the famous Russian soul seems to come out on trains. The camaraderie is overwhelming; the crudity unbelievable. At every stop someone got off to fill my canteen with vodka, which was then redistributed to all hands. We collected an accordionist, a Hero of the Soviet Union, a discharged sailor and enough other people to make movement in our compartment almost impossible...
After a Russian supper of vodka, cherry brandy, sausages, fried potatoes, more vodka and endless cherry brandy bottoms-up, eight U.S. reporters and their three escorting Russian officers went out walking in Halle. Its streets were lit by a pale moon, traced by the grotesque shadows of bombed buildings. They had not gone a block before the first Germans joined them. By the second block there were 50. By the third every American was walking separately, surrounded by a milling group of Germans, pushing and shoving to say a few words into the correspondents' ears...
...said Morozov over his fourth vodka, and forgetting his assimilated Polish nationality entirely for the moment, "that we can't seem to get along better with America? We have no geographical conflicts. We don't want any of your colonies, nor you any of ours. We are working for the best interests of our people. Even more, here we are working for the best interests of the Polish people, and everywhere, all through the Balkans, the Middle East and the Far East you object and create nasty situations...
...Gets Boring." I tried to explain that according to our ideas of democracy, peoples should be allowed to do things as they wanted, not as someone else thought was in their interests. Neither Morozov nor the Major understood. Even after the sixth vodka they didn't understand. These Russian counterparts of Britain's Indian Civil Service saw things with eyes so different that they could be worried only by the possibilities of a major conflict with America. When brought right down to it, they were frustrated because the Poles, many of them, did not seem to appreciate...
...sack and ale they had nourished: opening on Broadway in Shakespeare's Henry IV (TIME, May 20), England's Old Vic seemed lustily alive. But vodka was not quite their drink; and in Chekhov's Uncle Vanya last week the Old Vic did some noticeable stumbling...