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I am from Normandy. This story happened to my father, a young boy at the end of the war. One day, while roaming the fields searching for rabbits with his friend ( he was not allowed to return home without having caught any!), he came across a British plane that had landed near his house. The British airmen called them over. They were eating. They offered the boys some of their food. My father still dreams of the beautifully soft bread and the tinned meat they tasted. The airmen taught them some English words:" pig", "bread"...
I am now living in Britain. The first time my parents came over to visit me was nerve racking. Their eating habits were so set I was fretting over the fact I could not find any French bread for them. They would have to settle for Mother's Pride, said I, very apologetic. My father took a bite, and, to my astonishment, was instantly transported back to the British plane. "Le pain, c'etait un peu comme ca, comme du gateau!"
Although I don't think sliced bread had been invented at that time, I now have to take some over to France whenever I visit. Who says the French don't like English food?
My father was always understanding when I fell in love with Britain in my teens, and eventually left France for Britain. Thank you, airmen!

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