The Homecoming of Hans - A railway carriage encounter with a happy German-American

He seemed to fill the carriage as he heaved his great bulk into the corner seat and included us all in his welcoming smile. True to English tradition, we hastily hid behind magazines, but the hint was wasted. Waving his hand at his much labelled suit-case, he informed us that he was from America, and flung the challenge: “Have you ever been in the States?" 

Conscious: of our ‘ignorance, we remained hidden till, unexpectedly, the gauntlet  was taken up by the little old lady opposite. 

“Why yes,” she chirped, “I went over last year to see my daughter, in New York." 

“You know N'York?" he beamed , "See here.” He opened an illustrated paper at an aerial photograph, and they pored over it together. As he talked, relating the glories of the country of his adoption, his accent betrayed more and more clearly, the country of his birth. The borrowed Americanisms dropped away, and there came the involuntary "Ja, jai" of assent. 

"See dere are de skyscrapers oop town, end dese de skyscrapers down town. I live in one once, on de dwenty~eighth floor." He looked round on us and emphasised "You have nothing Like dat in England.” 

We refused to ‘be impressed ‘and: ‘tried to convey by our silence that we had no desire for such monstrosities. But his great voice boomed on and, as , the miles passed we exchanged glances of exasperation.

 The train ran into Rugby. 

“Now, I wonder,” said the old lady, wistfully, “If I could get a cup of tea." She fluttered to her feet, but he had risen ponderously. 

"Zit down!’” he commanded,  and beckoned the refreshment wagon.

“You should have coffee,“ he went on. “Mooch better. In America we drink always coffee.” 

This was too much. We rallied round our compatriot, and a chorus rose of which the burden was “Tea And nothing but Tea!!” He accepted his defeat with unimpaired cheerfulness and handed in tea all round. As we passed our pennies, he waved them aside with a chuckle. “No, det's all right.? and he jingled the silver in his pocket. 

There was a moment of horrified silence. “Words of protest were forming on the lips of the spinster in the corner, but, before the storm could break, the old lady had caught us all in a glance of appeal.

 “If you would return my cup- -" she said, hastily pushing it into his hand, and,  as he dropped to the platform, she murmured pleadingly: “He's going home to his village in Germany after twenty years," 

And as she spoke we saw what her wise old eyes had seen all the time. Behind the aggressive man was just little Hans of the fairy tales, who went away to make his fortune, coming home at last.