I was twelve at the end of World WarTwo, living in Norfolk which is flat and was home to many US air bases throughout my teenage years. For us it was a revelation. Many of the officers rented houses in our town and we made friends with many. Old Spice from the PX turned smelly young men into fragrant flowers, drawing questionable glances from backward locals. At dances, we locals didn't stand a chance against those smart, rich, self-assured young men. Many of our local girls were whisked away to Nirvana and for most of them it was but for a few, life was rough and the girls returned to Norfolk. A number of young airmen came to Norfolk from the States and bought cars from returning men, only to kill themselves on our narrow roads, hampered by the cars being left hand drive. During the late forties and early fifties food was strictly rationed and I remember a befriended pilot returning and bringing us some lovely ripe oranges. It was like being given the Crown Jewels. Fortunately numbers of airmen declined by the time I met my wife or I would have probably lost her.