这位英国外交大臣在二战后写书，这位曾经被纳粹迷得五迷三道以严肃不苟言笑著称的人回忆写下这样一段visceral的话：

“On our way home, we sat in the sun for half an hour at a point looking across the plain of York.  All the landscape of the nearer forground was familiar - its sights, its sounds, its smells； hardly a field that did not call up some half-forgotten bit of association; the red-rooted village and nearby hamlets, gathered as it were for company round the old greystone church, where men and women like ourselves, now long dead and gone, had once knelt in worship and prayer.  Here in Yorkshire was a true fragment of the undying England, like the White Cliffs of Dover, or any other part of our land that Englishmen have loved.  Then the question came, is it possible that the Prussian jackboot will force its way into this countryside to tread and trample over it at will?  The very thought seemd an insult and an ourage; much as if anyone were to be condemned to warch his mother, wife or daughter being raped.”