In London's Daily Herald last week appeared the story of Sid and Syd. Neighbors from childhood, the difference between them was the way they spelled their names. In school, in scrapes, in games, in the R.A.F., they were always together. Together they were in a big Berlin raid, Sid as a gunner, Syd as a bombardier. Together they came back, Sid in his turret, Syd in the nose. Both were dead. In flag-draped coffins, side by side, they were taken home together.
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