High Point

I was locked in the basement of a German Hospital at Rimini, Italy.

The evening before a mountain of a man, a German doctor, had operated on my right hand. I had not eaten since the noon of the previous day when I had lunch on the Island of Sardinia before taking off on the mission which terminated in my being shot down. I had been offered the standard German field ration, black bread and sausage. At the time, however, and under these conditions, it wasn't appetizing.

I was sitting on a stool looking up at the two ground level windows when a figure stopped squarely before the right hand window. I could distinguish the lower third of a nun's habit with black shoes. A feminine hand reached between the bars and dropped, in rapid succession, three of the largest, finest peaches I had ever seen. Just as rapidly as the peaches had been dropped, the figure disappeared from view. (Continued).