Books I read as a child.

The Battle of Britain.  By Quentin Reynolds.  Copyright 1953.   I encountered a good looking copy in the giant book box down at the town dump.  A freebie.  I recognized it and grabbed it.  It still reads well.  The author was an American war correspondent in Britain in 1940, the year of the battle of Britain.  In 1953 he writes of his meeting with British sailors, and the captain, of a smallest steamer in a coastal convey going up the English Channel.  Fending off German attacks by aircraft and E-boats and shelling from Pas de Calais livens things up.  In later chapters he writes about RAF fighter pilots, air raid wardens, RAF bomber crews, ordinary British civilian who have to sleep on subway platforms because of the bombing, firemen, and more.  Since he was there at the time, Quentin qualifies as a primary source and writing while the memories ought to be still fresh. You finish the book with a strong feeling the British were imperturbable, kept a stiff upper lip, and were ready to fight to the death.   Just the right sort of stuff to make any American want to support Britain.