My Dad spent a couple of weeks in New Zealand after being wounded on Guadalcanal. He stabilized in three stages, first on Guadalcanal, second on New Zealand, and third in a San Francisco Naval Hospital. New Zealand was so flooded with wounded Marines, that as soon as possible, he was sent to a private home where the homeowners cared for him. My Dad was always enormously effusive in his praise of New Zealanders' kindness and hospitality. When describing how kind and generous New Zealanders were, he was often moved to tears. In one of his favorite stories--was while he was still in a New Zealand hospital--he received an afternoon pass to get out of the hospital. He was still in an upper body cost, with his left arm in a platform cast. After wobbling out of the hospital he got a cab and with a lot of maneuvering, final got in. Once in, the cabbie asked, "So those Japanese must be pretty tough customers." And my Dad replied, "Yeah, they're a bunch of bastards." And the cabbie replied, "I say mate, don't call them that. There's many a poor chap who's a bastard and can't 'elp it. I'm one meself." Dad said all he could do was apologize for comparing the Japanese to bastards.