An Englishman's Castle

I remember one story in particular my great-grandfather told me that demonstrates feelings for his first homeland. It goes like this:

One day a British patrol vessel in the channel during the Second World War sunk a Nazi U-boat. All the crew was lost but the captain. Being an officer and seeing that the ship was too small for a brig the man was given an armed escort and allowed to wander about the deck. The British captain warned the old tar assigned to watch the Nazi not to be provoked and treat him politely. The British captain wanted the captive treated humanly; he didn’t want to be un-British. An hour later the tar is in the captains quarters being dressed down for beating the hell out of the German. "What the hell happed? Didn’t I tell you not to let him provoke you, didn’t I say act British?" "Well sir" says the old sailor "as we walked along he starts saying the our ship was a rust bucket and any one stationed must be the bottom of the navies barrel. I let that go, seeing that you said not to get upset. Then he says all of England’s woman will welcome real men when they invade. Again I let that go too, but it did get me angry. THEN he said our king was born on the wrong side of the bed! Well it was all I could do not to knock his head off. But then sir he did something that I couldn’t forgive, captain" And what was that?"
"Sir, he spit in our ocean!"

My Great-grandfather spent nearly 90 years on earth, the first 22 in England.
But he left a little bit of his heart behind…along with mine.