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A vile air raid last night. British machines, of course. They seemed
determined to get over the town, and from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. relays of
machines (of which not _one_ was shot down) attacked us. The din was
tremendous, and all sleep was out of the question.
Morning revealed surprisingly little damage, as is often the case in
these big raids, whereas a few bombs from a chance machine often work
havoc. I was down at 50 B.C. aerodrome this morning, and heard that as
soon as the moon suits we are going to make Dunkirk sit up as
retaliation for last night's efforts. There were also rumours of big
attacks impending on London as soon as the new type of Gothas are
delivered. That will shake the smug security of those cursed islanders.
Rosa came to tea, and afterwards I told her more about Zoe, and as I
expect any day to be appointed to the periscope school at Kiel, I asked
Rosa to try and effect an introduction to Zoe, and do what she could
for me. Rosa gave me the impression that she was somewhat surprised
that I should have had any difficulty with Zoe (of course I had not
told her of the shooting-box scene). Rosa evidently thinks any woman
ought to be honoured....
Perhaps I was not so far wrong in my surmises as to Rosa's previous
inclinations--I wonder; at any rate she will undoubtedly make Baumer a
good wife, and she will probably be very fruitful and grow still fatter
and housewifely. She is of a type of woman appointed by God in his
foresight as breeders. Zoe, my adorable one, will probably not take
kindly to babies.
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