"When in the East the evening stars burn clear,
We know our time of toil is drawing near;
For as the evening deepens in the West,
It brings an ending to our day-long rest.
One after one we slip into the gloom,
And through the dusk like great cockchafers boom;
High in the stars you hear our mournful cry,
As we sail onward through the sapphire sky."
--_The Night Bombers._
I suddenly wake, and sit up in bed with strained ears. I have a dim
recollection of a noise. Then I hear three or four dull explosions like
distant gunfire, and out wails the piteous appeal of "Mournful Mary" at
the Dunkerque docks.
_Zoop-zoop_ ... bo-o-o-o-m!
The last is a tremendous explosion.