Anything more peaceful than the outward aspect of the Isle of Wight, as
I have seen it from Totland Bay during the past week, it would be
impossible to conceive. For the most part the sun has been shining from
a blue sky on a blue and brilliant sea; men, women and children have
been swimming and splashing joyfully in a most mixed manner, and the
whole landscape has had its usual holiday air. These, however, are
deceptive appearances. We have felt and are feeling the imminence of
war, and, though our judgments are firm and patriotic and prepared for
sacrifice, our minds are clouded with a heavy anxiety. Our newspapers
arrive at about 11 o'clock, and at that hour there is a concentrated
rush to the book-shop. There we make our way through stacked volumes of
cheap reprints to the counter where two ladies are struggling womanfully
against the serried phalanx of purchasers. These two dive head-first from
time to time into a great pile of the morning's news and emerge
triumphantly with _The Times_ for Prospect House or _The Telegraph_ for
Orville Lodge, and so on through the crowd of applicants until all are
satisfied. This is the great event of our day. At the grocery stores on
the opposite side of the road, news telegrams are shown on a board, and
with these we eke out the knowledge of our fluctuating fate. Close by,
too, is posted up a proclamation by the officer commanding the troops in
the Island. He bids us not to walk too near a fort or to convey to any
casual person such knowledge as we may have gained about the movements
of troops, and we are commanded "to at once report" anything suspicious.
I am sure the gallant officer will display as much vigour in the
battering of his country's foes as he has shown in the splitting of the
KING'S infinitives. Going for my newspaper this morning I saw at a
distance an elderly gentleman of a serious aspect revolving steadily
round and round a tall iron post. It was not until I came closer that I
realised the meaning of his strange gyrations. The proclamation had been
inconsiderately pasted round the post and he was endeavouring to read
it.
On Thursday last, nearly a week before the actual proclamation of war,
the wildest rumours were afloat here. A motherly lady assured me with a
smile that the German fleet might be expected at any moment. "The
British fleet," she told me, "has been overwhelmed and sunk in the North
Sea. The Germans have determined to capture the Isle of Wight, so we are
none of us safe." I asked her where she had heard this dreadful news.
"Oh, it's all over the village." Thereupon she moved calmly into a
bathing cabin and had a patriotic dip. In another quarter I was told
that the Island could not fail to be cut off, and awful things were
prophesied as to what would happen to us unless we made our way to the
mainland with the utmost promptitude. The supply of eggs was to run
short; meat was to go up to famine prices or be reserved entirely for
the soldiery, our intrepid defenders; bread was to become a luxury
obtainable only by millionaires. All this was reported on the authority
of a man who had it from another man who had it from a banker who was in
close touch with the War Office in London. So far what is true is that
steamers no longer come to Totland Bay, and anyone who wants to visit us
here can get no nearer by boat than Yarmouth--not, of course, the home
of the bloater, but our own little island Yarmouth, round the corner. In
the meantime a good deal of patriotic self-denial is going on amongst
the juvenile population. A friend of mine, aged seven, hearing the talk
about all the coming privations, has decided to remove chocolates, buns
and sponge-cakes from his dietary, and several young ladies have agreed
to take milk instead of cream with their breakfast porridge.
This morning we were brought face to face with the grimmest reality of
war we have so far experienced. A boy-scout called at the house and
produced an official paper asking for the names and addresses of any
aliens who might be residing in the house. We have one such alien, a
German maid for the children, a most unwarlike and inoffensive alien.
Her name was entered on the form and the boy-scout disappeared to call
at other houses. Since then, at intervals of about half-an-hour, other
boy-scouts have called and produced similar forms. I have just dismissed
a party of three, telling them that they seemed to be overlapping. They
smiled and said, "Thank you," and retired. I look out of the window and
behold two more approaching. They are doing the thing thoroughly.
P.S.--Another notice is out warning us that it is known there are a lot
of spies in the Island, and that we must not loiter near a fort lest we
be shot. It is rumoured that soldiers are to be billeted on us
(enthusiastic cheers from the younger members of the family).