‘It will never be so again. Never in millions of years.’
I heard the shrill prolonged whistling in the street, and the
hurrying rush of feet, the sing-song, almost musical cadence
of the ‘Take cover,’ as it drew nearer and louder, and then passed
further on and away down another street, but I did not give my
mind to it; it did not recall my thoughts; and then the guns
began; first one, then another, then a third, at intervals of
a few minutes first, then closer together, then in bursts. One
big anti-Aircraft Station was close behind us on Parliament Hill.
The report of its gun boomed out, with an almost deafening roar;
the windows rattled and the doors shook.
And then I realized that an Air Raid had begun, and I felt excited,
and wondered if I should be afraid.
I crossed to the window and looked out. It was a brilliant moonlight
night, searchlights still swung across the sky, crossing, intersecting,
passing each other, but the moonlight dimmed their brightness,
and I thought:
‘How beautiful it is.’
I looked up in the sky for Zeppelins or aeroplanes, but I could
see nothing; only the tiny fleecy clouds, high up, incredibly
high up, luminous and unearthly in the moonlight.
The street outside was empty, but further down in the bigger
thoroughfares I could still hear the whistles and the warning
cries and the shuffle of feet.