the first raid I heard a retired admiral and a
famous editor discussing it as one talks of an
approaching horse race or a ball game.
“Everything is quite perfect for them. The wind of the last fortnight has died away," the admiral said, rubbing his hands. "Now if you want to lay a wager— "
At the theatre that night, although the audience shared this sense of anticipation, the play progressed cheerfully. When we came out after the final curtain we saw that the heavens were torn by the groping fingers of countless searchlights. From the wide spaces of Trafalgar Square we could watch occasionally shrapnel bursting close to the shafts of light, and we pointed out to each other what we imagined to be the minute shape of a Zeppelin, flying high.
"Mybe the bloke fawncics 'es over Lunnon," a constable said. "If so, Gawd 'elp 'im when 'e tries to fly back."
Aw, they dawn't get over the 'eart of Lunnon these days," said a cab driver, lounging by in the hope of a fare. Show ayn't worth the price of stying out. 'Ome for you, gentlemen?”
Later, in a room overlooking the Embankment, a party of us watched in darkness. The fingers of light still groped, but there was no more shrapnel. A pretty young girl grasped her father's
42
