Attack Alarm

Chapter Two

We tumbled out of the tent into the square. It was dusk. The barrack blocks stood in black silhouette against the long stems of the searchlights, which weaved a pattern against the stars. Some of us had bicycles. Kan and I began to run. The intermittent throb of a Jerry could be heard overhead. Somewhere up there in the half-darkness of the night a ‘plane was moving swiftly towards London. And to the north came the sound of the Thames barrage, and occasionally we could pick out the little star-like burst of a shell.

At the far end of the square we were picked up by a Bofors tower, which dropped us at our gun pit. We ran into the hut and got our steel helmets and gas masks. The place looked bare and deserted in the light of two hurricane lamps. The table was littered with the remains of supper and amongst the dirty plates was a half-finished game of chess. The cards still lay on a bed just as they had been dealt for a hand of bridge. Everything was just as it had been left when the detachment on duty had gone out to take post.

Outside the night seemed darker. The searchlights had moved to the north, clustering as they followed the passage of the plane. Against their light the pit was just visible as a black circle of sandbags with the thick barrel of the gun pointing skywards. And inside the circle tin-hatted figures moved restlessly to and fro. As we went across to the pit we met Micky Jones, panting. He had been less fortunate in the matter of a lift. ‘Some people ‘ave all the luck,’ he said. ‘Cor, I ain’t ‘alf puffed. Run all the bloody way. And there’s Bombardier bloody Hood strolling along as cool as you please. Anyone would think there wasn’t no war on.’

As we came into the pit, John Langdon, still sitting on his bike, was talking to Helson over the sandbagged parapet. Eric Helson was the lance-bombardier in charge of the detachment on duty. ‘Was that Micky who just went into the hut?’ Langdon asked us.

Kan told him it was, and Langdon said: ‘All right then, Eric. That completes my detachment. You people come on again at one o’clock and then we’ll take over at stand-to. That gives us three hours each between stand-down and stand-to. You might explain this new arrangement to Hood.’

‘I will,’ said Helson. ‘And I think I’ll turn in now and get my three hours. Are you coming, Red?’

‘Like hell I am.’ He was chiefly remarkable for his flaming red hair, and as he climbed off the layer’s seat, he pushed a big hand through it. ‘Can’t remember when I last went to bed at this time, knowing that I could count on three hours uninterrupted sleep.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ said Langdon. ‘We may get a preliminary air-raid warning or I may decide it’s necessary to call the whole detachment out.’

‘Oh, you wouldn’t do that, Sarge.’

‘I’ll try not to,’ said Langdon with a grin.

The detachment that had been on stand-to began to drift off. Langdon looked round the pit. ‘What about layers? Chetwood, you’d better be Number Two, and Kan, you can take the elevation side. Micky will take his usual place as Number Four. Is that you, Micky?’ he asked, as a figure appeared from the direction of the hut. ‘You’re firing. Fuller and Hanson ammunition numbers. Fuller, you’ll hand the shells to Micky. And you’d better be responsible for the phone,’ he added to me.

So began one of the most exciting nights of my life. For the first few hours it was much the same as every other night since I had been at Thorby. It was warm and we took turns at dozing in the three deck-chairs. Every few minutes an enemy plane came up out of the southeast. The first indication would be a white criss-cross of searchlights far away over the dark silhouette of the hangars. These would usher the ‘plane over their area and pass it on to the next group. By the movement of the searchlights you could follow it right in from the coast, across the ‘drome and on over London. It was a definite lane they had found. There seemed to be no heavies anywhere along it. It was like a bus route.

Mostly they came in high and the searchlights wavered helplessly, unable to pick them out. Sometimes Gun Ops. gave us plots for them, but more often not. Occasionally they dropped flares. They seemed to be no more than armed reconnaissance, for they seldom dropped any bombs. And by the way they dropped flares to light the way into London it seemed as though experienced pilots were showing youngsters the way in.

It was actually just a coincidence that their route led them straight over Thorby. But it gave us all the feeling that we were the objective. Once I was quite convinced we were for it. There had been a period of comparative quiet when the sky was strangely blank. The only searchlights to be seen were away to the northeast, where a steady stream of raiders was coming into London by way of the Thames Estuary.

Then suddenly Micky said: ‘Here ‘e comes again — the bastard.’

A little knot of searchlights showed far away to the southeast. And at the same moment the phone rang. I picked up the receiver. ‘Calling all guns. Calling all guns. One, two, three — three? — four.’ ‘Four,’ I said. ‘Five, six. Are you there now, Three?’ Three,’ said a voice. ‘One hostile approaching from the southeast. Height ten thousand feet.’

I repeated the message to Langdon. That sounds more hopeful,’ he said, getting out of his deck-chair. ‘All right. Layers on.’ Kan and Chetwood got on to their seats. The gun swung round, its muzzle nosing in the direction of the ‘plane as though it would smell it out. The searchlights came nearer. Others flickered into action as the ‘plane approached until those across the valley were in action too, their dazzling white beams showing up every detail of the landing field.

The muzzle of the gun slowly elevated. We strained our eyes upwards to the point where all the beams converged. There it is,’ said Kan suddenly in an excited voice. A speck of white showed in the beams. But it remained stationary and the searchlights moved away from it. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s only a star.’

Then the Tannoy broke the expectant stillness. ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! See that all lights are out. All lights to be put out at once. Enemy aircraft are directly overhead. Take great care to show no lights. Off.’

‘What’s the betting they turn on the flare path now?’ said Fuller.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ replied Kan. He turned to me. “You weren’t here when they did that, were you, Barry? It was last week. They actually turned it full on for a Hurricane coming in when there was a Jerry right overhead. And were we scared! The fellow couldn’t help seeing it was a ‘drome.’

‘Look at that silly bastard!’ said Micky. A car had turned out of the officers’ mess, which was on the far side of the ‘drome near our other three-inch pit. Its headlights, though dimmed, showed white against the dark bulk of the hangars. ‘If I was over there I know what I’d do. I’d tell ‘im to put them out. An’ I wouldn’t give ‘im no more than one chance. If he didn’t put them out, I’d shoot ‘em out. I would an’ all — officer or no bloody officer. The silly fool — endangering everyone’s lives!’

Micky had a phobia about lights. He was a queer mixture of bravery and cowardice in the same way that he was a queer mixture of generosity and selfishness. In the hut at night he was a perfect curse until the lights were put out. Every night he would go round the blackout. If there was the slightest chink showing he made a nuisance of himself until it was stopped up. He’d even been known to complain about the light showing through cracks in the floor boards at the side of the hut. And if he was on guard you couldn’t enter or leave the hut without the warning, ‘Mind that light!’ spoken in that gruff rather aggressive voice of his.

In this particular case, of course, he was more than justified in his outburst. He had barely stopped speaking when from across the aerodrome we heard, faintly, the shout of, ‘Put those lights out!’ Immediately they vanished, and not a glimmer showed from any part of the ‘drome. Yet it was lit by the surrounding searchlights as though by a full moon. I felt we must be visible at ten thousand feet. I waited, tensed, for the whistle of the first bomb.

But nothing happened. The ‘plane passed slightly to the west of us, maintaining a steady course for London. Not once had it been picked up by the searchlights.

Chetwood climbed stiffly off the layer’s seat. ‘Anyone want a cigarette?’ he asked.

‘Don’t you go lighting a cigarette, mate,’ said Micky. ‘Do you want to get killed? I tell you it’s bloody silly.’

‘Oh, shut up, Micky,’ snapped Chetwood.

‘He’ll see you, mate, I tell you. An’ don’t you talk to me like that, see? I ain’t your servant even if you have got a lot of brass. What’s more, I’m senior to you. I bin in the Army since the beginning of the war.’

Chetwood ignored him. ‘Cigarette, Langdon?’

‘No thanks, old boy.’ Kan didn’t smoke, but Fuller and I took one. ‘You be careful,’ Micky muttered. ‘You bin lucky so far. But one day he’ll see you and he’ll drop one right on this ruddy pit.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’ Chetwood spoke quite pleasantly, but I could tell by the restraint in his voice that he was on edge. “That one has gone over. And the next one is right down on the horizon. How can any Jerry see a cigarette when he’s miles away?’

‘Well, I’m warning you. You ain’t the only one that’s going to get killed if a bomb falls on this pit. You want to think of others sometimes. You’re in charge, John. You didn’t ought to allow it.’

‘Well, as long as they’re careful it’s safe enough, Micky.’

‘All right, but they’d better be careful. I ain’t in no hurry to go to Heaven.’

Chetwood lit his cigarette under the folds of a gas cape. We lit ours from the butt of his. It seems incredible, but we were really very careful about cigarettes, smoking them in cupped hands even when there was nothing overhead. The trouble with light ack-ack is that mostly you’re posted right on the vital point. We often envied the heavies who could fire at planes with a sense of impunity. On a V.P. — especially an aerodrome — there is always the knowledge that you may be the objective. The frayed nerves that were revealed by a craving for cigarettes and a tendency to be short with one another were, I am certain, due more to this than to lack of sleep.

After that ‘plane had passed over no-one seemed inclined to doze again in a deck chair. I felt very wide awake. We all stood around the gun, tensely watching each cluster of searchlights as they ushered ‘plane after ‘plane across the ‘drome. They all seemed to be coming in from the southeast and going out of London by way of the Thames Estuary, where the barrage was incessant. Several times we saw one caught in the beams of the searchlights. But they were all a long way away, and even through the glasses showed as no more than a tiny speck of white in the centre of criss-cross beams.

The second of these was quite invisible to the naked eye. But I happened to be looking at the various clusters of searchlights through the glasses. ‘There’s one,’ I said. I experienced the excitement of a fisherman who has at last got a bite. It was coming out of the Thames barrage and flying southeast. It was nose down for home and travelling so fast that I felt it must be a fighter.

Micky was at my side as soon as I reported it. ‘Let’s have a look, mate.’ I hardly heard him. I wanted to see whether it would turn in our direction. ‘Come on, give us the glasses. Other people want to ‘ave a look besides you.’

‘In a minute, Micky,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to lose it. It’s very faint.’ But the ‘plane held its course, and in the end I let him have the glasses.

‘Gawd, it’s a Jerry all right. You can see the double fin.’

That’s more than I could,’ I said. ‘You can barely see the ‘plane itself.’

‘Well, it’s a Jerry anyway.’

‘How many times have I told you, Micky, that not all Jerries have double fins and not every ‘plane with double fins is a Jerry,’ said Langdon. ‘Here, give me the glasses.’

It took some persuasion even for Langdon to get the glasses from him. And when he had them Micky muttered something about sergeants having all the fun.

‘Well, whose glasses are they?’ asked Langdon tolerantly. Young though he was for a sergeant — he was only twenty-two — he had a fine understanding of the handling of men. Inevitably your first impression was that he was slack. And he was slack in things dear to the tradition of the Army. He had no hard-and-fast rules. His site was often rather untidy. He allowed his men tremendous licence. Yet no-one, not even Micky, took advantage of it. He was cool and efficient in all things that he thought mattered — things that would lead to greater accuracy in firing. His men liked him, and unhesitantly obeyed those commands that he did give. He never upbraided a man. Yet I never heard anyone, not even Bombardier Hood, question his authority. They obeyed him because he was a born leader and not just because he had three stripes.

Faced with Langdon’s tolerant friendly smile, all Micky’s pugnacity vanished in an answering grin. ‘I know, mate. I know. They’re yours, ain’t they. Anyway, I seen all I want to of the ruddy thing.’

For some time we stood watching the cluster of searchlights moving southeast. ‘Cor, love old iron, I’d like to have a crack at it, wouldn’t you, mate?’ Micky asked me.

‘Yes, I would,’ I said. ‘I’d like to send it crashing to earth. Funny how war changes one’s outlook. One gets a war mentality. I never thought Pd exult in killing. Yet here I am wanting with all my heart to kill three men. I suppose one develops the mentality of the huntsman. All one thinks about is the excitement of the chase. One doesn’t give a thought for the poor devil of a fox. And yet inside that ‘plane are three human beings, much the same as you or me. Probably none of them wanted war. They’ve come over just obeying orders. There are shells bursting all round them. There’s probably a smell of burnt cordite in the cockpit. They’re all probably feeling pretty frightened.’

I had been speaking more to myself than to Micky, for I did not really believe that he would understand what I was talking about. And when he spoke I knew that he hadn’t. ‘Course they wanted this war. Machine-gunning women and children, that’s what they like. The cowards! Look at the way they’re running out of the barrage. They can’t take it, mate, I tell you.’ Then suddenly he gave me a sidelong glance. ‘It’s a bastard kind of war,’ he said. ‘Cold steel, that’s what I like. I don’t mind ‘em when we’re firing at them. But I can’t stand just having them coming over and not doing anything. The infantry — that’s what I wanted to join. Did you know I volunteered for the Buffs? But they said there wasn’t no vacancy. I’d have to wait a month. And I couldn’t wait — straight, I couldn’t. I wanted to get at ‘em right away. They said I could go straight into the R.A. That’s how I came to join this bleeding outfit.’

He hesitated, watching me out of the corners of his eyes. I said nothing. ‘You think I’m silly about the lights an’ all, don’t you? You think I’m a coward because I keep my gas mask and tin hat on when there are Jerries about. Well, I ain’t, see. Give me a baynet and I’d go over the top with the best of ‘em and never give a thought to the fact that I might get killed. But I can’t stand this inaction. This place is driving me nuts.’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been here long, but the atmosphere of the place is too tense to be pleasant.’

‘Remember when that formation came over Wednesday? I was scared stiff, mate, I tell you. They seemed to fill the sky. It didn’t seem as if they could miss. And then we started firing at them an’ I wasn’t a bit afraid, was I?’ And when I made no comment, he said: ‘Funny! I can talk to you.’

‘I know how you feel,’ I said. ‘It isn’t cowardice. It’s frustration. I feel the same myself, but it doesn’t show in the same way.’

‘Gawd! I’d give anything to get out of the place. I’d like to go to Egypt. There’ll be fighting in Egypt — real fighting. Hand to hand, mate — that’s the way to fight. Not like this.’

‘It’s nearly one,’ Langdon said. ‘Will you go and wake the others, Fuller?’

Fuller had barely left the pit when Chetwood suddenly said: ‘Have a look at that bunch of searchlights away to the north, John. Looks like a ‘plane.’

Langdon swung round and put the glasses to his eyes. ‘By God! You’re right, Chet,’ he said. ‘And it’s coming this way.’

I followed the direction in which his glasses were pointing. The criss-cross of searchlights showed quite plainly beyond the downs. And in the centre of it I saw — or thought I saw — a speck of light. I couldn’t be certain. Your eyes play you funny tricks after you’ve been straining them into the dark for some time. One minute it was there and the next minute it wasn’t. But the searchlights came steadily nearer, and I could see little pin-points of shell-bursts very near the centre of the criss-cross.

Soon the searchlights on the ridge of the downs were in action and there was no doubt about there Using a ‘plane in the beams. It was quite visible now to the naked eye and growing more distinct every second.

‘It’s only about eight thousand feet and seems to be coming lower,’ said Langdon. ‘I should say it’s been hit.’ We watched it, breathless, expecting at any moment to see it turn off its course. But it continued to come straight on towards Thorby. ‘I think,’ said Langdon slowly, ‘we’re going to see some action.’

His voice was very cool and calm by comparison with my own excitement. I remember thinking how young and boyish he looked, standing there, his tin hat tilted on to the back of his head and his eyes intent on the ‘plane. There was no ack-ack now. But the searchlights held it, and faintly over the still night air came the throb of its engines. I could see the shape of it now, the wide spread of its wings all silver in the dazzling beams.

‘All right, layers on,’ said Langdon. ‘Fuse nine — load!’ I handed the shell to Micky. He lowered the breech and rammed it home with his gloved hand. The breech rose with a clang. ‘Set to semi-automatic.’

Fuller came running back into the pit. The ‘plane was at about 5,000 feet now and still heading straight for us. The layers reported, ‘On, on!’ Langdon waited. The throb of the engines beat upon the air.

Suddenly came his order: ‘Fire!’

A flash of flame and the pit shook with the noise of the explosion. I found I had another round in my hands. I held it for Micky to ram home. The gun crashed. Fuller came up with another round. I had a vague impression of that bright spot in the midst of the searchlight; the flash of our own shells and those of the other three-inch exploding just to the right of it. And then it seemed to fall apart in mid-air. I stood stupefied, with the next shell ready in my hands. The port wing crumpled and the nose dropped, so that we could see the big double fin of a Dornier. And then it began to fall, the wing bending back and separating itself from the rest of the ‘plane.

‘My God!’ Kan cried. ‘It’s coming down. Oh, my God! This is too exciting.’

It fell very quickly. And as it fell it grew much larger, so that I suddenly realised that it was coming right down on the edge of the ‘drome. I had a momentary glimpse of the big black cross on its one remaining wing. Then it hit the ground. One searchlight had followed it right down so that we actually saw the nose strike into the ground among some bushes to the north of the ‘drome. The tail snapped off as it struck, and the whole plane appeared to crumple. An instant later came the sound of the impact. It was a dull thud splintered by the noise of rending metal. I remember being surprised that the sound of the crash should come after the ‘plane had hit the ground. There was something almost supernatural about it, as though it had spoken after it was dead. I noticed this apparent phenomenon many times afterwards and, though I knew it to be quite natural since sound travels slower than sight, it always surprised me. There was something rather horrible about it. I was one of the things that always made me feel sick inside.

Immediately the ‘plane had crashed, the searchlight swung upwards. For a moment I could see no sign of the ‘plane, though the light of the searchlights showed up the edge of the ‘drome quite clearly. Then suddenly I saw a pin-point of light. It grew. And then flung outwards in a flash of orange. A great umbrella of flame leaped upwards to a height of several hundred feet. And when it was gone, the light from the blazing wreckage showed a perfect ring of smoke drifting slowly skyward.

‘God! It’s horrible!’ Kan was standing up and his thin aesthetic face was working as though he himself were in the blazing wreck.

‘What d’you mean — horrible?’ demanded Micky.

They’re human beings just the same as us,’ replied Kan, his hands pressed tight together as though in prayer and his eyes fixed on the blaze, fascinated.

‘Bloody murderers — that’s what they are, mate, I tell you. You don’t want to waste no sympathy on them bastards.’

‘Look!’ cried Fuller, pointing up into the beams of the searchlights. ‘It’s a parachute. Two of ‘em.’

Our gaze swung from the wreckage up into the point in the searchlights where two white umbrellas of silk swung lazily earthwards. It was possible to see the men dangling from the parachutes as though held there by magic.

‘Who got it — us or the other site”?’ It was Bombardier

He was still only half dressed. The rest of his detachment, in various stages of undress, were streaming out behind him.

‘We did,’ Micky replied promptly. ‘An’ a bloody good shot it was, I tell you.’

‘It was impossible to say,’ Langdon said. ‘Philip’s gun was in action. I saw two bursts. One was away to the right and the other seemed close beside his port wing-tip. It was quite impossible to say which was ours. Confoundedly lucky shot anyway.’

At that moment the troop van drew up at the gun pit and Tiny Trevors got out, a big grin on his face. ‘Congratulations, Johnnie,’ he said. ‘Damn good shooting.’

‘There, I told you so,’ said Micky.

‘It was our shot, was it?’ asked Langdon.

‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. Though, of course, Site One are quite convinced they brought it down. But Philip’s first shot was definitely to the right. He was firing fuse twelve, and he never had time to alter it. Your first shot was definitely short. You didn’t change your fuse, did you?’

‘No. We fired three at fuse nine.’

‘Then it must have been yours. The Jerry ran right into it.’ He looked round the pit. ‘Your second detachment are due to take over, aren’t they? All right then, the others can pile into the van and we’ll go and have a look at the good work.’

We needed no second invitation. We were as excited as a bunch of school kids. We scrambled over the parapet of sandbags and into the back of the van, all talking at once. When we got to the north end of the ‘drome, the wreck was still burning. Several bushes had caught adding to the blaze. Ground defence guards had already arrived, but it was impossible to get nearer than fifty yards owing to the intense heat. It hit one in the face as though one were standing in front of the open door of a blast furnace. Everyone stood about helplessly, their faces ruddy in the glow and their eyes fascinated by the flames. The ‘plane was just a twisted mass of steel framework that stood out black against the flames, except here and there where the steel was white with heat and dissolving into molten metal.

It seemed incredible that a few minutes ago this mass of writhing steel had had power and a will of its own, and had been proudly flying through the night sky. I couldn’t believe that the transformation from a beautiful deadly weapon of modern warfare to this ugly mess was entirely due to the six of us — six ordinary men manning a gun.

There was a sudden shout and everyone’s gaze lifted skywards. Almost directly above us a parachute showed a dull orange in the glare. Slowly it descended, drifting silently through the still air. We watched it in silence. The only sound was the roar and crackling of the flames. Soon it was low enough for us to see the face of the man who dangled from it, swinging gently to and fro on the thin cords. His face was without expression. It was like a mask. It seemed a symbol of mass-production, and I immediately thought of the hordes that were pouring over Europe. Had all these men who had goose-stepped down the Champs-Elysees the same expressionless features? Was this the face of the new Germany — Hitler’s Germany?

It was surprising how long it took for him to reach the ground. Yet when he hit the tarmac on the edge of the ‘drome he seemed to be falling horribly fast. He managed to land with his feet first, and attempted to break his fall by rolling over. But at a distance of nearly a hundred yards the thud of his body striking the tarmac was sickeningly loud.

We all ran towards the spot where he had fallen. I was one of the first to reach him as he staggered to his feet, his face white and set with pain. He did not attempt to reach for the revolver in his belt or to raise his hands in surrender. He did nothing. There was nothing he could do.

One arm hung limp from the shoulder and he swayed steadily as though at any moment he must fall. But he kept on his feet and his face was no longer expressionless. Hate and mortification struggled for mastery of his features.

A guardsman seized the revolver from his belt. The German forced himself to attention. ‘Wo ist ein Offizier?’ He snapped. There was bitterness and contempt in his face, which bore the stamp of the Prussian Junker class. ‘Ich verlange den meinem Rang gebuhrenden Respekt.’

None of the others understood what he said. I looked quickly round. There was no officer in sight. A crowd of men, mainly soldiers, were pressed round in a circle. ‘Ich fcedavere, es ist noch kein Offizier gekommen,’ I said. I sad spent some months in our Berlin office and knew the language quite well. ‘So it’s an officer he’s wanting, is it?’ said a Scots Guard with a sour, lined face. ‘Ye’ve got a nerve, laddie. Ye had no mercy on the women and children over the other side. Ye had no mercy on us on the beaches of Dunkirk. Yet as soon as you’re down, ye start squawking for an officer.’

The sights those men had seen of the bombing and machine-gunning of terror-stricken refugees in Belgium and France had left their mark.

The German did not flinch in the face of the hostile circle of men. He stood stiffly erect, his face set. He was a tall, well-built man of about thirty. He had well-groomed fair hair, and his most noticeable feature was a very square jaw which gave him a sullen look. He had a row of ribbons on his flying suit.

He looked round the crowd of faces. ‘You’ve shot me down,’ he said, speaking in German. ‘But it won’t be long now. Soon you will collapse like the cowardly French.’

‘You’ll never invade this country successfully,’ I replied, also in German.

He looked at me. I think he was too dazed with shock to realise what he was saying. ‘You English! You are so blind. It is all planned. The day is appointed. And on that day your fighter aeroplanes will be taken from you and you will be left defenceless to face the courageous might of the Luftwaffe.’

I suppose I must have looked at him rather foolishly. But it was so reminiscent of our conversation in the Naafi that evening. Through a gap in the encircling crowd I saw a big R.A.F. car slither to a standstill. The C.O. Thorby and several other men got out, including the ground defence officer. Quickly I said, ‘I don’t believe you. It’s not possible.’

‘Marshall Goering has a plan,’ he said heatedly. ‘We shall succeed with England just as we have succeeded with the other plutocratic nations. You do not understand the cleverness of our leaders. Thorby and your other fighter stations will fall like that.’ He clicked his fingers.

‘You can’t possibly know anything about Goering’s plans,’ I said. ‘You talk like that because you are afraid.’

‘I am not afraid and I am not a liar.’ Two angry spots of colour showed in his white cheeks. ‘You say I know nothing of the Marshal’s plans. I know that on Friday Thorby will be heavily attacked by our dive-bombers. You will not think me a liar on Friday. And when — ‘ He stopped suddenly, and I thought I saw a look of surprise tinged with fear in his blue-grey eyes, though his face remained as wooden as ever.

I turned to find Wing-Commander Win ton just behind me. But it was not on the C.O. that the German pilot’s gaze was fixed, but upon Mr Vayle, the station librarian. The man’s mouth seemed to shut like a clamp and he said no more. The last I saw of him was as he was marched away between two guards to the C.O.‘s car. He seemed suddenly to have become dejected and weary, for he staggered along, his head bent and his every movement betraying a listlessness that I could hardly believe due solely to reaction.