Naturally, on account of the shadow of the war, the Red Cross girls had anticipated an atmosphere of sorrow and gloom over London. But to their utter amazement on the surface of things there was no such effect. There were, of course, many families in grief over the passing of one of their dearest, or in even more tragic anxiety over the fate of others either at the front or prisoners of war. But whatever the private suffering, there was slight sign of it. No one was wearing mourning, the theaters and restaurants seemed to be doing a good business and the streets and parks were everywhere crowded.
Except that the flags of the Allied Nations waved from nearly every public building and large shop, and that the taxicabs carried placards urging men to enlist, there was little to suggest a nation at war.
Yes, there was one other curious sight which Barbara from the top of an omnibus discovered. Over the roofs of the important government buildings and above many of the great private houses hung a kind of flat screen of heavy wire netting, closely woven. From a distance it formed a cobweb effect, as though gigantic spiders had been spreading their great webs over London.
“I wonder what that means?” asked Barbara, pointing upward, and then knew the answer, although she listened politely while Mildred explained.
“Oh, the wire is to prevent bombs from dropping down on the house tops when London has her great Zeppelin raid. Father began telling me that London must expect them to occur as soon as the war broke out.”
Nona, who had been looking pensive, now leaned over from the back seat where she was sitting with Eugenia.
“I am not wishing any harm to London; I adore it. But if the Germans are going to send their marvelous army of the air to bombard the city, don’t you wish it would happen while we are here?”
Barbara laughed, Mildred shook her head and Eugenia said seriously:
“Nona, you don’t look in the least like a bloodthirsty person. I can’t understand you, child. You talk as if you had no sense of fear and I have not been able to make up my mind whether it is because you know nothing of danger or whether you are different from most women. But remember that we are going to our work tomorrow, and I don’t think there will be many of the horrors of this war that we shall miss seeing. I am afraid I am a coward, for I dread a great part of them. But isn’t that the hospital we are looking for? At least, it will be a tremendous inspiration to meet the woman who has done more for nursing among the British soldiers than any other woman in this war. Dr. Garrett Anderson established the first woman’s hospital at Claridge’s Hotel in Paris a month after the war broke out, together with Dr. Flora Murray. And the women have done such wonderful surgical work that all the country is talking about them.”
Barbara whistled softly. “So they brought this Dr. Anderson back to London and made her a major, the first woman ever given military rank in the British Army!” she exclaimed. “When one considers the Englishman believes ‘a woman’s place is the home,’ it is hard to tell how he is going to reconcile what women are doing to help in this war, men’s work as well as their own. But I’ll bet you the English won’t give the women the vote when the war is over, just the same. They can go back home then, although a good many of the poor things won’t have any homes to go to.”