When I was going down the stairs next morning, I was amazed to see that the figure I had spoken to while trying to find my way, was a statue. The waiter told us, at breakfast, that some bombs had been dropped in the street back of the hotel. They had killed eight people, damaged one or two buildings, and made a hole large enough to hold the dining-room table. He also said that he had heard of a lot of other places, but that was the only one he had seen. We finished our breakfast in a hurry and left for the station. There we bought a paper to read the full account of the raid. But all the mention of it was:
"Zeppelins visited the East coast of Scotland last night. No damage done."
On the journey to Carlisle the carriage was so warm and the seats so soft that I became drowsy. I was about to yield when the other occupants of the carriage came over to my side and stared out of the windows. As the Zeppelins were still in my mind, I thought that this might be one of the places they had visited, and looked out of the window too. All I could see was a large field with brick buildings in the center, somewhat like factories, only they had sloping roofs made of glass. There were quite a crowd of men in the field. "That's a German Internment Camp," said one of the men. "There are over two thousand Germans there." The view of the camp started a conversation on the war which lasted till we reached Carlisle.
JOHN McDERMOTT
From Carlisle we were to go to Newcastle. On looking up the timetable we found that we could get a train in three-quarters of an hour. We then left the station, so that if the porters were questioned as to whether they had seen us or not they could say that we had left the station. In this way the trail would be broken and would give us all the more time till it was picked up again. The journey from Carlisle to Newcastle was not so long as the last one. On arriving there we again left the station and wandered about the town. We had so much more time there, and walked in and out of so many streets, crossed so many crossings, that my memory of Newcastle is very much blurred and confused. Before returning to the station we went into a restaurant and ate the first meal of our English trip.
Next we took tickets for Manchester, but did not go there. While we were on the train we decided that we had better go to Crewe. When the conductor came round for the tickets, we asked him if this train would take us to Crewe. No, he said, but if it was to Crewe we wanted to go he could change our tickets at the next stop, and there we would get a train for Crewe. The next station was Stalybridge, and there we took the train to Crewe, where we arrived at one-thirty a.m.
From Crewe we went to Birmingham. It was there we were to receive information as to where Captain Mellowes had been deported. We called at the address given to us and told who we were. Mr. Brown said that he had just received word that we were coming, but that was all. There was no news for us about the deportation. This was both amazing and puzzling; it was Tuesday and Captain Mellowes was to have been deported on the Sunday past. Why had we received no word—and what were we to do? There was nothing for us to do but wait. A hotel was recommended to us; we went there and registered as brother and sister. Our pose of being on a holiday compelled us to stay out all day as if sightseeing. Tuesday we visited all the principal buildings, Wednesday we walked all over the city. Thursday was a repetition of Wednesday. Friday, tired of each other's company, we went out separately, and each succeeded in losing the way, but managed to arrive back at the hotel for supper.
Not knowing the city we had not ventured out at night time, for like all other big cities in England, Birmingham was darkened at night-fall. But on Friday we went out. The streets seemed to be all alike to us, we could not tell one from the other. The corners of the curbstone were painted white, so as to glimmer faintly and warn pedestrians when they were approaching a crossing; policemen stood in the center of the crossing flashing a lamp attached to their belts, now a red light, now a green one. Trees, telegraph, telephone, and trolley poles were painted white to the level of the eyes. Not a light showed anywhere, not even at moving picture palaces; and as is usual in darkness all voices were subdued. I am sure it is at night time that the people of England realize most that they are at war.