WITHIN THE WALLS

(January 1941)

The whole conception of time must be re-valued. To me,
this day has its special significance, for all of us, within
the walls, it is first and foremost a quiet day after an un-
bombed night. That in itself sets it apart, sets us in another
time sequence. Those without the walls, extra muros, even here
in England, have already separated themselves or mercifully per-
haps, been separated, from this particular crowd, that has en-
dured for such a long time, at such intensity, unprepared (as
certain Eastern peoples, by their very fatalism are prepared)
to meet the eventuality of death. Simple people, dull, many
villainous at heart, hypocrites, granted, yet there is the dif-
ference, there are those extra muros and those intra muros.

We enter life, observe, feel. Bee met a former Bloomsbury
intellectual, now turned warden in the pioneer corps; he had
been working in a demolition sector and remarked that for his
part, he considered that the horrors of being buried alive, for
him at least were mitigated by the fact that death came suddenly,
and when it did not come, for the most part, the rescued were
hearty and happy, probably simply glad to be alive. He said there
seemed to be little of the in-between states, either you were kill-
ed outright or cushioned in the debris, with air of sorts to

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breathe. He felt that so far, those rescued, were amazingly
balanced; weak, shaken, of course, but with notable exceptions,
as a rule, after a brief time to recuperate and rest, they con-
tinued their normal round.

N., whom we knew in Geneva, turned up. An officer in the
Dardanelles in the last war, he was amusing and seemed amused by
the fact that he was again to wear khaki, to "go back to school."
He chatted with the girl, also now called up for training with her
Ambulance unit. She has been driving the mobile canteen, while
waiting for this job. N. said he thought we had had, in town, as
bad as the Nazis could give us, or we would have had it worse.
That seemed comforting logic. We discussed the various time-bombs
and land-mines of the immediate vicinity. The girl of course,
highly professional, told us if there was one, there was bound to
be a second, as they dropped one from each wing.

- - - - -

January 14, 1941 is different, each day is different, has its
peculiar timbre or quality. This of course, obviously, may be said
of any day, at any time. But we do not notice separate days unless
they are days of some peculiar personal significance, a birth-day
or some anniversary. Every day is a birth-day, an anniversary.
Hour is cut from hour in precious prismatic fragments, the whole

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at the end, is a whole day, which might have been a part-day.
An extra day has been given us, January 14, 1941.

January 14, 1941 is like a window miraculously unbroken
in a house holding firm above the earthquake. As our personal
house of life is threatened, we appreciate each hour. To-day
especially we seemed to meet and smile at some secret. We
have a secret, We are alive. Almost, the voice of the turtle
is heard in the land.

---

Within the walls, we are within the walls of our own
bodies, for the time being. This is a notable experience.