# ESCAPE

(January 1941)

Last night, I could shake and quake; I could let myself shiver in bed; it was cold enough admittedly and as well, I had seen a film in the afternoon "Escape", the theme of which has been long familiar to my immediate circle of friends.

The average English person is amazed and surprised by stories of the concentration camps. The newspapers only now begin to hint of the depth of depravity. I quote from _I Accuse_. "The enormity and ferocity of these tortures are almost beyond belief."

Then one must forget; poignant sympathy for refugees and various victims has been drained dry; one is forced to harden oneself, or cease living altogether.

Then I see a film, "Escape", and a new character is given to the news-reels that follow; the news-reels become fictitious, these are London fires and Hollywood horrors. "Escape" is a romance, a story, it is true, but I, in life, walk straight out of the Empire Theatre, Leicester Square into a snowy street scene. Real snow lies on the pavement, real snow powders the trees and does not drip off almost at the moment of settling; snow is so rare in London, that this Square and this street became completely unreal. Yes, this is Leicester

2.

Square, but my eyes have been adjusted to the film-sequence
and there was snow in many of those sets. I walk into a film-
set and as I push my way through the late afternoon crowd wait-
ing for admission, toward a taxi that is just depositing its
passengers, the film-set, this unreal scene has its very real
sound going on.

It is not just that the talk and laughter of people is a
little different, against the background of the soft snow, the
cab wheels are muffled in the snow; individual voices are
clearer, more like sound-effects, because the ramble of the
traffic is softened. But there is another sound, real movie-
sound, war-sound. It is as if the news-reel had got mixed up
with the romance, that we were listening to sound-effects in
another studio, not meant for us. Or are they meant for us?

I was hesitating as to whether to allow myself the luxury
of the taxi, but this settled it; there was the taxi and I was
first to engage the cabman while the last passenger was looking
for his change.

A little spurt of laughter answered the sound, from a
group by the box-office; "time-bombs" was what they were saying,
"it's exploding time-bombs." Without warning, no sound of siren,
here was this news-reel gun-fire going on so very near, above or
in the thick blanket of snow, and the snow fell just the same;

3.

obviously a mistake was being made. "Snow-fall" was being mis-
read by some somewhat groggy stage-manager for "gun-fire".

Now I would take the taxi anyway, if it would take me.
Blocked in that soft fall of snow before Piccadilly Circus, my
man leans out and jokes with a neighbouring driver. "They
didn't give us no warning," was what he said, as if this was
a great joke, a little extra and a surprise at that.

---

The dream-state, the romantic 4th dimensional stage or
screen condition of mind, the art-dimension, as it were, the
actual life dimension or actual realities of life all merge and
flow along together. Probably terror deeply felt in childhood,
submerged terror or half-submerged, is tapped by this supreme
terror that is always with us. Tales in fairy-books or a chance
glimpse of illustrations in The Book of Martyrs or some picture
from our illustrated Gustav Döröbible or the Ancient Mariner
which we spread open, before we could read, on our grandmother's
carpet, seared deeply, awakened one's mind to the actual reality
of death.

What was not fully understood - and no one does ever
fully understand - was tactfully slurred over; "what is this,
in the Ancient Mariner?" "O, it's some spirits, angels." "And
this skeleton?" They could not say, "that is Death." They say,
"O, it's just a picture in a book." The pictures remain after

4.

later reading is forgotten. If we can find the suitable incantation we can banish the terror. What is the answering spell? How can we banish what is so deeply hidden, seared in consciousness and then walled over like the proverbial fly in amber or the erring mun, immured for eternity within her wall?

It was something that might come when one went to sleep. It was part and parcel of "and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord, my soul to take."

Who is this Lord we pray to? I tried to find Him last night, shivering in bed. Holy Wisdom was too abstract, there is no answer that Wisdom can give at this moment. What is it that I am afraid of? Well, before the night is over I may be caught in a blaze of falling timbers, be burnt (out of the Book of Martyrs) to death. But we must not think of being burnt to death. The Book of Martyrs disappeared, along with the pictures, in the Ancient Mariner.

It is the unseen, the unrealized, the deeply immured image that is the most dangerous. This present shock may crack the wall of an old immured shock.

Why am I afraid? Why do I shake in the dark? I have had four months of constant blitz and to-day I was happy, coming home in the snow, with the taxi-driver leaning out of his cab and joking with his neighbour, "they didn't give us no warning, this time."

# ESCAPE

(January 1941)

2.

It is not just that the talk and laughter of people is a
little different, against the background of the soft snow/the
cab wheels are muffled in the snow; individual voices are
clearer, more like sound-effects, because the ṇamble of the
traffic is softened. But there is another sound, real movie-
sound, war-sound. It is as if the news-reel had got mixed up
with the romance, that we were listening to sound-effects in
another studio, not meant for us. Or are they meant for us?

3.

---

4.

later reading is forgotten. If we can find the suitable incantation we can banish the terror. What is the answering spell? How can we banish what is so deeply hidden, seared in consciousness and then walled over like the proverbial fly in amber or the erring man, immured for eternity within her wall?

5.

No warning, that is it - from what is it, good-Lord-
deliver-us? From something and something and sudden death.
What can I say? I will say something. I must find some words,
I must dispel the terror, I must lay the ghost, I must abracadabra-
ize something.