ABSTRACT

A year passed, and then, owing to what I can only consider another stupidity on the part of authority, I was obliged to leave the Soho Square flat. The cheese shop on the ground floor was commandeered by the organizers of munition factories. Heavy machinery was installed in the vacated premises, and Belgian refugees were put in to manufacture shell-cases there. They worked all night, and the noise was insupportable. My bed used to shake under me with the vibrations of the powerful engines below, and sleep was impossible.