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air-raids were becoming serious, too. Looking out of
the window at the searchlights, I thought how ridicu-
lous it would be if a bomb dropped on me while I
was writing out my statement.


EXACTLY A week after our first conversation I
showed the statement to Tyrrell. He was satis-
fied with it as a whole and helped me to clarify a few
minor crudities of expression. Nothing now remained
but to wait until my leave had expired and then hurl
the explosive documents at the Commanding Officer
at Clitherland (an event which I didn't permit myself
to contemplate clearly). For the present the poor
man only knew that I'd applied for an instructorship
with a Cadet Battalion at Cambridge. He wrote that
he would be sorry to lose me and congratulated me
on what he was generous enough to describe as my
splendid work at the front. In the meantime Tyrrell
was considering the question of obtaining publicity
for my protest. He introduced me to some of his col-
leagues on the "Stop the War Committee" and the
"No Conscription Fellowship". Among them was an
intellectual conscientious objector (lately released
after a successful hunger-strike). Also a genial veteran
Socialist (recognizable by his red tie and soft grey
hat) who grasped my hand with rugged good wishes.
One and all, they welcomed me to the Anti-Wai-
Movement, but I couldn't quite believe that I had
been assimilated. The reason for this feeling was their
antipathy to everyone in a uniform. I was still wearing
mine, and somehow I was unable to dislike being a
Flintshire Fusilier. This little psychological dilemma