As we went into the administration building that afternoon two things
happened: The observers in the water tower reported a German aeroplane
coming toward the station, and a young lieutenant, who had gone to the
front in a borrowed machine, reported that he had broken the wind
shield of the machine. There are plenty of German aeroplanes at that
British airship station, but few wind shields. The aeroplane was
ignored, but the wind shield was loudly and acrimoniously discussed.
The day was cold and had turned grey and lowering. It was pleasant
after our tour of the station to go into the long living room and sit
by the fire. But the fire smoked. One after another those dauntless
British officers attacked it, charged with poker, almost with bayonet,
and retired defeated. So they closed it up finally with a curious
curved fire screen and let it alone. It was ten minutes after I began
looking at the fire screen before I recognised it for what it was--the
hood from an automobile!
Along one side of the wall was a piano. It had been brought back from
a ruined house at the front. It was rather a poor piano and no one had
any music, but some of the officers played a little by ear. The top of
the piano was held up by a bandage! It was a piano of German make, and
the nameplate had been wrenched off!
A long table filled the centre of the room.
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