On the last day of July a few of us met together in Gibson's rooms,
those neat, white rooms in Balliol that overlook St Giles. Naymier, the
Pole, was certain that Armageddon was coming. He proved it conclusively
in the Quad with the aid of large maps and a dissertation on potatoes.
He also showed us the probable course of the war. We lived in strained
excitement. Things were too big to grasp. It was just the other day
that 'The Blue Book,' most respectable of Oxford magazines, had
published an article showing that a war between Great Britain and
Germany was almost unthinkable. It had been written by an undergraduate
who had actually been at a German university. Had the multitudinous
Anglo-German societies at Oxford worked in vain? The world came crashing
round our ears. Naymier was urgent for an Oxford or a Balliol Legion--I
do not remember which--but we could not take him seriously. Two of us
decided that we were physical cowards, and would not under any
circumstances enlist. The flower of Oxford was too valuable to be used
as cannon-fodder.

The days passed like weeks. Our minds were hot and confused. It seemed
that England must come in. On the afternoon of the fourth of August I
travelled up to London. At a certain club in St James's there was little
hope. I walked down Pall Mall. In Trafalgar Square a vast, serious crowd
was anxiously waiting for news. In Whitehall Belgians were doing their
best to rouse the mob. Beflagged cars full of wildly gesticulating
Belgians were driving rapidly up and down. Belgians were haranguing
little groups of men. Everybody remained quiet but perturbed.

War was a certainty. I did not wish to be a spectator of the scenes
that would accompany its declaration, so I went home. All the night in
my dreams I saw the quiet, perturbed crowds.