Although the political sky grew more and more ominous I paid but little
attention to the black clouds. The receipt of instructions to start at
once galvanised me into activity to the exclusion of all other thoughts.
I booked my passage right through to destination--Warsaw--and upon
making enquiries on July 31st was assured that I should get through all
right.

I left Brighton by the 5.10 train on Saturday afternoon, August 1st.
There was one incident at the station which, although it appeared to be
trivial, proved subsequently of far reaching significance. In addition
to many cameras of different types and sizes stowed in my baggage I
carried three small instruments in my pockets, one being particularly
small. I had always regarded this instrument with a strange affection
because, though exceedingly small and slipping into a tiny space, it was
capable of excellent work. As the train was moving from the station I
took two parting snapshots of my wife and family waving me farewell. It
was an insignificant incident over which I merely smiled at the time,
but five days later I had every cause to bless those parting snaps. One
often hears about life hanging by the proverbial thread, but not many
lives have hung upon two snapshot photographs of all that is dearest to
one, and a few inches of photographic film. Yet it was so in my case.
But for those two tiny parting pictures and the unexposed fraction of
film I should have been propped against the wall of a German prison to
serve as a target for Prussian rifles!

Upon reaching Victoria I found the evening boat-train being awaited by a
large crowd of enthusiastic and war-fever stricken Germans anxious to
get back to their homeland. The fiat had gone forth that all Germans of
military age were to return at once and they had rolled up _en masse_,