Maida Vale

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Air-raid warnings, of which there are now half a dozen or thereabouts every 24 hours, becoming a great bore.  Opinion spreading rapidly that one ought simply to disregard the raids except when they are known to be big-scale ones and in one’s own area.  Of the people strolling in Regent’s Park, I should say at least half pay no attention to a raid-warning . . . . . Last night just as we were going to bed, a pretty heavy explosion.  Later in the night woken up by a tremendous crash, said to be caused by a bomb in Maida Vale[1]. E. and I merely remarked on the loudness and fell asleep again.  Falling asleep, with a vague impression of anti-aircraft guns firing, found myself mentally back in the Spanish war, on one of those nights when you had a good straw to sleep on, dry feet, several hours rest ahead of you, and the sound of distant gunfire, which acts as a soporific provided it is distant.

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