BOMB SLEEPERS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 283, 28 November 1940, Page 18

BOMB SLEEPERS.

A NEW TECHNIQUE.

SOME EXPERT ADVICE.

AND SO TO BED.

(B.v \V. L. W ill I K.) London October 20. N"« I lay me down t>» sleep; only lir»t 1 t-iiall have a pot. of coffee with friends in the salon, because if enough i« "ii coffee relaxiv ton instead of keeping \ mii it «,i ke. It is almost midiiii'lit anrt already a lew people who intend to sleep in this -tlon Hie getting fixed for the night. ><itne are lying with their knees drawn 'i|> on divans. Others are leaning buck 1,1 one chair aml have another pulled up for their feet. I hese may be hotel guilts who have no bedding of their own. for the hotel prohibits taking its blankets and mat trc-f-c- out ot it* rooms. oil may only hring a pillow . Or they may be people troin niit-idc. tor no building in i'i'tn-es -licltcr these da vs. V very fine hotel, this." *«jd B link nosed, blonde Knglislitiian. It is new and comfortable," I agreed. oh, no, not, that.' he said. "I mean its construction. ! had an architect friend of mine stroll through it lant week. Me sa.v s there is nothing better in London. It is all steel and wonderful thick concrete, |>articiilarly the outside walls, which are yard* thick. Where are you sleeping to-night. Stay Out of Big ttooma. "1 thought I would take my stuff down into the main shelter just' beliow thi«. I said. "It in well underground." The Kuglishinaii shook his head. "1 shouldn't. My architect chap looked at it. I lie sides are all right, but what about above you? on *ee, it is right below us, but we have only a glass roof here. It is just under the central well of the building, so you would have only that glaKs skylight plus one thickness of concrete Moor to stop a direct hit." He shook his head. "Very bad." What about the side shelter—the one under the central lobby!" I asked. Not, bad. but still a big room. Always stay out of big rooms. You want, lots of compartmentation. partitions and stuff to stop things flying •round, or so this chap said. Think he's right, too. But I'll tell you what ia best of all. only mind don't spread It around." Hern he leaned toward me. "Just take your mattress out into th«» corridor, only if everybody did it they would be jammed with people snorinsr like the dickens." "Rut there ar» not many people up where I »m on the seventh floor." 'Oh, good (iod! I don't mean that, old fellow. The seventh is « death trap. All you got over you is the eighth, and it takes three of even these floors to stop a really big one from above. Take the second floor corridor, or. better still, the third." "But why?" Sodden witk People Sleeping. "This friend of mine, the architect chap, explained it. A direct hit from above could never blast Ita way clear down to the third floor. One landing in the street outside, say even a really big land mine, might nniih through the outside rooms ot the flrat floor into the corridor, and maybe even aa Ugh a* the second, bnt never up tn the third. You would be left overhanging a crater like a bird on a branch. The same way whh one that lit ia the inner court. "Sleeping in the third floor corridor vou would be aafer than back in the United State*. Or so this chap said. Of course, you do get the noise of the guns, which you don't get in that aide shelter, yet it is atill a trifle aafer. But don't spread it about, do yon mind?" 3 I said I would not, but when I had finished my coffee I took my bedding down to the side shelter because I was very tired of the raging of the antiaircraft guns. The shelter's floor wu sodden with people sleeping, and their breathing was a continuous sad, uneven nigh. They lay there in brilliant- lined pyjamas and dressing gowns, but this had ceaeed to strike me a* funny several days ago. Sotne families had built for themselves little imaginary rooms of rowa of chairs and aiept within than. Aad Hew 1 Lay Me Dm te Sleep. At about <1 o'clock, when the all-clear sounded, wawlcns would waken them and they would go back tn their rooms for a few <lnal hours of sleep. In the dim half-light of this great room, or what waa a dance floor, and near the orcheetra platform, I lay my mattress down and unroll my sleeping bag and listen to the continuous sad, uneven «igh of their breathing. A few are snoring. Now and then someone mumble* restlessly in his sleep. A man i« moaning in regular cadence, softly mouthing indistinct words, but each time they grow plainer and Itlainer. "fio away," commands the man n a nightmare, in the flat, voice of a dream, "f.o away, go away, go awav." A warden walks softly toward him. a gliding figure ir the halfgloom. but he does not shake him. For why waken a man out of one nighttiinrn into another? And now I lay me down to sleep.—X.A.X.A.