Incident

Our company was made up to strength again from the newly-formed 13th Brigade, mostly young Belgians, nice chaps. We had fun playing the old soldier to them. When we next came back to University City we were put into the Philosophy building. We built barricades with volumes of Indian metaphysics and early nineteenth century German philosophy: they were quite bullet-proof.

On the floor of our room we spread carpets; we found a clock and a barometer and hung them on the wall, some tourist "come to sunny Spain" posters were put up us a mockery to the climate.

We explored the library—I found De Quincey's Lake Poets and rolled myself up in a carpel and read voraciously: the day passed in a stupor. I was with Wordsworth and Coleridge, in another place, another time. As I was on the last chapter I heard an appalling crush and looked up and the room was thick [unclear: we] just and smoke. In which the figures moved confusedly. Steve lurched forward, supported by two men; the call for stretcher-bearers went echoing down the corridors; John's head was bleeding swiftly. Joe held his nose and swore. Where the sunny Spain poster had been was a hole.

—John Sommerfield.