* * * * What is so strange and comforting
about Mrs. Dukes is that she always knows. I had sat up late the other night discussing the probabilities of the coming war with three men who functions and experience entitle them to respect. Would Hitler deliver a smashing blow through Holland, Belgium and Switzerland and make a dash fur the Channel ports? Would he remain quiescent throughout the winter, organising his conquests in the East, transferring his popula- tions, waiting until the strain of boredom and inactivity began to tell on our morale? Would he seek some sudden decision in the air, or embark upon a drive into Asia? On and on we talked, weighing possibilities, suggesting precedents, analysing the probable. We could come to no decision, except that the Fiihrer is incalculable. It was refreshing, the next morning, to find that Mrs. Dukes, for her part, pos- sessed reliable inside knowledge of Herr Hitler's intentions. " You mark my words, Sir, there won't be no bombing of London. Not until the spring in any case. And Hitler isn't going to attack our lads in France. I know he isn't." " But what makes you know that, Mrs. Dukes? " " Well, all them tanks and things can't work in the mud." " Yes," I answered, " but you must realise, Mrs. Dukes, that wars are not won by military means alone. There are economic, psychological and social factors which also operate." " Yes," she answered, undismayed, " that's what I always tells the firemen." " Firemen? " I said. " Yes, Sir, the gentlemen firemen what have an engine in the court. I do for them after I've done for you. Such nice gentlemen they are : they are truly." " Thank you, Mrs. Dukes."
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