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In the night sky above the grimy city the light of a pale moon flickered between gaps in the scudding clouds. The noise of the siren on the roof of the police station had wound up from deep throaty groan to a full banshee pitch that penetrated the murky evening air. The sound rolled over the smoking chimneys and slated roofs in its path. And down it travelled into the contiguous blocks of small terraced houses, built in the early part of the century and before to amass great reservoirs of available labour, and through the myriad small workshops and manufactories; grim symbols of the great industrial power of Britain now the target of a determined destroyer.
    Those now reached by the warning of yet another air-raid were people caught up in another European conflict, the second in only 22 years, for the 1914

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