1 May

1 May 1920

2 Portland Villas, Hampstead - London

But this morning she's been awakened by the great slam of the front door. Bang! The flat shook. What is it! She jerked up in bed, clutching the eiderdown, her heart beat. Then she heard voices in the passage, the clatter of crockery. Marie knocked - entrez, she cried faintly, and as the door opened, with a sharp tearing rip out flew the blind and the curtain, stiffened, flapping, jerking. The tassel of the blind knocked knocked against the window. Ah, voila, said Marie, setting down the tea & running to the window. She cried in a high sharp voice as though she were trying to make herself heard in a storm at sea ‘C'est le vent, Madame, c'est un vent insupportable.'
Up flew the blind. The window pane jerked upward - a whirling grayish light filled the room. Monica caught a glimpse of a huge pale sky with a cloud like a torn sheet dragging across, before she hid her eyes with her sleeve. Marie the curtains. Quick draw the curtains. Monica fell back into the bed. No, no tea - impossible. My valena[?] tablets in the little gold box on the dressing table - & then go. She almost broke down on the last word. She shut her eyes & she felt big tears ready to fall. But if Madame would take one in a little cup of tea instead of water, coaxed Marie. At last she understood. Monica was past speech. She heard Marie pour out the tea.

Ring ting a ting ping. Ring ting a ting ping. It was the telephone. At that she grew quite calm. There were always these moments in life when the limits of suffering are reached and we become heroes and heroines. Monica sat up in bed & sipped her tea. [. . .]  [KM Notebooks, undated]