Without exchanging a single word with each other, we set off for our lodgings.

On the way, we discovered the source of that noise. Just a few miles from Edinburgh lies a port called Firth of Forth. All the warships tasked with guarding the Scottish coast were stationed there, poised for battle. Somehow, the Germans managed to discover this, and—without alerting the authorities—slipped in with their submarines. With a weapon called a torpedo, they struck the warships three times, sinking them before anyone could react, and then escaped fearlessly. News of this spread everywhere, sending waves of terror through the city. There was nothing we could do, so each of us simply returned to our lodgings.

Gradually, everyone became accustomed to the routines of wartime life. Even though fear never truly left us, and even though we knew that death was always near—closer than ever before—in these times, with this new style of warfare, death could appear not just on the battlefield, but anywhere, at any moment. Everyone understood this truth. Yet, with a kind of stubborn courage, with a certain resignation, the thought that we must destroy the enemy and protect our country, even if it costs our lives, took root in every heart. Some people did raise questions: Who is the enemy? Why do we consider them our enemy? But the officials who ought to answer these questions maintained a stony silence, declaring that our sole duty was to destroy the enemy. That was our dharma; all other debates and arguments were pointless, and none of our concern.

As we grew used to steering daily life along whatever path we could find, one night, around three in the morning, a signal was heard that enemy planes were approaching. The entire population, deep in sleep, young and old, men and women, jolted awake in terror. Before anyone could decide whether to change clothes or stay as they were, the planes arrived. Here and there, bombs were dropped, and before our own planes could even take off in response, the enemy aircraft had already fled. Many men and women, still in their nightclothes, rushed out into the streets in panic. They ran in all directions, searching for air-raid shelters.

An old man and an old woman were running in the middle of the road. Whether they were husband and wife or not, I couldn’t say, but just as they were dashing along, they suddenly stopped, as if struck by a memory, and in the very center of the road, they both collapsed with a thud, sprawling flat on the ground. People running this way and that paused in alarm—what happened, why have these two fallen like this, let’s hope they haven’t died of fright!—and hurried over to help them up. Within moments, hundreds of people had gathered around. Soon, with the support of those who had come to their aid, the old couple shakily got to their feet. As the crowd cheered “Hip hip hooray!” in delight, a siren wailed to announce that the air raid was over and everyone could safely return home. Hearing that, everyone heaved a collective sigh of relief, burst into laughter, and, feeling sheepish, brushed the dust off their clothes and made their way home.

In this manner, though a new kind of danger had descended upon us, people somehow managed to muster courage and pass the time. To assist the public during these air raids, a new breed of wardens had been appointed, and it was a novel sight to see them patrolling the streets day and night. People had reduced their usual evening strolls up the hills. Though daily life hadn’t come to a complete standstill, it had certainly become crippled in many ways.

We continued going to college as usual, and the lectures went on as before. One day, the whole town began selling small national flags, pinned with needles, in the streets. Everyone, young and old, bought them without exception. It was announced that all the proceeds would go to the war fund. We each bought a flag, pinned it to our coats, and attended our classes. While the lesson was underway, there was a bit of commotion at the back benches. Two young women from the right and two from the left, all dressed in clothes of the national flag’s colors and wearing soldier caps of the same hues, marched to the center of the class and began collecting donations for the war fund. In one hand, each of them held a plate filled with the same kind of little flags we had bought in the street.

With boxes sealed on all sides except for a hole at the top in both hands, they began collecting contributions from everyone. No one could quite tell how they had entered, who had brought them in, or how they had managed it. That was neither the time nor the place to interrogate them about how they had arrived, nor to get angry at them. Each person, as they saw fit, silently chuckled and dropped coins into the boxes.

Our professor, utterly bewildered, stood rooted to the spot, watching this scene as if he had turned to stone. Without leaving a single student out, those children collected from every student in the class, then nimbly climbed onto the platform and approached the professor. Two stood on this side, two on that, all four waving little flags, pinning them to his coat, and, grinning, extended the collection box towards him.

The professor, with a gentle smile, began patting his pockets. When he couldn’t find even a single penny in any pocket, he turned pale and stood there, not knowing what to say. The sharp-witted students, seeing his predicament, began tossing whatever pennies, half-shillings, and shillings they could find onto the platform with a whistle. The children, laughing, gathered up all the coins and sat down.

Our professor, watching this whole spectacle, wore a gentle smile on his face and said, “I think that’s enough for