In the great hall, the waiting rooms, the long corridors, and on all the platforms covered by the gigantic glazed vaulting, there was a huge crowd of people milling about, pushing, struggling. There was very little light, and in the darkness of that winter evening one could sense rather than see the mob around us. It was 31 December 1918. They were nearly all men, mostly clad in dirty ragged uniforms. Some had their rifles, which they repeatedly banged on the ground. Among them were a few civilians, and here and there a frightened woman was to be seen crying and beseeching the people to let her by as she had to get home by morning because of her husband, or a sick child … for the love of God, please would they let her through? But almost no one paid any attention, and if one or two let her by the next would push her back roughly or would stand their ground, legs spread wide, or shrug their shoulders unconcerned – man’s unkindness to man is always made worse by the dark.
