Eastbourne, December 31st, 1940
During the last fifty years I have never really planned to write about my acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Watson wrote much better than I could ever do and besides it was a very personal matter and Mr. Holmes wouldn't have wanted to reveal it to the public.
Dr. Watson recorded almost any case he and Sherlock Holmes solved together and only a very small part was published. As he died, Watson left the whole records to his best friend, not wanting it to be destroyed or to end in someone else's hands. While examining this records, I came across the one that mentioned my first meeting with them. It was funny to read that story after so many years and then I decided to write how I first met Sherlock Holmes and what happened next.
There is a reason why I feel the need to write about this story: I must get my mind off the war.
Two days ago the Luftwaffe made another raid on London. There was a devastating fire, many people have died, I don't even know if my old house still exists. This is not the first raid and it won't be the last one for sure.
Eastbourne has been spared until now but the truth is, they could bomb us and kill us anytime.
I'm not that afraid of dying - I am eighty years old, surprisingly healthy for my age and I've had a wonderful life. No, the idea that the Nazis could win the war tortures me and the idea that I could die without seeing the end of this war kills me. My beloved Paris occupied, my dearest London bombed, the world I have known threatened and possibly destroyed, this is just unbearable.
Given my age, my health and the fact that I am in Eastbourne, I can't do anything, I can't help in any way. I can do nothing but dwelling about the war and about my loved ones who are involved all the time.
Telling the story of how I met Sherlock Holmes and what happened next will be a distraction.