19th February 1943

Suddenly woke at 2a.m. and realised I had not put the week's wages (over £600) in the Muniment Room.  Consequently had to get up at 6.30 and catch the first bus, so as to be able to get them out of sight before any of the others arrived. 

Lovely morning.  Not a cloud, the sun rising orange and warm through a mist.

Very busy all day, people in and out.  Halsall and his son from Dedham came in this morning, very annoyed at the compulsory removal of one of their men to work for the Committee.  The wild insanities of the Man Power Board are becoming worse.  There is no doubt that they do actually hinder production by depressing and infuriating both employers and workers.

Then Mr. Page and Mr. Sturgeon came in, to make a report on a stallholder from Boxted, about whom anonymous letters have been sent to Writtle, insinuating that one of his sons was retailing vegetables and was therefore not a bona-fide smallholder.  It seems that they are out to prevent the smallholders from retailing their own produce in Colchester, as any man who does so will not be considered to be a bona-fide smallholder, and will be re-registered as a greengrocer, even if he is only in the town three half-days a week.  This is a scandalous thing, and would not only put these men out of business but would prevent Colchester people from getting fresh vegetables.  If these men did not come in, almost the whole of the green stuff grown in this district would go straight to London.
Heard today that there was a collision between one of the sand lorries and a big petrol tanker at the corner of Brook St. and Barrack St. yesterday afternoon.  A woman and child who were travelling in the sand lorry, were killed.  They were the wife and son of the driver.

Parry still in bed.  Joy rather better.  She told me tonight that Dorothy Nunn, Fred Nunn’s wife, is very ill.  She is a great, strong looking country girl, yet I am told she worries incessantly.  How curious people are.  She has a husband over 30, securely reserved as a farm labourer, a nice little cottage, milk and cream from the farm, eggs from her own hens, no family, no need to fear air raids, yet she worries herself to the verge of insanity.

Doing chores tonight for Joy, and then writing. 

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