10th March 1943

Yet another glorious day.  Mist in the morning, and a sharp frost, but the sun blazed all day.  Dyer said “Ah, it’s breaking fast.  Glass is going right back.”  I said (thinking of increased chances of attacks) “Oh, I hope not.”  “Yes,” he said “When the moon comes in on her back (as it was last night) she generally spill water time she’s full.”

People in the office today talking about American hints of a future war with Russia, unless the Bosheviks are “appeased” by the Democracies.  This is now openly mentioned in the papers.  

Very busy all day, and got a good deal done.  Went down to Bourne Mill at lunch time.  A military funeral came down the hill, towards the Cemetery.  First there was the undertaker (one of the Co-op men) then a huge army lorry pulling a gun-carriage, bearing the coffin covered with a Union Jack and some yellow flowers, with six soldiers marching on each side, swinging their arms, an N.C.O. walking behind.  Then came a Daimler funeral car, with surpliced parson on the front seat, and the blinds drawn.  Then another with a major on the front seat, and lastly a small army van, driven by an ATS girl, an officer beside her. 
Left at 6.  As I crossed the East Railway gates, a fireman standing on duty at the entrance to the depot called to a woman over the road “I’m browned off – not a cup o’ tea all day.”  At that moment the sirens sounded, and he said “Well there, would you adam-and-eve it?  I’d do something for a fag.”  There were children playing in the streets, taking no notice whatever, although a woman came to a cottage door by St Anne’s Church and called two of them to come inside.  A Grammar School boy was cycling along just in front of me, flirting with a very pretty High School girl, neither taking the slightest notice of the alarm.  My own days for that sort of thing were at any rate happier than these.  The sun was sinking red behind the spires and towers of the town, and the prospect across the valley was fading rapidly.  I made all haste I could to get away before anything happened, but nothing did.  All clear sounded as I left the Borough at Fox Street.  I suppose Clacton, Frinton, or Walton has had a load of bombs.  How I hate this whole filthy business.  

Lovely calm evening.  Writing etc. until 10.30.  Poulter was very despondent today.  Hull had been in for five minutes, and obviously will do nothing about the Navestock site.  It is most depressing.  He made no suggestion as to when he might be back.

Big flight of planes went over this afternoon, towards the sea, so low that their shadows swept across my desk.  They came back in about half an hour, so they had probably been attacking enemy ships.

A little thin clouds tonight, and the crescent moon showing through them. 

No comments: