Felt very bad this morning. Cough terrible and very sick.
Rained hard all day, but went over to
as I had decided in my own mind to do so in any case. Went by Langham Lane, by the side of the
aerodrome. Vast quantities of bombs
lying about, and several ‘planes standing with bombs ready fixed. Nothing flying, but as I went by Birchwood
Corner several ‘planes came in from the east, flying very low but still partly
obscured by drifting cloud.
Dedham found that the café was shut,
apparently for good. Great
disappointment. Went on to Moorhouse’s,
but he was out. Back to Dedham,
against head wind, and called at Sissons’.
Mrs. C.B still there, and felt myself de trop. However, put some photos away, had a cup of
tea and left quickly.
Lucky to meet Moorhouse by his buildings at the end of
and settled one or two points on which we needed his advice. He showed me his bullocks, a lovely lot of
shorthorns, but I could not appreciate them as I ought, the rain falling harder
than ever, and I felt so bad.
Back to Boxted at 6, churchbells ringing across the dreary fields in pouring rain. Assured of a quiet night, thank goodness.
Reading Halliday Sutherland’s “Finnish Journey” in which he mentions the phantasmagoria. Most interesting, and I know exactly what he means. When coming back late at night I frequently see the most extraordinary shapes, great animals, houses and buildings which do not exist, etc. One night recently, on
Boxted Straight Road,
I suddenly saw what appeared to be a huge ruin, with a line of Gothic arches of
great size. As I approached nearer it
gradually resolved itself in to a row of council houses. I remember many years ago, when quite a
child, cycling through Donyland Woods one sunny afternoon, and seeing through
the trees what appeared to be a large Elizabethan house, with exposed
timbering. I turned towards it,
believing it to be some house I had never seen before, but of course it was