4th April 1944

Fine this morning, but some low cloud.  Mrs. Smith, who now comes to clean the office, is a professional “layer-out” of corpses, in which she takes a very great interest.  When she bought me a cup of coffee this morning she said: “Isn’t it sad about Mrs. Clubb?  Did you know her?” 
I replied: “Well, I know who you mean, but what has happened to her?”
Mrs. Smith: “Why, last Friday morning, she was a-cooking her husband’s dinner, and she came over all queer, so she went upstairs and lay on the bed and died there.  And when he came in at half-past twelve she was still warm!”  All this in broad Essex.  I made suitable remarks.  As a matter of fact I know the family quite well.  There was a boy who was at CRGS, (I believe he was eventually expelled for stealing) and a good-looking dark haired girl whom my Father taught at Hamilton Road.

This afternoon went up to the Cemetery about 5.30.  Mother’s grave has now been neatly turfed.  I want to get two oak crosses made, one for grandfather and grandmother Webb, and one for Mother.  Saw Mary Ralling up there, putting flowers on the family graves.  She did not see me.  Looked very ill and worn.  Her sister is no better, and she leads a dreadful life attending to her.  There seems to be nothing that we can do to help. 

Lovely clear evening.  Ald. Blomfield ‘phoned about some playbills which cannot be found, so decided to go to the Holly Trees.  Poulter full of all sorts of news.  He went up to the Royal Free Hospital last week, and was given a clean bill regarding his health.  He then discovered the horrifying business that the radio-department had in some way been mismanaged with the results that most of the staff are now afflicted with dermatitis from which it is not expected that they will recover.  He was told that one girl will lose her hands.  The department has now closed down.  This was the biggest radiological department in London, and treated an enormous number of cases.

Spent the whole evening at Holly Trees, until 10.30, going through material in the Muniment Room.  The place is in an appalling state of filth and confusion.  Wire’s copy of Morant and the whole file of the Colchester’s topographical prints are missing still, and no efforts are being made to recover them.  I gathered that Hull is accusing me of having had the prints.

However, managed to find the file of playbills which were wanted, although I don't really see why I should go to all this trouble when I have been treated as I have by the Museum authorities.

Left at 10.30 and back to Boxted under a glorious moon.  We are not expecting raids at full-moon any longer now, and feel comparatively confident.

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