Wind S.W. again, warm and cloudy, with the glass going back a bit. Late again, but felt so desperately tired. An alarm at 10.30, only 10 minutes, but made me sweat.
Heard some girls in the café at lunchtime talking about identity cards. The police now stop every girl seen about the town, and ask to see their cards. If they are
prostitutes they are arrested and
charge with being in a prohibited area, but they are really, of course, being
charged because they are loose women. In
this way the highly moral magistrates and police hope to teach the prostitutes
a lesson while they have the chance.
Apparently it has now become regarded as an insult to ask a girl for her
card, as this implies that she looks like a prostitute, and this girl was
saying to a friend how she had refused to show her card to a policeman outside
the Hippodrome, saying: “… and I told him, if you speak to me like that, I’ll
tell my mother! I’m a respectable girl,
I am. I don’t go about with Yanks.” London
Rain this afternoon. Soldiers marching by carrying ammunition boxes back from the ranges.
This evening went to see Councillor Smallwood, and had a long talk about the Museum. No good done whatever, but of course the poor chap is really very ill. Once again he spoke of his firm determination to get rid of
, but I have no doubt that it is all
Went to Boxted by way of
Turner Road, for
the sake of seeing the view, with the setting sun shining along the
smoke-filled valley. When I got to
Woodside, Miss Bentley told me that Wendy, the engineer’s wife, had made a
terrible scene today, and had gone into Severalls for treatment. Seems very strange way to act. She is terribly nervous, but I know she has a
home near Morecambe, and I cannot understand why she does not go there. Her nerves can never improve here with this
continual racket of ‘planes and bombs.
Her sister has been sent for to see to the baby.
Wish I had a home in Morecambe.
Fine tonight, and warm.