Violent stormy night. Out at 9, and walked round the deserted streets, rain clouds blowing up from the S.W. Looked at the Museum and the nice houses in the Crescent. Must try and get rooms in one of them. An American lorry parked in the Market Place, obviously been there all night. Noticed one or two ancient names – “
Lane”, “Little Ship Street” (now Church Street) “ Love Lane” by the
Bought a Sunday paper – a serious crisis between
England and America can no
longer be concealed.
Back to hotel, and old Edwards came in. Said he would take me to the Museum, but he thought the caretaker “would not like it, as she is very strict”. Asked me to tea. This afternoon reading and writing in the lounge, while Salvation Army carol singers and band played “Good King Wenceslas” by the river side. Some women in the lounge were talking about workers near
Clarkson Avenue to tea. Crowds of Italians with young girls in the
Park. After we went round to Sandringham Avenue
to call on dear old Guy Pearson. He
looks very much like Father. Went back
to Curtis Edwards’, and a very pleasant looking woman came in, with a little
girl. I think her name was Dimmock or
something like that. Her husband is a
schoolteacher, now serving in Africa.
Went back to the hotel, old Edwards warning me very solemnly about the danger of getting lost in the Park (200 yards wide!) in the “blackout”. He has apparently never seen the street lamps are now lit. The church bells were ringing out for evening service, and bombers were beginning to stream out from
A big noisy swearing crowd outside the cinema.
Had a poor meal, and spent the rest of the evening reading, bed at 10.30, hoping for sleep.