Hard white frost, and thick fog. Thousands of ‘planes going out, high above it. Cleared by the afternoon. Went into town, bought a mackintosh, ready to go to Wisbech. Cost £2.13.0, hope it is worth it. To Library, and then to see Capt. Folkard Felt very nervous, but he was extremely pleasant. Walked up and down outside the office for about half an hour before going in. It was suggested that I might resign as Secretary and then undertake part time work for a while, until quite fit again. Everything was all very friendly, and I was glad that none of the horrid things had been said which I had so feared, and which I had thought of when cycling on lonely roads.
Thinking about Wisbech, decided to spend a night in
to break a wearisome journey, and wrote to Lambeth [Curator of the Cambridge Folk Museum] asking him
for a bed.
Had tea at Jacklin’s, then went home. Long talk with Father, who seems really pleased with my chances to become a Curator. But I do not really want to go. Leaving in the falling darkness, a fog coming up, feel terribly nervous and depressed. Called at Holly Trees, where Poulter greeted me sadly and said he had spoken to Sam Blomfield, who deplores my possible departure, but refuses to do anything.
does not yet know of my intentions.
Clouds rolling up from the W. Cycled slowly to Lawford to collect a little basket I had left there. Joy just back from Banstead. Some time ago a rocket fell on the piggeries at Banstead Asylum, killing the pigs and some of the inmates. There was a warning there last night, and a ‘diver’ exploded somewhere near no doubt one that came over
says the South London suburbs are terribly depressed at these repeated attacks,
which still come months after the French coast was cleared, when Sandys promised they
would end. Much talk about rockets and
‘divers’, discussing which is preferable.
Most people like the rockets best, because a) there are not so many of
them, and b) because one does not have to do anything about them – they just
Had the usual delightful glass of milk, and left in intense darkness, a searchlight here and there, and a few Mosquitoes bumbling about high in the murk. Called at
to leave Mrs Sisson some tea. She had just
completed making a most repulsive marionette, with horrible hands and feet. She said it represented one’s inner
Went on slowly to Higham, heavy rain beginning. Two ‘planes, carrying navigation lights, passed over heading for Raydon. At the cottage found Joy’s mother Mrs. R., who was most amusing about her
village of Belstone in Devon,
where everybody appears to be German, Communist, Swede, Dane or 5th
Columnist except herself. The rest of
the population signalling to each other and the enemy with red and yellow
Then talked about stars, ghosts, prognostications, and so forth. Left at 11.30, rain stopped, moon coming up. Still no ‘divers’. Odd to think of this old lady coming all the way from safe distant Devon to visit her little daughter.
Felt happier going home in the moonlight.