Up very late – 9 o’clock. Felt quite guilty, but managed to get to office by quarter to 10. Letter from
to say there will be a meeting of the South East Museums Federation at
Aylesbury in March. Think I might go,
and perhaps stay a couple of nights at Shurlock Row. Letchworth Museum
Old Warby from
came in this morning. He apparently has
a large collection of Roman pottery from the Friday Bridge Fens
between Elm and March. It seems that the
stuff comes from rubbish pits, and the ruins of wattle and daub huts,
particularly in the Needham Hall area.
Must confess that I have never heard of the places, and have so far
failed to find any reference to the finds in the Cambridge Antiquarian
Heavy snow at times all day, and quite 4” on the ground now. Still no heat at the Museum. Bitterly cold. Throat a little queer today but may pass off.
This morning watched some men unload a lorry with scenery for the Upwell Players show in St. Peter’s Church Hall tonight. (Had half a mind to go but even this weather is not an absolute assurance against a diver raid). Very quiet all afternoon. Nobody came in the Museum, and there was no sound of traffic on the snow-covered streets. Only an occasional ‘plane, flying between snow showers. Faint shouts of children snow-balling at the far end of the churchyard.
Walked round to old Edwards’ to tea. He is a little better, and had come downstairs.
More snow this evening, big fat flakes swirling down in the lamplight.
Went to the cinema for a couple of hours – quite a good show. Very interesting film of Selbourne, showing Gilbert White’s house and gardens, and the woods were he walked, the animals and birds he knew so well. A few Wisbech hooligans ki-yiked the whole time. A proportion of the public should be permanently excluded from all cinemas, theatres, etc. and they should be clearly marked with the letter “H” in bright yellow, standing for “Hooligan”.
Walked through the Market just before 10, snow hard and crisp. Dark figures passing under the lamps in twos and threes, on their way home. Lights in the bedroom windows in the Crescent and
and the church a black mass picked out in white. At No. 3 found that old Doble had come back
from London. Quite a pleasant old chap, but most
talkative. Had been down to Beckenham,
and says that rockets are falling in South London
every day, 10 or 12 most days. He was in
a bank there this morning when one fell sufficiently near to shake plaster from
the ceilings. He said: “It was most
amusing to see all the girls dive under their desks like a lot of rabbits.”
Bed at 10.30, in all my clothes, with coats piled on top of the bed. Cold simply frightful. Lay reading till one, listening to the clocks on the church and the institute chiming and striking.