Sunday
Rather cold. High clouds, and a lot of aircraft swimming
about, very high and remote.
At lunch a party of four came in,
a tall grey-haired man with glasses, wearing a tweed coat and cords, a dark
woman, an obvious Fen farmer in breeches and a violent black and white check
riding coat, and a Jewish man in a green jacket, blue serge
trousers and thick horn-rim glasses, talking in a German accent. The conversation was loud and interesting,
the tall man and the Jew both apparently being something to do with the
Agricultural Research Station at Cambridge . Apparently they had been having some trouble
or other with Engledow, father of the little wretch at Writtle, and one or
other of them had either left or been dismissed. The Jew kept talking loudly about “Sir Guy”
who “never did anything worth doing”.
The whole incident was a nice
warning of the danger of talking too loudly in public places.
This morning, sitting in my
bedroom, looked out onto the river and the Brinks. A young girl came along North Brink on a
bicycle, riding swiftly beside a black pony, clipped out, on which a tiny child
was bobbing up and down. The black and
white nuns came out of Old Market, passing three Italians, who drew aside to
let them go by and then stood staring after them. A milk float appeared from the town, with a
big smashing cob, head up, feet up, the name Hardy on the cart, going over the
bridge and away along the Brink at great speed.
A good, well-made beast, but dirty and uncared for.
The American lorries came rushing
over the bridge, then a pony trap, driven by a girl, came from Old Market. In the distance was the sound of a very noisy
band, bugles all off key, and along came a pathetic looking Boys Brigade,
followed by a dozen children. The
noise was excruciating, and as they came down South Brink there seemed to be a
sort of echo to the left, which increased until it revealed itself as the band
of the Grammar School Cadets, marching full blast in the opposite
direction. It was an exquisite moment
when both bands passed each other just outside the police station, the noise
making the windows rattle.
Next over the bridge came a lorry
with a dead blown bullock on it, one stiff leg waving above the side of the
buck. Then people appeared coming out of
church and chapel, and the Cadets Band was dismissed just outside the Rose and
Crown yard. The river was running out
swiftly, like thick grey oil, the tide-gauge showing 7 feet. Another milkfloat, with a thick set brown cob
turned into Old Market. Quite a number
of horses about in the town, but not a single smart turnout anywhere. This morning when I went out to get a paper,
a rough-looking man came riding out of Somers Road on a very useful looking
Arab, unclipped and very dirty. It
played up at a noticeboard, but the man edged it past very expertly. Looked like a good set of harness.
In the lounge this afternoon,
conversation was about hanging this Welsh girl of 18, who was convicted with an American in murdering a taxi driver. Everybody very anxious indeed that she should
swing, particularly the old women.
Tonight called at the Swifts, and
much pleasant chatter for an hour.
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