Wednesday
Dull, and a little rain. To office, hard work all day. Got ready for a school-class in the
library. Parcel came from home, posted
Monday morning, but reached here only today.
Miss Payne sent me an orange!
Bless her. Letter tells me there
were five alarms at Colchester on Friday, and
one at 11.45 on Sunday morning. Father
has not been very well, but seems better now.
John Swift called for me in his
car tonight, and I hope I have left the White Lion for ever. 43 Clarkson Ave. is
a very pleasant house. Had it all to
myself this evening. A lot of noise of
aircraft, and a big explosion about 8 o’clock.
The only other lodger at the
moment is Dorothy Brewer, headmistress of the Queen’s Girls School Lancashire girl, very charming, and extremely young to be
a headmistress – certainly not more than about 25 or 26. There is also a Miss Tony who lives here
permanently, a very old lady, but have not seen her yet. The rest of the household consists of Mrs.
B’s husband, semi-paralysed by a stroke and
there is a son, Alan, who must weigh 18 or 19 stone, and only
19 years old, who has a terrific stammer.
News this morning that the little
Jones girl has been reprieved. Great
indignation among the White Lion inhabitants, who were determined to a man (or
rather to a woman) to hang her.
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