31st January 1944

Monday

About 2 a.m. this morning heard an ‘all-clear’, yet the evening papers tonight state that there was no enemy activity over this country on the night of the 30^th-31^st.

Cloudy day, but quite warm.  Great excitement this morning – the brothel on the opposite side of the road had a fire, a very small, feeble fire, but the National Fire Service came rushing up with a lorry and a fire-pump, while smoke, about as much as you get from a bonfire on a wet day, oozed out of a bedroom window.

The crew walked in a very unhurried manner into the house, leaving a couple of ladders on the lawn, while several of the young ladies fluttered about.  One was wearing yellow pyjamas and an overcoat.  In less than two minutes a crowd of not less than 100, mostly children, formed on the pavement just below our windows, watching the firemen walk in and out of the house, trying to look as if they were really busy.  The young lady in the yellow pyjamas popped in and out of the door several times, and another appeared at the bedroom window, coughing from the smoke.  After about 10 minutes of staring at the front of the house with its dying wisp of smoke, the firemen started to load up their ladders again, but hardly had they got them fixed when there was a frantic clanging from the direction of the town, and along came one of the big scarlet engines, pulling up with a scream of brakes.  Firemen leaped off it before it had stopped, and dashed up the back passage and the front garden.  The crowd was delighted with this rather belated display of energy, and the small boys danced gleefully in the roadway.

At this point Watts’ old pony came along, returning from his round, and took a decided dislike to the grey and scarlet fire engines, finally prancing past them, his knees nearly up to his chin, the driver holding him tightly, as if he was nearer three than thirty.

At last all the firemen departed, mounted on their respective engines, and about five minutes later the front door of the house opened and a very furtive American came out, cap in hand, and slunk off towards the town.

This afternoon there was a special meeting of the Committee to consider the labour position on all farms, but few members had made the necessary enquiries.  It was really a waste of time. 

The girls managed to serve them all a cup of tea in very ill-assorted mugs.

Tonight to Higham by 7.  No beacon.  The moon is waxing, and I shall be thankful when it is gone.  Cloudy tonight, and quite warm.

30th January 1944

Sunday

Brilliant morning, planes going over by the hundred.  Fed the cows and calves, and groomed the horse, which made me feel rather bad, but I soon recovered.  Ground some flour.  The Belfields came in, Eversley, Penelope, and their Mother.  Eversley is on embarkation leave, and seems rather gloomy.  Penelope has just come back from a week in Scotland, and had been through Inverness.  Some talk about the duration of the war, everybody laughing but pessimistic.

Had lunch, bought a few eggs for Miss Ralling.  Went down to Dedham to tea at Corner Café.  Then called on Sissons.  Apparently a farm was burnt at Oakley last night, and some cottages damaged at Bradfield.  Sisson saw the ‘plane brought down in flames.  Both he and Mrs. Sisson gloomy about what will happen next – convinced that the Germans are working up to tremendous reprisals.

Came away at 7, when the sky was clear, with stars and crescent moon, but by the time I reached Higham thick clouds had rolled up.  A few planes about, and one searchlight flashed on and off, which is usually a signal that the enemy is about, but nothing happened.

Bed at midnight.

29th January 1944

Saturday

Up late, lovely morning.  Had intended to go to Fordham, but finally went to Colchester by way of Langham and Boxted.  Cycled slowly by the ‘Shepherd & Dog’, along Hundred Lane, and passed Boxted Chapel to the Straight Road.  What a lot of little thatched cottages there are in that area, all like Little Rivers and the Higham cottage.  The majority must date between 1500 and 1550, and seem to indicate settled arable farms at a fairly early date.  It is interesting to see that these houses do not occur in the heavy land parishes south of Colchester, and I hope to prepare a map of the district showing their distribution.  Surely their absence on the heavy land must show that it was not cleared in the 16^th century?  Worth looking into.

Got to Colchester at 12.30.  Looked in at the market, very little there.  No fat stock for grading, a few calves, about a dozen cows and a score of pigs.

This afternoon went on the Market to see one or two Committee members and then to the ‘Regal’ to see ‘ThisDemi-Paradise’, the experiences of a Russian in England.  Quite good.

Called at home, saw Father, then called at the Rallings.  Annie is far from well, and has great pain in her back and one leg.  It seems very ominous to me, as she has had it a month now.  I have known two other cases with the same symptoms, both cancers.

Fed the donkey, and then decided to go to Lawford.  Thick, low clouds, so I thought we might reckon on a quiet night, but just as I turned into the mill drive a plane flew over and then sirens began to sound all around.  I walked up to my old perch on the hill, rather nervous.  Saw two cars, Frank Girling’s and Mrs. Snow’s, and felt I had come on the wrong night.  Decided to wait outside until the ‘all-clear’ came.  A few more planes hummed over in the cloud, then suddenly guns began to fire, and a great mass of planes came over, flying west and N.W.  The searchlights by the buildings came on with a blinding flash, so that the house and trees glowed like some scene in a nightmare.  I was terrified that one plane, which seemed to be right overhead, would bomb the searchlight.  I saw the flash of torches by the house, where people had come out to see what was happening, little knowing that I was on the farm.

More and more planes came in, a dozen searchlights wavering against the cloud-base, everywhere the menacing roar of straining engines.  I have never felt so restless, yet almost all my fear was bombs, although guns were firing madly in every direction and there must have been a good deal of shrapnel about.  I heard one or two pieces fairly near.

Several trains came by on the line, very slowly, the glowing fire boxes of the engines looking enormous.  Heard Manningtree Church clock chime 8.30.  Went up the hill towards Lawford.  Fisher was standing at his gate, and I said “Good evening”, but I don't think he knew me.

At the top of the hill I lay on the ground for a time, while several planes dived and rose again.  Guns boomed, shells whistled, and fragments came sighing down in the darkness.  Again restless, went across the road and found a corn-stack in one of the Lawford Hall fields.  Here I felt comparatively safe.  The stack was large and firm, with a heap of coal at one end ready for the threshing machine.  As planes approached I moved round the stack, keeping it between myself and possible firing.  When they seemed unusually threatening I lay down close to the bottom of the stack. 

Suddenly, far to the S.E. I heard a plane diving, louder, then out of control, then something red fell, a few seconds, then something larger, redder and redder, glowing and sparking, giving off a thin distant whine.  It disappeared behind the horizon, and almost at once a huge fire spread up, brilliant yellow on the clouds, and violent flashes flickered and died.  I thought, “That’s one less.”

In quiet intervals I could hear dogs barking – Fisher’s down the hill, Snippet more distant, and far away little Snuff at the Belfield’s in Bargate Lane, with Fred’s big spaniel in the foreground so to speak.  I could hear voices up by Moorehouse’s, and voices shouting orders on the searchlight site.  A train came very slowly over the long river bridge and pulled up at the station a mile away.  To my left I could see the dim outline of the pines on the tumulus, silhouetted by the glow of searchlights.  To the S.E. the fire still burned.

Planes were now coming out very fast, and I wondered where they had been, as there seemed to be hardly time to have reached London.  Manningtree Church struck 9 o’clock.

At last, about half past 9, it seemed that the end was in sight, and I walked down to the Mill.  There was one more burst of firing, then the ‘all-clears’ rang out at 9.45, much to my relief.

Bed at 11.30, very tired.

28th January 1944

Friday

Another fine morning, but late again.  Green and red sunrise, but no sign of a break in the weather.  Still no charwoman at the office, so no fires and much dirt.

Went home to breakfast.  Father has been having a complete turnout of all the cupboards and boxes.  Found a number of photos.  One is of grandmother Webb (Eliza Jones) taken at Gomerian Studios, Barmouth, about 1870.  A great day it was when she came down from Talsarnau!  Another is James Henry Jones, her brother, school master at Pant Glas, who was buried at Selattyn in 1890.

Then there are photos of Mother herself, smiling and petite, and Father, with waxed moustaches.  Then myself, a child of 3 at Shurlock Row, Berkshire, at 4, in a Colchester studio, at school, in the High St with Mary Hulbert (Rudsdale's then girlfriend) in 1930.  Looking at them gives me a frightful longing to be back to the past again.  Father seemed to enjoy finding them.

Article in the “Daily Express” today states quite frankly that the Allies bombarded Pompeii because a few German troops hid in the ruins, and that they will destroy the Appian Way, the Tombs, and Rome itself rather than let the Germans escape.  One cannot believe that Rome must now be in the last few weeks of its existence.  Incredible.

Brilliant evening, young moon, stars, no wind.  Heavy raid on Berlin last night, so a reprisal might be expected tonight.  Not surprised to hear sirens about 11p.m.  A lot of planes were about, but mostly R.A.F.  No bombs and no firing, and, by a miracle, sheets of mist came up, obscuring the stars.  ‘All-Clear’ in about half an hour.  Jacquie spent the evening entertaining an American as usual.  

Must try to find an alternative home.  Might try Peldon, to see if I can get away from the noise of the aerodromes.

27th January 1944

Thursday

Fine morning.  Much warmer.  Had to call for a gallon of oil at Brown’s, East St., as we had missed the delivery at Higham.  Chaos at the office, as the daily woman had not been and there were no fires alight nor any cleaning done.

Clouded over about 10, and the sirens sounded, the first alarm in daylight for several months.  Several fighter planes came over, apparently from either Wormingford or Langham, so apparently we are not quite unprotected now.  The all-clear came within 10 or 15 minutes, and nothing happened.

Tonight went to the Roses at Boxted, and had supper.  A new crescent moon, lying on its back, and twinkling stars.  A lot of planes about, and I heard heavy bombers going out in the distance about 6 o’clock.  Got to Higham at 10, no beacon.  Apparently the beacon only flashes on certain nights now.  During the last few weeks it has been every third night.  Cloudy at 10, but I wish we had more really bad weather.

Saw Hervey Benham, and lent him a series of aeroplane photos, all local.  One shows the flight on the Abbey Field in 1913, which I well remember.  Strange and horrifying to think what these crude contraptions have developed into.

26th January 1944

Wednesday

Another fine morning.  As I went through Stratford the sun rose, huge and golden, in a pale green sky, with red and purple edged clouds, the tower of Dedham Church black against it.  Men and girls cutting cabbages at Higham.

At Colchester saw one of the old Corporation carts, with Harvey’s filthy horse, collecting road sweepings near Dilbridge Hall, just as they did 6 years ago.  How the Engineer and his satellites worked to get rid of all the horses on Corporation work.

Went to order a new Raleigh cycle today, to cost £8.19.0.  My old one should be worth £4 at least.

Cold and raining tonight, but I was glad, as it meant a quiet night.  To Higham at 8.  Americans in the house and a dreadful woman Jill, to keep Jacquie company.  The beacon was flashing in the rain, but both the men spent the evening playing cards in the cottage, and did not leave until after midnight.  I went to bed and saw no one.

25th January 1944

Tuesday

Tearing gale this morning, but brilliant and sunny.  Intended to go to Fordham, but could not face it.  Got in late.  Corn looks wonderfully green for the time of year.

Busy all the afternoon, and this evening went to Boxted to see Roses.

Got to Higham at 10.30, by the light of the stars.  Decided to go by Langham Waterworks, and waded across the stream, as the wind had veered and I wanted to avoid Higham lanes.  Chain came off near the village, I must consider getting a new cycle.  I bought this one a few days before the war began, and it has had hard wear.

No beacon tonight.

Met old G.E. Pepper [one of Rudsdale's former teachers at Colchester Royal Grammar School] at Headgate this evening.  Have not seen him for months.  Very friendly.  Asked me about Mother, and spoke of conditions at school and in his lodgings.  Poor old man, he must be very lonely.