24th March 1945

Saturday

Glorious cool morning, not a cloud in the sky.  Daffodils blowing in the garden, and the plum trees in blossom. The garden is looking wonderfully well, and dear old Uncle Jim still works in it.  The primroses are out by the nut-tree bower where I played as a child.

“Liberators” were going over very early, and there was the sound of gunfire in the distance – probably somebody shooting at flying-bombs.  Marjorie says there has been a ‘diver’ near Cox’s Green, which did a certain amount of damage, this must have travelled about 250 miles.

Sat in the garden reading “The New Statesman”.  Left at 12 for Maidenhead, Marjorie to come over later.  Hedges in bloom, and the hawthorn out.  Two or three biplanes were flying very low from Waltham, and in front of them, at a great height, a big flight of Forts going out, on their way to bomb a few thousand more civilians.  Saw the little Queen Anne Cottage, where I once wanted to live, and Shottesbroke Church.  Will either of them yet be destroyed?  Thought of Mother walking down the lane from the bus-stop.

Bought a lamp-battery at White Waltham, the shopkeeper looking at me very suspiciously, perhaps wondering if I were a deserter or a spy.  At Cox Green saw the trains roaring down to the West.  Great longing for Wales.

Delightful lunch at Aunt’s.  Gave her a week’s meat coupon.  

This afternoon cycled down to the Library for an hour.  Found “The London Topographical Record”.  Very well done.  Should like to see something of this sort for Colchester.

Streets crowded with Saturday shoppers.  Saw Spindler’s, Alexander’s, and the Rialto Café, and thought of Mother going there in the mornings for coffee, sitting at the window to watch the crowds go by, just such crowds as were there this afternoon.

Back for tea.  Marjorie came, and we had a jolly party.  News on the radio that the Allies are over the Rhine, but Aunt still pessimistic.  Said there was an alarm this morning when I heard the guns.

Marjorie went back on the bus, and I took Jocelyn [Eric's cousin] to the cinema.  Always a pleasure to take her out.  Saw “Waterloo Road”, very well done indeed.  Came back in the grey dusk, under a pale watery moon.  Glass going back.  If the weather breaks, the new offensive will fail.

At supper, talk about what has been happening in the war, local excitements and so on – Queen Wilhelmina has been living at Stubbings, going out onto the Thicket to paint.  Some time ago a ‘diver’ fell near the house and killed a guard, but the Queen was not at home at the time.  Doolittle’s HQ is near Marlow, and the whole district is thick with Americans.

Bed in Maitland’s old room at 11.30, a dark wet night.  Lay reading until nearly 2am.

23rd March 1945

Friday

Up in the dark.  Caught the 7.23, Cambridge just after 9.  Got the 9.30 to Bletchley, arriving at 11.22.  Slept in the train, tired, having got up at 4am to patch clothes before coming on this trip.

At Cambridge, standing on the platform, was attracted by the activities of some Americans just over the wall, in the sidings.  Peeped over, and saw six men and two sergeants unloading coffins from a railway van into three closed motor-trucks.  There seemed to be about a dozen coffins, all very new and shiny varnish, glittering brass handles.  As each was dragged out of the railway-van it was covered for an instant with a Stars-and-Stripes, which was whipped off again as they were slid into the motors.  All this took place in bright sunlight, under the eyes of a few inquisitive travellers.  No doubt it was the crew of a bomber.

On the journey, saw huge dumps and camps near Woburn, which must annoy the good Duke of Bedford.  At Fenny Stratford passed under Watling Street with memories of the journey down it in Rose’s little car.

Got the cycle out at Bletchley, and found the tyre flat.  Very pleasant country, well farmed.  Hardly any traffic, fine, smooth roads.  Through Newton Longville – a few little houses, a church, a red brick inn, clean and inviting, a cross-roads, a group waiting for a bus, and children coming out of school.

Noticed I was only 7 miles from Winslow, and much regretted no time to go to see it.  Glorious country, rolling, sweeping hills, and a lot of arable land.  Farm buildings need repair.  At Stewkley, stopped at a garage and mended the punctured tyre myself, as there was nobody there to do it.  Had a cider at the King’s Arms, listening to loud excited talk in the passage way outside, from which I gathered that some woman had just been telephoned to go to a dying relative – “Won’t last more than a few hours, they said.”

Stewkley is a long straggling village, with a magnificent Norman church, the W. end very fine, with bold arch and pretty arcading and a well built squat central tower.  Much regretted no time to go in.  Left Stewkley at 1.15.  On to Wing, past a huge lonely aerodrome, ‘planes parked on the dispersal points, and some farmer’s horse and tumbril proceeding slowly along a wide concrete runway.  The village itself is up a hill, a pleasant street, in which stands the Cock Inn, with a big cock crowing over the roadway.

Got onto the main Leighton Buzzard road, and rushed along gaily through Rowsham, with a pretty looking ancient inn, and not far from there a little old brick-built brewery, a faded board inscribed “Thomas Gurney Licensed Brewer”.  Perhaps related to the Gurneys.

Crossed the Thame, and got to Bierton at half past 2.  Hurried on into the town, through a confusing maze of “one-way” streets.  Got to the Museum in time for the end of the business meeting.  Mrs. Bond [Secretary of the Museums Association] was there, looking very charming, and about a dozen assorted curators looking very bedraggled.  Clarke from Letchworth, Dr Wallis of Bristol, and Miss Baker of Aylesbury were the only ones I knew.

A man named Prince gave a talk on town planning, although difficult to see how this concerns a Museums Federation.  He talked the usual rubbish, but made one interesting point – under the 1944 Act the Minister can order towns to protect their ancient houses, and can forbid any alterations to the structures.  The onus for making such an order is upon the Minister.  This is most important, but when, at question time, I asked if any such orders had ever been made? he was vague and evasive.

At tea, Mrs. Bond said she had seen Maitland Underhill [Eric's cousin], a few days ago, and had expected him here today, but he had sent a note to say he was unable to get away.  He has been having trouble with Lord Hambledon over the Hambledon Museum, which his Lordship wishes to use as a village hall.  An official report on this outrageous proposal was before us today, and it was agreed to ask the Museums Association to protest. 

After tea, (which was very nice, with homemade cakes) we looked over the Museum, which is very good indeed and beautifully kept.  The Curator lives on the premises.  The main building is a nice 18c house, with a well-built modern extension at the back.  There is a nice lot of bygones, including, oddly enough, a few things from an old lady who lived at Wisbech St Mary and afterwards moved to Aylesbury.  Miss Baker offered me these, as they included a nice “Pope Joan” board, so I took them.

There is Roman pottery from as far afield as Oxfordshire, and a beautiful gold coin of Cunobeline, found in September 1925 at Great Kimble, about five miles South of Aylesbury, where, I am astonished to learn, there is a tumulus called “Kymbelin’s Grave”.  Obviously the chance similarity of the name Kimble to the old English rendering of Cunobeline has given rise to this, but it will be amusing to spring this suddenly on Colchester, and to watch their reaction.  It is further curious that quite a number of Cunobeline’s coins have been found in Gt. Kimble, indicating that at any rate these parts were within the territory of “Rex Brittanorum”.  The name of the tumulus may of course be of ancient origin, and perhaps represents a faint memory of the great king.  This should be investigated.

The Aylesbury museum is very pleasant and the labels are very good.  I regretted there was so little time to see details.

Went out about 5.30, into the quiet sunny street, with the fine Georgian houses, and the ancient church at the end of it, so quiet and remote.  No aircraft in the sky.

Cycled down a long cobbled alley to the station, and caught a train to High Wycombe at 5 minutes to 6.  Travelled with a handsome, dark haired woman who was going back to London.  Talked about conditions there.  She obviously was very worried about the rockets.  (Mrs. Bond has also been having a terrible time and has stuck to the Museums Association Office, through thick and thin).

On the way saw “Hughenden”.  Every hillcrest is now crowned with “villas” and the valleys are becoming filled with cheap ugly factories.

Went through High Wycombe and down the valley to Maidenhead.  Suddenly saw a narrow street, a railway gate, a high brick wall, and a little house with a window against the line.  Recognised it at once – it was Bourne End, where Uncle Underhill was organist, and the little house was where we went to tea, more than 30 years ago.  I have never seen it from that day to this.  Can't even remember who lived in the house.

Saw a glorious sunset over Winter Hill, and rushed down the deep cuttings, past Furze Platt, under the high bridge at Castle Hill, and out into the broad valley, the old causeway where we ran our scooters below, Cox’s Woodyards on the right.  Went up to Grenfell Road and saw Aunt for a few minutes before going to Shurlock Row.  She was very well, but Uncle is no better.  Aunt very pessimistic about the war.  Says a rocket fell near Henley the other night.

Left for Shurlock Row under the crescent moon.  Sinister crowds around the aerodrome at Waltham, lights glittering and flashing.

Got to Shurlock Row soon after 8.  Marjorie made me a bed on the couch in the front parlour, and there I slept in the room where a long time ago, I saw Frankie [Marjorie's brother] come in wearing white flannels, and felt afraid of him, and where I teased poor Dick the dog.  Lay a long time listening to the church clock striking and the aircraft passing over.

The 9 o’clock news warned that air-attacks are likely to get worse – but fire-guards are now being abandoned.

22nd March 1945

Thursday

Glorious day.  Daffodils coming out.  Very noisy all night, ‘planes going over for hours.

Making preparations to go to Aylesbury.  Paid Mrs. B. by cheque, and cashed another for myself.  Must be more careful with money. 

Papers full of “war almost over” stories.

Cannot find the “Fox One” manuscript anywhere, which causes me anxiety.  Awkward if it has disappeared in the Museum.

This afternoon Miss Quail brought in a party from the Grammar School “Prep”.  Showed them Roman stuff.

A most extraordinary accident at Parson’s Drove.  An RAF ‘plane made a forced landing in a ploughed field, and when endeavouring to take off again it ran over and killed a little girl.

Bed early tonight.  Wrote to Father for his birthday tomorrow.

21st March 1945

Wednesday

Noises all night, and slept very badly.  Fine sunny morning.  “Daily Express” had a flaring headline “All Men of 35 To Be Called Up”, followed by an article stating categorically that all men born after 1909 are to be called-up, regarded, and kept in the army until the end of the Japanese war.  The article suggests there has been some “mis-apprehension” about the position of men of these ages, which the Ministry of Labour is anxious to clear up.  Am wondering whether Spivy was correct in what he told me last December, when he assured me I was free to take the Wisbech post.  I told him that I was born in 1910 and was Grade III, when he said: “Well, that’s alright, you’re quite free to take the job if you can get it.”  I remember telling Poulter shortly afterwards that I felt I ought to have had this in writing.  Incidentally, in his last letter Poulter said that Spivy had been asking after me very kindly.

Bought the “Herald” and “The Times”, but neither mention this business, so that it may be nothing more than a piece of dirty “Express” journalism.  But it makes one very anxious.

20th March 1945

Tuesday

Fine, but still windy, and a clear night, with a crescent moon.  Busy on museum chores, and then in the afternoon Mr A.P.D. Penrose called.  He is very like his brother Lionel.  We had an interesting talk on museum matters, and he left to go to tea with his aunt, Miss Peckover, at Bank House.

Tonight at 8 went to a meeting of the Wisbech Society at the Grammar School, when S.E. Dykes-Bower gave a talk on “Village Building After the War” (always assuming that there is an “after the war”.  Penrose was in the chair.  Dykes-Bower gave a good talk on the usual lines, but showed a considerable ignorance of the Fens – he could not understand why the Fen villages were not built round village greens in the traditional way, and suggested that more use ought to be made of the “local stone” such as flints!

He talked until about 9.15, and was just beginning to show lantern slides, when the siren sounded.  The lecturer made some facetious remark about it being obviously desirable to get on with his talk without delay, and the audience sat in grim expectant silence, while outside in the moonlight ‘planes of unknown nationality dived and soared.  The slides were run through by about a quarter to ten.  Whereupon Penrose thanked the speaker and said that “under the circumstances” it was probably just as well to conclude the meeting, adding grimly “I hope you all arrive home safely.”

I had promised to go back with old Curtis Edwards, so instead of being free to scuttle through back lanes and alleys, I had to walk very slowly through the town and across the Park.  Just as we came into the Park, a ‘plane dived in from the east in a most alarming manner, I quite thought it was a jerry, and said to Edwards, quickly, “If he drops anything, lie down!”  “Who?  Who?” asked the old man, “Who drop anything?”  Age must have many compensations.  However, the ‘plane dropped a red flare and scuttled away towards Lincolnshire.  Nothing else came over, but there was no ‘all-clear’ until 11 o’clock.  Begins to look as if the Germans had formed another air-force.

Noticed this morning that builders’ ladders were leaned against the Mayor’s house, where the bombs fell the other night, and men were at work.  The “unexploded bomb” has not yet been found, and there is still a soldier on duty in the Vicarage Paddock.

19th March 1945

Monday

Cloudy day, and rain at 4 o’clock.  Went out to buy tobacco for Father’s birthday on Friday.  This morning 1 and a half tons of coke arrived, which was more than welcome.

After tea the weather got worse, the wind blew half a gale, and the rain fell in torrents.  Stayed in all evening, reading.

18th March 1945

Sunday

Was glad to hear the sound of the birds singing and chirping about 5.30 this morning, and the daylight was creeping in through the cracks of the curtains.  Fine sunny morning.  Had a delicious breakfast in my room.  Heard Mrs. B. talking to the girl who brings the milk, who said one of the bombs had fallen in Alexandra Road, and another in or near the Park.

This afternoon, reading and writing, and then out to the post.  Walked back past the Museum, with the usual feeling of irritation at not being able to go there on a Sunday.  Home to tea, which was most enjoyable.  Mrs. B’s tea is always delightful.  Afterwards went down to Elm for a couple of hours.  Mrs Coulter was in “a rare state” about the attack.