Tuesday
Another lovely day. Very busy. Walling, new chief clerk, anxious to learn the ropes of this office. I think he will be useful, but too early to say yet. Home to tea. My dear Father’s birthday, 71 years old. Took him quarter pound tobacco, which now costs 9/6. He had had a letter from his brother Will, to say all are well in the North, but are growing very old. What a pity all the old people cannot get together again for a few years.
Beautiful evening, with the noise of planes, very high, over the town.
Back at 7.30. Mrs. Symonds, Joy’s mother, there. About 9 o’clock, a few planes began to move about, apparently British, but I suddenly heard one dive, ending in a dull thump which shook the house. I thought at first it was bombs, but I believe it was a plane crashing. Soon after several more began to dive and rise over the farm, searchlights trying to pick them up.
Wire’s copy of Morant is still missing, and no steps have been taken to trace it. Poulter is positive that it was not sent to London with the other books by mistake, so I suppose it is either in the Castle or at Hull ’s house in Elmstead.
2 comments:
Hi Catherine
It's interesting to note that, according the records, John Rudsdale (Eric's father) was actually born in Whitby in 1873, making this his 70th birthday! Mind you, throughout his diaries, Eric always manages to make it sound as if his parents are about 90 (!) - an indication of improving longevity as well as changing attitudes to old age during the past 70 years.
Best wishes,
Chris
Many thanks Chris, Yes this would have been Eric's father's 70th birthday. I think people of this age were viewed as quite elderly in the 1940s, very different to our perspective today. Eric also had the extra worry that his father had had a stroke in 1936, forcing him to retire from teaching, and the family were constantly worried about his health after this date. Best wishes, Catherine
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