Wednesday
Bad night, woke every 2 hours. ‘Planes about all night. Once, about 4.30, thought I could hear Colchester sirens.
Fine morning, with some cloud. Collected cycle from Parson’s Heath garage,
with a new back tyre, the old one having done about 7000 miles. Not very good, but the “ersatz” rubber now
used is worthless.
Busy, tiring, useless day.
Tea at Winnie’s – wrote some more [of my] “Farm” [story] while I sat there – have decided to call it “Chadborough Farm”. [The story was based on the experiences of farm life under the War Agricultural Committees but the manuscript is now lost - CP]. The radio being on, at 5 heard the news in Welsh – “Dyma rhaglen
Cymraeg: dyma newyddion yuq Nghgmraeg … bombio Berlin … bombio tan … Frangig … yr shyfel …” and so on. Then came “Dyma aur y
plant …” * There were Czechs in the café,
listening with what appeared to be wrapped attention. A group of noisy Dutch sailors came down from
St. Nicholas Street ,
singing and shouting, and a lorry full of Americans wearing sheepskin lined
leather coats crawled past.
Got some more tablets and medicine from Weddell’s, and
called at Springgate on the way out.
They said Molly Blomfield was soon coming, so I waited to speak to her. Told her I was going on holiday, whereupon
she seemed mildly put out and became sulky.
Then said she must go at once, and left for Colchester . Never seem to be able to discuss anything
with her for more than a few minutes.
Wonder if all this rush and hurry is really the disguise of a completely
empty life?
Clouds came up, great flame coloured mares’ tails, then
after supper it became very dark, and rain began. Took some tablets and settled down for a
quiet night.
* Apologies for any mistakes in my transcription of Rudsdale's recollections of the Welsh news broadcast - CP
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