Sunday
Curious how I sleep so well
now. Had a lovely night, and when I woke
had to think a few minutes before I realised what was happening. Bright sun, but bitterly cold with a NW wind. Not a cloud in the sky. Mother quite sensible, talked about Uncle Frank and Aunt Het. Seems no reason at all why
she should not get better – her colour good, her voice quite firm. Nurse Horwood thought she was decidedly better,
but everybody only says “Dr has no hope – 3 or 4 days at the most”, but I
refuse to give up hope. Father was upset
after breakfast, and cried a bit.
The poor little dear looked
dreadfully frail as she lay in bed, listening to the church bells. She said “There’s Magdalen bell. I must go to church as soon as I get a new
hat”. Poor darling, she’ll never go
there again. She keeps complaining that
she cannot sleep, yet she dozes most of the day.
Washed and shaved and went over
to Rallings. Phoned Ipswich, to give Douglas a message for Uncle Bob. His voice came through clear and I recognised
it at once. Have not heard him or seen
him for something like 14 years. He
promised to give Uncle Bob the message.
Went to see Poulter. He said “Don't give up hope. Dr Rowland is always pessimistic”. Listened to radio, had a laugh and went home
to lunch. There was a ceremony at the
War Memorial – Armistace Sunday, British Legion, with three banners a lot of
elderly civilians, wearing medals, two trumpeters, who rang out the Last Post
and the Reverill under the cold blue sky.
Poulter says he heard from Hull that 18 planes raided Ipswich
on Wednesday. They are said not to have
been recognised as enemy until the bombs fell.
All day I was hoping for a cloudy
wet night. Ella
came in, and said she had found £8.10.0 in Mother’s wardrobe, a little hoard
for a “rainy day” and a little box full of pathetic “In Memoriam” cards – who
was Ann Rix, who died in 1889? She must
have been a girl friend of Mother’s.
Also a few little bits of Victorian jewellery. There was her engagement ring, a gold brooch
and an amethyst pendant. Ella said “I
don't want to say anything now of course but your Mother did say that if
anything happened to her, Pat could have that brooch, and of course the
amethyst was your Aunt Julia’s and I was her god child …” And Mother not yet dead. However, I let her take the stuff for safety,
to lock in [her husband] Stanley ’s
safe.
Went to the office at
5.30 and phoned Maidenhead Police. Got through
in a few seconds, and asked the phone girl to send a message to go to Aunt Het, for
her to come tomorrow. Whatever happens,
she must come, as Mother wants to see her.
Darkness came on, with a few
signs of clouds, but they drifted away, and the brilliant moon hung in the
sky. Feel terribly nervous about another
raid. Oh for pouring rain. Had tea at café. Wireless full of Russian victories. 3 planes down last night over E. Anglia, so
there must have been quite a raid somewhere.
Have human beings ever gone
through quite such a hell as this before?
Went to Parsons Heath to see a
Mrs Birdewell, as housekeeper. She agreed to come, but will not sleep in, as
she is terrified of raids. She gave me
great details of the terrors which she suffers, while I listened with polite
superiority, every horror being exactly the same as I suffer myself. Told me about her son being killed, a radio
operator in a bomber, and showed me a photo of a group at his station, all boys
of 18 and 19. Everyone now dead.
As I left I mentioned that a fog
was creeping up. She said “Thank
goodness, we shall have a quiet night”.
Then, after a pause, “but it wouldn’t do every night, because our boys
couldn’t go out.”.
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