Sunday
Knocked my clock over during the
night, and broke it. Have to rely on the
radio to know what time it is.
Fine day, warmer, and sunny. Reading and writing until 4 o’clock, then
went to Dedham. At the Sissons’ heard
surprising news - he has been offered a post in Italy, to work on the salvage
of historical material. Mrs. Sisson very distressed,
but he feels he ought to go. This is
true, as he is a brilliant man who should not be wasting his time on
bomb-damaged cottages. He expects to
hear any day that he is to go. He is to
work under Sir Leonard Woolley, with the rank of major. This is a great shock, and I shall miss him a
lot.
Left at 7.30. Bright stars, very cold. Radio faded at 8, and ‘planes began to come
over. About half past 8 an attack began,
due south, probably Langham Aerodrome.
There was a tremendous lot of firing, and ‘planes came in rapidly. A mass of incendiaries fell, and great sheets
of yellow flame shot up into the sky behind the trees. Then three great “chandelier” flares
appeared, and hung motionless in the sky.
I thought my God – that’s Colchester.
Heard a ‘plane diving, and the cottage shook from the vibration of
bombs.
The yellow sheets of flame
flickered, sank, rose again, and the sky was a mass of searchlights, with
shell-bursts, like little Bengal matches.
Felt absolutely sick, went back into the sitting-room, lay on the floor
in front of the fire, turned the radio on loudly to a German station, but the
thump of guns still came to my ears through the music of Franz Lehar.
Gradually the firing died away,
the sound of ‘planes receded, and only the “marker” searchlights, like huge
altar candles, flicked on and off dimly through the haze. To the south an arc of light still
remained. Went in and looked at the map,
trying to estimate where the fire was.
Felt it could not be
Colchester – too much to the south.
Stoked up the fire, had supper,
and settled down to write, radio on, BBC stations now normal. Weather becoming very cold. Feel ill, beginning to cough.
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