Sunday
Lay in bed until 9.30. Cold, sunny morning. Heard on the news that there was a heavy raid
on Leipzig last night, and that 79 heavy bombers are missing.
This afternoon writing
letters. Heard the Americans warming up
their motor ready for tonight, so determined to stay away from Higham as long
as possible this evening. Went to Dedham
to post letters and have tea at the café.
Very cold, sky overcast, and a few flakes of snow falling.
Looked at a cottage belonging to
Moy, one I have always wanted, in a little lane near Stratford, but found it
occupied. Then went slowly to Boxted, to
verify if there was any damage there yesterday.
There was – a brick house near the Cross, a thatched cottage next it,
and another little cottage further along.
Two bombs fell, both some sort of explosive incendiary, and the cottages
went up in a flash. A few people were
slightly cut, but nothing much. Some of
the Council houses lost several tiles and one had its end wall down. About five families are temporarily
homeless. Both bombs were within 400
yards of the Rose’s cottage, but it suffered no damage. “Granny” King’s cottage, in the hollow below,
was very shaken and another ceiling came down.
Poor old Granny was very upset.
We spent a pleasant evening
reading and chatting, until about 9.30 my sensitive ears caught the thin wail
of the sirens. In about 10 minutes the
attack was going full blast, apparently hundreds of ‘planes coming in, roaring
low just above the thick clouds, and tremendous gunfire all round. We could hear Colchester’s rockets banging
and rumbling like thunder, while guns at Langham and some more the other side
of the Stour shook the house. I was
trembling a good deal, but managed to go on reading an article in “Time and
Tide” by the Mass Observation people on the public’s attitude to bombing (which
is not quite so blood-thirsty as the Government hoped).
Sometimes the firing was louder
than others, but throughout it all the baby slept quietly upstairs and the Roses
played backgammon. The only creature in
the house more frightened than I was the little corgi, who cried and whimpered
under the lavatory seat in the bathroom.
Soon after 10 there was a short
pause, and then they started to come back, each lot of guns firing as they had
opportunity. It was about quarter to
eleven when the ‘all-clear’ came and I hastily departed into the intense
blackness. To the north I could see the
scarlet flash of the Higham beacon, whilst somewhere in the direction of
Nayland a big fire flickered, showing a yellowish-reddish glare against the
thick, low, clouds. Another farm gone, I
suppose.
Had no lights so had to walk most
of the way. Too dark to risk
riding. Decided to go by Langham
Waterworks, but wished I had not. Just after
I had crossed the footbridge, I caught sight of what appeared to be a cycle
lamp coming along the narrow lane from Higham direction. I saw it appear and disappear as it went
behind trees and stacks, and I thought it would soon come round the last bend
to where I stood, but nothing appeared, and as I went further and further along
the lane still I saw nothing. It was
very eerie, and I tried to reach the hard road as soon as possible, but owing
to the intense darkness I wandered off the track onto the muddy path leading to
the farm opposite Rushbury’s lane. It
was sometime before I noticed this, so that it was too late to turn back, and I
was very soon quite lost, wandering round a ploughed field for about half an
hour.
The beacon was a real beacon to
me then, and I kept my eye glued to it, finally finding the farmyard and
setting all the dogs barking. The fire
to the N.W. died way, after a final flicker.
It was getting on for 1 a.m. when
I got to the cottage at last.
Feel I cannot stand much more,
but must go away again. But where? Perhaps to Scotland, to Edinburgh or
Inverness.
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