Friday
Felt terrible this morning. Bitterly cold, and overcast. Could not face the journey in. Made up the fire, and crouched over it. Spent last night in the chair. The days seem to be spent waiting in anxiety
for the nights, the nights in waiting for the dawn.
Went out at 12, phoned a house at
Horkesley which takes guests, but no good.
Full. Tried the “Talbooth”, the
“Sun”, Dedham, and got a room with great difficulty, by mentioning Sissons’
name, but this is only temporary.
Cycled slowly into Colchester by
Severalls Lane and Turner Rd, to avoid our end of the town. Noticed a lot of AA guns near Upper
Brickhouse Farm, and a big American encampment in High Woods, opposite the REC
Institute.
Had a cup of tea at Rose’s café,
and noticed two black Americans at one table and three white Americans at
another. Have never seen this
before. One of the black men was a
Captain. Overheard a lot of badinage
between the waitress, Connie, and the Americans, about “Miss Browne” getting
married next Wednesday. Could not make
out whether this was some stupid joke.
As far as I know this man “Bill” she has been carrying on with is still
abroad.
Went up to the Cemetery to see
about Mother’s grave, as nothing had been done since the funeral. The sandy soil had sunk, and you could see
the outline clearly, so tiny it seemed.
Two men nearby were sweeping up leaves, moving quietly among the
sleeping dead. A soldier came by,
walking slowly, reading the inscriptions on the tombstones. Called at the Cemetery Office, and paid 5/-
to have the grave turfed. American
‘planes came sweeping over as I left the Cemetery, and went home to tea. Felt too ill to eat. Back to Higham at 7. Very dark, rain beginning. Hope for a quiet night.
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