Thursday
Still warm and sunny. Birds singing very loudly soon after
6.30. Small attack on London last night, but nothing in this
district.
Went up town and met Hervey
Benham. He asked if I
would take on the Editorship of the “Essex Review”. How delighted I should have been a few years
ago. I could make it a fine thing, with
editorials on the current affairs in Essex ,
especially with regard to archaeology, town-planning, amenities, etc., exposing
the evils of Borough Engineers and Town Councillors. Then give the book an entirely new make-up
and a new cover and get articles from every part of the county so as to spread
the local interest and secure the maximum number of readers. Plenty of illustrations, of course, and sell
it in every town and village of any size.
We could also include reviews of local plays, books and good films. But what’s the good, when I shall probably be
away from here long before another number appears. Suggested Rickwood, who I’m sure could do it
well enough to keep up the present standard.
Brilliant sunshine all day, and
‘planes going over in droves. Took
Daphne to tea in Culver Street ,
and as we were going in saw dozens of heavy bombers coming back, glittering in
the evening sun.
This afternoon a company of
soldiers came past the office, marching back to the barracks from the ranges,
all singing and whistling the “Marseillaise”.
Wonderful tune.
There was a fire at Old Heath
Laundry yesterday evening, but not much damage done. Daphne and I went down to look at it, but there
was nothing much to see. It was in the
last remaining of the old buildings which escaped the bombs in 1940.
Called at the Holly Trees for a
few moments, then to Boxted, to see Whiten at Homedale, and then to Lt.
Rivers. The baby has been ill again, and
Dodo is very worried. The Pickard boy is
worse than ever. He showed a curious
side of his nature the other day, when he wrote a very good pacifist poem. Even Stuart, who can’t bear him, admitted
that it was quite good. He is only
eleven.
Had to leave early, as they all
wanted to go to bed. It is one of my
grievances now that I can't find anybody who wants to sit up all night and talk.
There was a thick haze, and I had
hopes that it would be a dirty night, but by 11.30 the stars were glittering
bright and clear. Walked through the back lanes to
the “Queen’s [Head Pub]”, and then through the foot path at Harrow Corner. Got lost among the fields, but found
Horkesley Plantation, and followed the edge of it until I came to the line of
aerodrome light poles, which I know run just past “Woodside”. Dragged the cycle through hedges and pushed
it under fences. Wonderful feeling to be
quite alone in the dark fields, under the stars, nothing to be heard but the
sound of a distant train or the rustling of little creatures in the
hedges. Once an owl flew out of a tree,
and whirred away into the plantation, hooting.
At last reached the back of the house in time to hear midnight striking,
very faintly, from Mile
End Church
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