Wakened by another alarm at 7, followed by a tremendous explosion, shaking the windows. Dull, cloudy, and warm. Sounds of harvesting, voices on a stack, and the creaking of wagons.
Went to the Library for 3 hours
this afternoon, then home to tea.
This evening went to Higham, but
Jacquie was not there. Felt terribly lonely,
depressed and frightened. Went down the
mill track to Rushburys’. Mrs. R. and
the two girls and a very pretty niece were there. Henry Rushbury away in the North, working. They did not seem to want me and I wished I
had not gone. Talked of Layer Marney
church and the monuments in an aimless sort of fashion, and felt more and more
depressed, the atmosphere becoming like that in a nightmare. Somebody telephoned, somebody who sounded
very drunk and very frightened. He said
something about flying-bombs falling near him this morning, and obviously
wanted to talk to somebody now, as the shades of night gathered and fresh
attacks became imminent.
Thought what a bizarre scene –
the gracious room, the pretty girls, sitting in their long coloured frocks in
the fading light, while this sad maundering voice went on over the ‘phone, and
we all waited for darkness and terror.
Left at 10, went back to the
cottage again, and met Jacquie on the hill. Jacquie said she was very frightened
this morning, and had sat up half the night with Ida, talking. The explosion was terrific, though some say
the thing was as far away as Polstead.
Went a little way up the lane
towards Langham, and lay under a stack until past midnight. Then cycled slowly to Ipswich Road, and
turned at Seven Sisters to East Bergholt.
Great concentrations of searchlights over Ipswich and Felixstowe the far
distant hum of ‘planes, many meteors flashing across the sky. Met a few cyclists. Went through East Bergholt and down towards
Manningtree.
Suddenly saw torches waving and
ran into a crowd of police and American Military Police.
A policeman said “Where are you off to, mate?” I answered on the spur of the moment “Down to
Manningtree”, and he simply said “OK, straight on,” without asking to see my
card. Met a good many Americans cycling
back from a dance somewhere, mostly very drunk.
Warned some of them about the MPs ahead.
Some said “Thanks, buddy” and others “F*** the bloody cops.”
Went by the pepper factory, with
its overpowering smell of pepper and spices, across Cattawade Bridge, by the
dim lights on Mannningtree Station. Half
thought of asking if there was a train to Norwich before morning. Felt very tired.
There was a Special Constable by
Lawford Place, so hastily and loudly said “Good Morning”, to disarm any
suspicion he might have had. At
Sherbourne Mill lay on the wet grass above the farm for half an hour,
wondering what on earth the Parringtons would say if they knew. Thought of going down into the lower barn,
but decided not to, in case the dogs barked.
In Pond Lane, (it was now about
2.30am), met a couple of soldiers, North Countrymen who asked me for a
light. Cycled quickly past, not much
wanting to find myself alone with two strangers in such a lonely spot.
Not a soul about in Dedham, just
a deserted dusky street, with a cat slinking over to the churchyard. Heard Stratford Church chime the half
hour. Went to the iron seat on the road
to Gunhill, where people sit to enjoy the view on quiet summer evenings, and
sat there for half an hour or so. A few
‘planes came over, probably mosquitoes back from Berlin.
At last, by way of Langham, got
to Boxted at 3.30am. Clouds were coming
gradually over the stars, but was now so tired that I did not care whether the
sirens sounded or not. Fell into bed and
slept soundly until almost midday Sunday.
Miss Bentley thought I had been on duty.
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