7th January 1943

Thursday

To my surprise, the rain which began last night kept on all day.  However, I dislike the bus so much I decided to cycle.  Capt. Folkard was away all day, as he had his teeth out yesterday. 

Troubles in the office all day.  Nott makes a great nuisance of himself on these wet days, and spends most of his time inside.  The girls are very annoying, especially Heather.  (Heather said this morning that the bombs yesterday fell at Ramsey, without damage, but a woman was injured with a bullet.)

Left at 6, being delayed doing the pay.  I keep the money (about £400) in the Muniment Room on Thursday nights.  Hull has no idea of this.

Cycling back, I had just got to John de Bois’ Bridge when a train came along from Colchester.  It was a magnificent sight, roaring over the high embankment, sparks and flames leaping from the engine, the long tail of carriages flashing behind, the lights in their windows almost “pre-war” in brilliance.  I think trains are the only good mechanical conveyance ever invented.

6th January 1943

Wednesday

Awoke to find snow beginning to fall, and went in on the bus amidst a driving whirl of snow flakes.  By the time we got to Colchester the whole landscape was two inches deep in snow.  How beautiful it is.  Of all the phenomena of the weather, the snow is the most lovely.  It kept on all morning, but before lunch turned to fine rain, so that very soon the streets were black and sloppy, the traffic throwing great spouts of water over the pavements.

Went down to Bourne Mill.  Everything very wet, most of the paddock under water.  Stayed there to put down more straw, and had no lunch in consequence.

About half past two there was an alarm, and within a minute of it, a heavy bump, which shook our windows.  About 4 minutes later the army warning sounded, this being the time-lag between the Observer Corps “crash warning,” on which our sirens are now sounded, and the regulation warning from Cambridge.  I heard this evening that the Manningtree and Brantham sirens were also about 4 minutes late.  Three bombs were heard at Lawford, quite near from the way the house shook and rattled.

Who could believe that after nearly 3½ years of war, the “official” system of giving the public warning of an impending air attack is still quite useless?

Tonight, heavy rain beating on the roof and windows, while I sit warm and cosy in front of a blazing log fire, looking through Laver’s extracts of Colchester wills.  There are many very valuable references to local place-names.

Heard Joy say that Parrington’s brother (a prisoner in Germany) had written to say he hoped to be home by next Christmas.

“Gazette” tonight is full of the Ardley Road murder.  Our local police are making the very most of it.  The murderer, Turner, is pleading “guilty” and makes no trouble about it.

5th January 1943

Tuesday

Up late this morning.  Very cold, dark and cloudy, but the wind had gone.  The sky gradually cleared, and was bright and sunny by lunch. 

In the papers this morning, stated that a plane was brought down near “S.E. coast” last night.  Perhaps this was the cause of the alarm.

Story quite true about the murder – the victim is an old lady of 84, named Mrs. Wade.  She lived in Audley Road, a most unlikely place for a murder – a quiet respectable suburban avenue, with decent class modern houses along it.  Among other people living there is Sergt. Clarke of the Borough Police, who must be rather shocked to find a murder committed on his very door-step.  The man arrested is a soldier named Turner, who is only 19.  As a matter of fact, he was arrested on another charge entirely, something to do with a robbery, and when taken to the Police Station he was found to have Mrs. Wade’s identity card.  He was then asked how he had come by this, and replied that he had murdered the old lady.  The police went up to the house, and found the woman’s body under a bed in a downstairs room.  No doubt the poor old lady had been sleeping downstairs in fear that she would be killed by the Germans, only to be killed by an Englishman instead.

Sky fairly clear tonight, and weather very cold.

4th January 1943

Monday

No Committee meeting today, thank goodness.  Capt. Folkard rather irritable.  Very busy all day, yet nothing seems to be done.

Very tired tonight, and did very little after tea.  Joy said she heard sirens about 9, and two explosions, but I did not.  These are the first sirens for a week or two.  She said she heard Manningtree, Brantham; Wenham and Colchester sirens.

Rumour in the town today about an old lady being murdered in Audley Road by a soldier.

3rd January 1943

Sunday

Bright and sunny, but bitterly cold.  Fed some of the animals this morning, and went up to the buildings to see Robin, but otherwise did not go out.  Spent the day writing and arranging photographs.  Left at half past 6 tonight and went on duty.  Cycled by Dedham, and called at Sisson's for an hour.  Sisson has just missed the chance of buying two fine cottages in Stratford St. Mary, not far from the church.  He was very keen to be able to put them in order, but some other buyer has stepped in.  A very great pity, as he would have made a good job of them.

Cycled in under the glittering stars, watching the occasional fall of meteors.  No planes about at all.  Fed Bob, called at home, and then up to the Castle through black streets full of shouting, singing, soldiers.  Went into Holly Trees Muniment Room, and settled down to read through some more of Laver’s papers.  

Became so immersed in the books and papers that it was 3 o’clock on Monday morning before I went over to the Castle, and got 4½ hours sleep.

2nd January 1943

Saturday

Up at 7 to see a lovely clear dawn.  Cold, but the wind almost gone.  The stars were glittering, dying out before the faint hazy glow from the east, and the last remnant of the moon still hung in the southern sky.  Cycled off at ten minutes to 8, and as I went along saw the glow becoming brighter and yet brighter, the sky absolutely cloudless, changing from pale gold to yellow, then orange, then pink.  Distant trees, stacks and farms looked as if drawn in charcoal.  The water glittered in the cart furrows.  Passed ten horses going to work in Dead Lane, huge shapes in the dim light.  The sun’s orb appeared just above the horizon as I passed over East Bridge, and every window going up East Hill flashed crimson.

Very busy all morning.  Capt. Folkard brought back from Writtle another mad scheme, under which all the 1943 Cropping is to be revised, each farm to be done under the personal supervision of a member of the Committee.  In our case, this would mean each member visiting about 85 farms and holdings – a physical impossibility.  Writtle and the Ministry go from one insanity to another, and I have no doubt that if this sort of thing goes on there will be a serious decrease in production, because farmers would rather give up than be “messed about” in this way.

Back to office this afternoon, after an hour at Bourne Mill, to see one of the Land Girls with Nott.  She is a leather-worker by trade, and used to be with Bliss & Co, London.  She has the delightful name of Caesarina Woollains.  We want her to act as a sort of ganger, in an effort to get the Land Army pulled together again, but I fear nothing much will come of it.  The girls do exactly as they like since Joanna left, and have now reached the stage where they simply refuse to get out in the morning.  Poor old Authey can do nothing with them.

Away at 4, in a sudden rain storm, to pay out money at Mile End and Boxted.  Called at Roses.  Dodo Rose looks rather frail.  She was laughing over a very funny thing in this month’s number of the magazine “Horizon”.  In a very interesting article on women working in a factory, it was recorded that one of the girls said “Bugger the foreman”.  The offending word has been carefully erased with a pen-knife in each copy, no mean task.  Curiously enough, there is a short story in the same issue containing the words “bugger”, “sod” and “bastard”, all unexpurgated.  After a little thought it dawned upon me that you may print the word as a noun but not as a verb!  The English sense of decency is a very curious thing.

Brought back with me tonight a “Common Place Book” compiled by Henry Laver between 1893 and 1903, all choice items of Colchester lore, including the true story of Ann Mortlock, the woman who, in 1857, remembered Headgate, remembrances of men whipped at cats-tails, the last person to be put in Colchester stocks and an exact record of the finding of part of the gateway into St. Botolph’s Priory.  This is a wonderful find, and has never been published.

1st January 1943 - New Year's Day

Friday

Up at 7, to find New Year’s Day streaming with rain, which continued with varying violence until 5 o’clock this evening. 

We received notice this morning that my salary has been raised to £4.10.0 per week, making £234 a year.  This is the most I have ever earned, and is 30/- a week more than I was paid at the Museum.  I have over £200 in the Bank, which I firmly refuse to invest in any Government savings schemes, and my superannuation money.  My horse, trap, harness, etc, must be worth quite £100 at present day values, so I must account myself well-off.  My expenses are small.  I expect I spend more on horse-keeping than I do on myself.

I still remain a Special Constable for shelter duties and I am glad to keep my warrant-card and steel-helmet, either of which might be useful in an emergency.  By very great good-luck I have never been conscripted into the Home Guard.

Of all the things which are now done in this country which make honest men squirm with disgust, I think the conscription of young girls into the Forces is the very worst.  One can quite realise that it is very necessary for girls who have never worked before to do so now, otherwise the country will undoubtedly starve, but to take girls of 20 away from their homes, and herd them together under conditions reminiscent of Reformatory Schools, is a public scandal, yet no organised attempt at protest has ever allowed to have been made. 

Today continued wet, but thank goodness there were no alarms.  Out at 5.15, and got back to Lawford in a fine spell, under a lovely wild, turbulent sky, red, orange and blue, with great ragged clouds sailing along behind me.

Telephoned Molly Blomfield tonight.  She told me her sister Joan is getting married next week to Gabriel Turville-Petre, I believe brother or cousin to Lord Petre.  He is a great Icelandic scholar.  I like Molly very much, but can never see her for any length of time, as she is so much engaged with her ambulance work and with the Claytons. 

Some of my agricultural notes printed in the “Standard” tonight.

Joy tells me that she met a woman today who had been to Huddersfield, and who was amazed to find that only one bombing attack had been made there since the war began, and only four people had been killed there.  This seems quite unbelievable.  I was under the impression that every industrial town in the North had been heavily raided, most of them many times.

Tonight the wind is becoming more and more violent, great gusts shaking the house like explosions.  It is warm and cosy up here, with the candle-light and a roaring fire.