14th March 1944

Tuesday

Brilliant day.  Rain clouds all gone.  The drought is very serious, hardly more than a trickle of water in the Stour at Stratford Bridge.  Hundreds of planes going out all morning.  Had a job to find any breakfast, and finally got nothing but a little porridge.

Busy day, and this evening went to Dedham to give Sisson a copy of “Illustrated” which contains an article describing how British troops are billeted among ancient monuments in Italy.  Photographs show soldiers in an amphitheatre, their equipment hung upon classical statues and funeral monuments, telephone wires draped onto heads and arms of some figures.  The article was written to show that this is considered to be very clever and funny.  Sisson is going to show this to the R.I.B.A. in London tomorrow.

Heard a story about two Land Girls, today, both working for the Committee.  They went into partnership with a taxi-driver, running a brothel.  One girl stayed in the man’s flat while the other went out with him in the taxi, as “bait”, cruising round until they picked up Americans.

To Talbooth at 9, and had more trouble with the dogs.  Shall be thankful to get away from here, but I have no idea where I can go next.  Wild thoughts keep running through my head about going away to Salop and then to Wales.

13th March 1944

Monday

Fine, rather cold.  Feel much better.  Jupp full of rumours about the invasion – all lorry and bus drivers are to be taken over to Europe with the army, together with dock workers and two fifths of the Fire Brigade.  Prophesies complete chaos all over the country.

Strong wind this afternoon which blew down part of the ruins of Moore and Roberts’ shop in St Botolphs Street.  Lorries are still at work on all the ruined sites, and men are patching the holes burnt in the wood paving blocks.

We discovered today that one of the bus drivers employed to take Land Girls about has been running a taxi every morning, not appearing with the bus until 9.30 or 10 o’clock.  He is paid £4-10 by the bus company, £3-5 by the Committee, and has been making £5 on the taxi.  The firm’s contract has now been cancelled, but no action is taken against the man.

News in the papers today that Ireland is to be cut off from the rest of the world as a punishment for refusing to enter the war on the side of the Allies.  Papers full of tirades against “cowards” and “traitors”.  Fantastic figures published of the numbers of Irishmen in the forces or in British industry.  From today none of these people will be allowed to return to their own country.

Tonight saw a vast convoy on the Ipswich Road, quite a mile of vehicles.  It was very dark and beginning to rain when I was going down Gunhill, the lorries moving slowly towards Suffolk.  Suddenly a motor cyclist skidded and was run into by the lorry just behind him, his cycle sliding down the hill, giving up a great shower of sparks.

Everybody began to run and shout.  Somebody called “Bring a torch!  A torch here quick!”  I ran across, and saw the rider on his back on the wet road, quite still, with the cycle partly on top of him.  Black rain came down like steel rods, the wind howled in the trees, the lights of the vehicles looked like huge stars.

An officer came, and a sergeant, and they told the man to try to move his legs.  He groaned, and moved each leg very slowly.  He was still holding a Sten gun in his hand.  More rushing about, and a stream of meat lorries edged past, going down hill, brakes screaming.  At last somebody suggested moving the soldier onto the footpath, whereupon he said he thought he could stand.  We heaved him up, and I held his right arm over my shoulder, like we used to be taught in the Scout first-aid lectures 20 years ago, while a lieutenant took the other side.  The man limped badly, but we got him onto the path, and he said he felt better.

Left them, and went down to the Talbooth, where I was at once attacked by two red setters who were loose in the yard.  Made me very angry.

Hear that Ellen Wilkinson, the Labour MP, was in the town today, inspecting the Fire Brigades.

Collected my new cycle from Langley’s.  Seems a good one – Raleigh.  Makes me all the more determined to go away.  Considering going to Shrewsbury late one night, and then going out to Mary Hulbert’s cottage near Yockleton.

12th March 1944

Sunday

Up at 9.30 to find it raining at last.  Had a light breakfast, and cycled to Dedham, with the sound of church bells coming through the rain.  The hedges and grass looked very green.  How badly rain is wanted, but this did not last very long.

Had a couple of hours at Shermans among my books, then light lunch at the Corner Café.  More work on journals and photos in the afternoon and evening.  Had tea, and later supper.  Did not go back to the Talbooth until half past ten, having spent a most enjoyable day.  Mrs. Sisson spoke about my health, and advised me to have all my teeth out at once.  Much talk about my going away, but I did not reveal the plans which are always in my mind.  Wales!

Next week will be very dark, and I am afraid that raids will begin again.  Can’t stand very much more.

11th March 1944

Saturday

Fine, some cloud, and rather warmer.  Great confusion at “Ye Talbooth”, as the staff had not turned up by 8.30.  Old Mrs Roper running around in green nightdress and a fur coat, very much put out.

Busy morning, and did not feel very well.  This afternoon to the Repertory Players.  This week’s show was the 200^th they have done in Colchester.  Everybody very pleased.  Afterwards had tea with Diana, most enjoyable, but she had to rush back for the evening performance.

Decided to call at Ardleigh about Bob, but was suddenly struck with a most agonising pain in the belly, so bad that I had to get off and walk.  Got worse, and for half an hour sat on a tank block on the By-Pass Road.  It kept on so long that I got quite frightened.  Tried everything, sitting, standing, but no good.  At last it faded a little, and I crawled as far as Fox Street.  Mrs Clayton was very kind, gave me sodium bicarbonate and then hot weak tea.  Most effective, and by 9.30 all pain was quite gone.

Talbooth 10 p.m. and went straight to bed.

Had a pleasant surprise today.  Went to the Bank, and found I had more money that I had thought.  My two accounts are – on deposit: £183-18-10.  Current: £21-13-10.  Makes me all the more determined to go away to Wales, as I feel I can freely spend up to say £50 altogether.

10th March 1944

Friday

Up at 7.30.  Thick fog, which soon cleared away, and the sun came shining through big and golden.  Cough very bad this morning, most exhausting.

Called to see Poulter about an agricultural exhibition which is being arranged in the Castle at the end of April, and in which we are officially ordered to assist in various ways.  Poulter knew very little about it, except that Richardson, Randall, and the Park Superintendant, Marshall, are all participating, and are apparently going to do exactly as they like.  It is obvious that there is nothing I can do, so I shall keep well away.  Seems strange to have exhibitions of agriculture in the Castle in which I have nothing to do.

Went on to Lawford as the moon was rising, to collect my washing.  Many planes went over towards the coast, turned northwards, and went back over the Stour Valley, searchlights following them.  Apparently an exercise, but the washerwoman said “Is that Jerry about?”  And when I said no, they were ours, she answered “Oh, well, I got my little boy out of bed as soon as I heard ‘em, although I never heard no warning”.

Called at Sherbourne Mill, and had a drink of milk, the first I have had for a fortnight.  Parry had just been to London, which he hates.

Back to the Talbooth at 10, straight to bed.  Still no more attacks.  Very strange.  As I came along the Dedham road in the moonlight, the screech-owls cried all around, some mewing like cats, some crying like little children.

9th March 1944

Thursday

Fine, but rather colder.  Cough very bad.  Jupp came into the office this morning, and told me that he was homeless – the owner of the house he shared in Maldon Rd, a man named Hardy, had yesterday come in in the middle of the day, mad drunk, and smashed up the place.  Jupp’s wife, who is a Maltese, was terribly upset, so he had to take her to his own home near Romford, and had taken all his furniture as well.  Jupp says this man Hardy had a very good job at Paxman’s, but has now lost it.

Jupp also told me this story – He met an American pilot who had been on a daylight raid on Nuremberg, in a ‘Mustang’.  He described how he flew only just above the roof-tops, and went roaring up the middle of one of the main streets of the city, which was packed with a big crowd of civilians.  Apparently they mistook the ‘Mustang’ for a German plane, and waved to it.  Suddenly they realised it was an enemy, and, in a flash, the street was cleared.  The American pilot said “Boy!  That was the biggest thrill of the whole trip to see that street clear!  It was like magic.  But the hell of it was, I hadn’t got a bomb or a bullet left for ‘em.”

Had tea in the Culver St café.  Two Americans came in, apparently about 40 but no doubt considerably younger, fat, bloated, long haired, very drunk and noisy.  They were accompanied by two girls of about 15 and 16 years old.  The elder was fair, with a red scarf round her head, and her face appeared curiously raddled or discoloured.  The other was nothing more than a child.  The whole party kept up screaming laughter and remarks of a most offensive nature.  The amount of casual and professional prostitution in this town is simply staggering.

Went out to Boxted under the full moon, a few ‘planes going over.  Spent a couple of very pleasant hours at the Roses, listening to radio and chatting.  She lent me Stephen Haggard’s letters which were published a few weeks ago.  She knew him very well, and seems to admire his philosophy as set out in these letters which he wrote in 1940.  To me they seem rubbish, and altogether masochistic.  Most unpleasant.

Got back to the Talbooth at 11 o’clock, and found myself locked out.  The “olde worlde” doors have neither bells or knockers, and my kicks and thumps produced no results.

At last I went round to the back of the house, accompanied by a little black cat which appeared from somewhere, climbed on the scullery roof with a broomstick, and tapped vigorously at a window.  Beyond some muffled murmurings within, apparently indicating that somebody was putting their heads under the bedclothes, there was again no response. 

Got down again, found a couple spooning outside a cottage by the bridge, interrupted them as tactfully as I could, and enquired where the housekeeper lived.  Found this to be an old brick cottage on the other side of the river.  Went there, knocked her up, borrowed the key of the kitchen, on the understanding that I must throw it out of the window tomorrow morning so that she may get in.  Back across the bridge in the moonlight, found the little black cat sporting with a male friend.  Unlocked the kitchen door, but had a trouble to get in as I did not realise for a time that it was made in such an “olde worlde” fashion that it opened outwards instead of inwards.  And so up to bed, stumbling over unexpected steps and bits of furniture.

8th March 1944

Wednesday

Lovely morning, clear blue sky, quite warm.  Buds appearing on the hedges.  Hundreds of planes going out, very high, due east, making a continuous vibrating rumble.  Had an excellent breakfast, as I left late to go to Fordham.  Cycled along slowly, through Langham and Boxted.  Saw three horses on an old fashioned cultivator and two on the harrows at Blyth’s place, Plumb Farm.  Looked at old Smith’s cottage at Boxted, where the bomb fell.  It appears to be another hall-house, but could not get in.  All the south end is down, but it is well worth rebuilding.

Through Boxted to Horkesley.  Saw a wooden bungalow in a little copse, right on the boundary of Horksley, which would do very well for me.  It appeared to be empty.  In the lane going up to Fordham Place, saw a brewer’s dray with two horses, from Bergholt.  Have not seen one for years.  Kedar’s man was drilling with a tractor near the house, the drill painted blue with bright red wheels flashing in the sun.  Across the lane two men were sowing fertiliser by hand, as white as millers, and a black collie dog lay on the roadside in the warm.

Tremendous activity at the aerodrome.  Huge grey bombs lying about all over the field, most terrifying objects.  A dump of at least 200 just outside the windows of the Air Ministry Office.  Nothing left of Harvey’s Farm but rubble and bits of wood.  Arranged to take about 300 slates and 500 tiles.

Outside the aerodrome saw the lorry AMK 906, which I saw dumping sand at Dedham more than a year ago.  The police have never taken any action, although they know this is a false number.  Told the Clerk of the Works to watch the driver.

Took two complete rods from the wattle-and-daub of the farm, and two lengths of the cord used to bind them.

Back to Colchester by way of Bergholt, and got in just in time for lunch.

This evening cycled to Higham met Cottee’s taxi, and moved all my books etc down to Sisson’s.  Thankful to get them away.  Cottee charged only 6/-.

Came over cloudy after lunch, and the moon obscured tonight.  How strange that, if we get a few days peace, we no longer expect an attack.  It has been so quiet for more than a week the Germans must be planning something big.

Went to bed early.  Not feeling very well.  Painful cough.