14th November 1944 - Reading - Oxford

Tuesday

Fine sunny morning, not too cold.  Suddenly decided to go to Reading.

Went off down the road to Twyford.  Felt a little faint at the first hill, heart pains more severe than usual.  Reading at 12 o’clock.  How excellent are Simmond’s horses as they trot about the town.  They should be sent on show all over the country.

To the Museum – dark, filthy, depressing.  Not a thing has been touched since I last saw it in 1939, and very little since I first saw it in 1924.

The Silchester Collection is grubby, badly lighted, hardly a label, except a few good ones which I think Seaby did some years ago.  The masses of coarse pots are covered in grime, and have not been touched for years.  Apparently no safety precautions not a single thing has been put away in safety, not even the pillar-moulded bowl nor any of the hand tools or the best T.S. ware.  Even the coins are all in their table cases, though many jolted out of position by the bombs which fell on the other side of the street and have never been replaced.  This was the time when there was a daylight attack in 1942.  It was about 4 o’clock in the p.m. and a restaurant was hit, killing a lot of people.

Noted that although it was not thought worthwhile to protect any objects in the Museum, the War Memorial has been carefully removed from its pedestal in Forbury.

The Architectural Room is still the best part of the collection and it is better arranged and better labelled than any other.

Looked through T.S. ware, and noted 4 sherds which might be Colchester ware.

The magnificent iron tools are quite unprotected.  Horse shoes – stratified? 

The old map of the town is still there, and some faded photos of the Excavations, but no modern labels or general explanation of the place.  The wretched beehive, stood above the coin case, is still a great feature.  The “General” Museum Room is closed, and workmen were busy chipping broken glass out of the skylights, I suppose bomb damage.  Peeped round the curtain and saw that the exhibits seemed to be left in their cases.

The Art Gallery pictures are all taken down, and the famous Bayeux Tapestry “facsimile” is shown there.

This is undoubtedly a very fine thing indeed, and of the greatest value.  I had not previously known that it was done in 1895, at Leek in Staffs, by about 35 ladies, working on drawings supplied by South Kensington.  Why the work was undertaken I don't know.  It makes a wonderful exhibit, but, the labelling is very poor, just dirty white cards, hand written, done about 20 years ago.  One wall is hung with tattered news cuttings describing the tapestry when sent out on tour to various museums about 1928.  The present exhibition is widely advertised in the press, and it seems such a pity not to present it decently.  In the Art Gallery annex is an exhibit of ghastly coloured postcards illustrating Reading, Berkshire County, Pennysylvania, which seems to consist mostly of “drug stores” with a large Chinese pagoda overlooking them from the hills behind.

Could not help remembering how I came here years ago to try for a post as junior assistant.  Maitland advised me strongly against it, I remember.  Wonder how Smallcombe [the Curator at Reading] compares with Hull?

So depressed by Reading, decided to go to Oxford again.  Caught 1.28 which left 10 mins late and took one and a half hours to get to Oxford.

Went to the National Buildings Record again at All Souls, and saw Godfrey.  Got my pass to see bomb damage renewed, and had a long talk,  Had half a mind to ask him for a job, but finally baulked.  Might write to him?  Don't know.

Autumn afternoon was drawing in when I came out into the grey misty hurrying crowds, lights in shops.  Bought paper, but nothing much in it.  Divers last night again.  Went to the cinema.  Saw a very old “Bulldog Drummond” film and realised with a shock how old it was – about 1930 I should think – women’s hats quite curious, old type cars etc.  Film badly made but made me feel quite nostalgic.  Saw also a good old “cowboy” show of Tombstone City and the Wild West.

Came out at 7, and found no train until 10 o’clock.  Suddenly decided to call on Joan Blomfield, though with reluctance.  Took bus to Henley Rd, found the house, Mr and Mrs Petre both in.  At once wished I had never come.  They were both very civil, but I felt uneasy and that there was a coldness.  Felt too that they were both thinking whatever can we find to talk about to this wretched uneducated bore?  He talked about divers and rockets.  There is no doubt great alarm about them all over Southern England.  (Godfrey told me that some divers had recently reached as far as Huntingdon).  The Petres both say that all this relaxing of ARP, fire-watching etc is Morrison’s idea, to make a good impression, and was undertaken to combat the awful apathy and weariness which is spreading throughout the country.  Had coffee and cake, lump sugar.

Joan Blomfield warned me to go before 9, as I should otherwise miss the last bus, and there seemed to be considerable relief at the prospect of my going.

Got to the station just after 9.  Got in conversation with a charming woman of about 40, beautifully dressed, very affable.  Talked about destruction of ancient houses, and the hopelessness of the future.  Of course mentioned Colchester (I always do when talking to strangers) and she said that some years ago she lived at Bromley and knew the Guntors very well, Parrington’s friends.

She came as far as Didcot, to change for Swindon.  Sorry to see her go, so pleasant and such a charming conversationalist.  Train reached Reading at 11.30, nearly an hour late.  Collected cycle and set off.  Got to Shurlock Row about 12.15, and as I opened the garden gate the sirens moaned at Maidenhead, Burchetts Green and the aerodrome.  Nothing happened.  Rain fell heavily, but I could not bring myself to go indoors.  Walked up and down the lane, listening.  Thought how lucky Uncle is to be deaf and to sleep peacefully through all this.  Thought of myself, on this very lawn, 30 years ago, a tiny boy in a yellow linen hat.  Once or twice thought I could hear, very distant, the hum of a diver.  It was not until one o’clock that I saw 2 red flashes reflect on the house, and heard very distant rumbles.  All-clear came within a few minutes and I crept into bed, disturbing nobody.

13th November 1944 - Shurlock Row

Monday

Fine, frosty morning.  Quite a number of stacks are up, all well thatched.  Remember what difficulty I had to get a thatcher round here in 1939.  The Land Army girl says the War Agricultural Committee sent round Italians to some farms, and they did quite a good job at thatching.  Many fields of stubbles not yet ploughed.

A cottage near the Schoolhouse, timber framed and white washed, has a curious design painted on the washed wall at one end, rather like two fern fronds.  Asked Margery if it was ancient, but she said “No, it's camouflage.”

Margery was talking tonight about Home Guard activities in 1940.  They kept a permanent watch from Waltham St Law steeple, day and night.  Margery and Mrs Bush had to go in daytime.  Nothing ever happened here, but at a church near Aldershot a Jerry plane attacked and machine gunned the Tower.  One of the two women there was hit in the leg and soon after women were withdrawn from watching altogether.

Margery got out an old photo album tonight and showed me photos of Father, Mother, me, Maitland, Aunt Het and Uncle Donald.  All of us 30 years younger.  Suddenly realised what a pretty little thing mother was, although she must have been about 46 when these were taken.  Realised too that it was just a year ago last night that I last saw her alive.

Saw myself in the photos, a little fair haired imp, grinning like a little goblin.  I had terrors in the night even then, but had too my “Guardian Angel”.

Margery has photos of 2 friends both killed in raids, one at Chelmsford, the other at Exeter.

Foggy tonight, and faintly glittering stars.

12th November 1944 - Shurlock Row

Sunday

Very sharp frost.  The garden all white, and grey fog over the fields.  Stayed in all day.  Wrote to Daphne.  Wrote notes.  Reading.  Margery went to the Armistace Day Service at Waltham.  She always goes.  Margery of course has the strongest remembrances of her brothers.

Delicious tea, and then writing, and reading Massingham’s latest book, ‘A Country Garden’.  Excellent, like all his stuff.

Margery told me that a young married woman in the parish is in the family way, and it is suspected that the father is not her husband but a Czech.  Another woman in the village said quite seriously to Margery: “Well, of course, we shall know when the baby begins to talk.”

11th November 1944 - Shurlock Row

Saturday

Wet again.  Spent the day reading and writing up notes. 

Since the alarm at Maidenhead on Thursday have taken to listening just like I do at home.

Armistace Day still celebrated.  Press and radio making much of a visit of Churchill to Paris and the ceremony at the Arc de Triomphe.  Meanwhile the French and Belgian Governments are now preparing to take action against the gallant “resistance movements” who refuse to give up their arms.  Can this be the reason why the Home Guard has just been disarmed?

10th November 1944 - Oxford

Friday

Fine and cold.  Set off 9.30 for Twyford, past Stanlake Park – Col Barker refuses to plough – a Yankee camp.

Left cycle at Golden Lion.  50 bombers went over, flying very high.  Plump well-fed women, very obvious WVS, waiting for Reading bu.  Delighted to see 6 or 7 of Simonds' magnificent pairs of horses standing around the station.

Train very crowded, had to stand in corridor, but the journey was short, only 40 mins.  Oxford looked lovely in the sun shine, crowded streets, Americans, Londoners everywhere, the traffic roaring continuously, RAF lorries, American lorries.  Looked quite strange to see a few undergraduates walking down the Broad, wearing tattered gowns.

Went to All Souls [to the National Buildings Record] and saw the man whose name I can never remember (Farthing) with that vague distant manner which is so irritating.  Looked through Yorkshire files to see what there was of Whitby and Knaresborough.  Whitby stuff was quite good, although none of the Abbey Manor House.  The Abbey itself was done well, and the church, and quite a lot of yards, wynds etc taken about 40 years ago.  None of Carr’s Yard nor Bagdale.

Knaresborough very poor.  Only one, of the church.  None at all of the excellent shops and houses.

Delighted to find that Colchester has now spread into two files, one ecclesiastical, one secular.  Nice to see so many which I had sent, especially the Castle series which Gall took in 1928.  While I was there Mrs Arundel Esdaice, the mediaevalist, came in.  Had never met her before, though I have often seen her at Burlington House.  Was now introduced, and mentioned the matter of the Layer Marney monuments.  She was very upset, and promised to write to Lord Esher and to the Dean of Norwich.  But when I pressed her to explain who was ultimately responsible for the preservation of monuments in churches she could tell me no more than anyone else I have questioned.  What a delightful country we live in, where the greatest treasures may be allowed to decay by popular desire.

Walked back past the Clarendon, soon no doubt to be destroyed by Woolworth’s, as soon as they can begin building their wretched store there.

Had quick lunch in a cinema café.  Saw a very worn prostitute pick up two undergrads quite openly.  Terrible racket in a café – radio full on, and 4 Americans singing “L’Amour, L’Amour”, banging on table with knife handles.

Walked round corner to Ashmolean.  Saw the Egyptian room, with the wonderful shrine of TIRHAKAH, very lovely.  Also 2 very rare prehistoric statues, larger than life size, and several fine coffins, mummy cases, and figures.  Outside in the gallery a wonderful grey granite ram, a superb piece of work.  I have never lost my fascination for Egyptian antiquities, which began with Wallis Budge’s “Egyptian Religion” before I could read.  The scenes presented are so delightful, so bizarre, yet so lifelike, yet while one sees how real are the cows, the oxen and the horses it is difficult to imagine these lovely delicate creatures in a stable, deep in straw and muck.

Galleries full of art students, and suddenly came face to face with Janet Rushbury, in red slacks and a grey jacket, running down the stairs.  Very surprised to see me.  Chatted for 10 mins.  Said that Jack Penton had gone to live with Roses at Boxted.

The Ashmolean seems to be waking from the long sleep of the last 5 years, and cases are being cleaned and re-arranged again.

To station to catch 3.40.  Saw May’s book “Britain’s Good Earth” for sale on the bookstall.  Reading 4.30, and went round to Stuart, Moore and Saunders in Vachel Road.  The yard full of traps, tubs, rallis etc. and they have an unfinished lander which was begun some years ago. 

Sorry to find old Mr Moore, who helped me with the Windsor Show, is dead, but his brother is carrying on.  Tried to tell me trade in traps is dead again, but prices at last Reading sale were good.

Had tea at the café where I used to go 5 years ago.  Went round to the Palace Theatre where the Anglo-Polish Ballet are performing.  Left it to the last minute to see whether I could get a ticket, as a sop to my conscience, but managed to get the last 3/6.  Nice theatre.  Sat next to a very charming woman of about 40, reading biography of Dorothy Wordsworth.  Told her I had seen the hotel at Lanark where the Wordsworths stayed.  She was a ballet enthusiast, and took a great delight in the performance, which was indeed delightful.

The orchestra announced the national anthems with usual roll of drums, and then played the Polish N.A. first with the result that half the people who had stood up sat down again, only to rise sheepishly when they saw the balletomanes remained standing.  Curious tune.

First “Les Sylphides”, then divertissements, which had a tremendous reception, then “The Cracow Wedding” danced with tremendous vigour and skill.  The best in it was the dances by the Mountaineers, and I shall always remember Jan Jawski dancing the “Polish Hussar”.  Of the girls, Onone Talbot was the best.

Enjoyed myself, this being the first time I have seen a full ballet and orchestra.

Saw “Evening News” there, and found that Winston Churchill has now at last admitted that rockets have been falling on England in “widely scattered areas” during the last 4 weeks.  As a point of interest, we began having rumours of rockets about Sept. 10, three months ago.  Can any member of the Government tell the truth?  Yet the “Standard” bought at Oxford, says nothing.

Out into brilliantly lighted streets, to the station.  No train to Twyford until 10 to 10, and the last bus gone 5 mins before.  Took a bus to Woodley got off at the railway bridge and set off walking.  Still ,starry night.  A few planes about, with navigation lights.  To the south there were flashes, and two searchlights.

Began to feel very exhausted, but got to Twyford just as the train arrived from Reading.  Got cycle and reached Shurlock Row by 10.15.  Felt quite worn out and exhausted, went to bed with no supper and a hot bottle.  But at any rate I have seen Jan Jawski dance the “Polish Hussar”.

9th November 1944 - Maidenhead

Thursday

Dull and grey this morning but fine later.  The WLA girl brought in a rabbit which she had wrested from a stoat.

Great excitement in the press because Hitler did not speak at Munich last night and because the Germans are now claiming to be bombarding London with rockets.  We all know that something has been coming over intermittently since the first week in September, but whether rockets proper or shells from the French coast I am not yet convinced.  Have heard nothing of London lately, and they know nothing here, although only 30 miles off.

This afternoon went over to Maidenhead.  The old familiar road, the “Star”, where Father and my Uncles used to go, “Wethered’s ‘Marlow Ales’” written up, the lovely spire of Shottesbrooke, White Waltham and the stocks.  (I remember the drawing I did in 1918 or was it 1917? – and old Miss Harris told me I was a little liar and had not done it myself).

The aerodrome at White Waltham is enormous, hundreds of ‘craft of all types parked along the road.  Among others saw a small sea-plane, (bi-plane), and several Dakotas.  The rest were quite unknown to me.  Things I have never seen before.  Planes taking off and landing all the time, the noise frightful.  Sorry for the people who live along here, where it was once so quiet.

Cox-Green, the railway bridge, with the familiar expresses rushing down to the west, the houses with bright red roofs and Boyne Hill Church beyond.  Past the wood-yard, across King’s Grove, through the passage under the little railway bridge, feet echoing as they did 25 years ago when Maitland and I used to ride scooters down here.

Went to “Loxley”, rang the bell.  Aunt came to the door – “Well! Boy!  Come on in do,” just as she always did and I knew she would.  She has not changed and does not look a day older.  She spoke of Mother – “poor dear old Dot, I do miss her”.  

Jocelyn came in, quite unchanged, with that curious little girl’s voice, sounding so immature, yet she is now about 28.  She is now really quite good looking, but never pretty and still talks and acts as she did 10 years ago.

We had tea in the old warm kitchen, the big clock from Colchester still ticking on the wall.

About 7 o’clock, as we were talking family chatter in front of the fire, the sirens sounded.  All my old sensations came back, and I could do nothing but say, as steadily as I could, “Well, I’ll just take a look round outside, and let you know if there’s anything about.”

Surprised to find that the street lamps were alight and remained alight during the alarm.  Stars glittered.  It was cold.  Walked down Kings Grove, to the house where they used to live, where I played in the garden as a little child.  A fighter flew over, green and red lights.  What could be more strange than to stand shivering on this hill, where I used to play a quarter of a century ago, waiting to see if some extraordinary projectile should come whizzing out of the east.  No nightmare that I had 25 years ago ever showed me this. Suddenly noticed a light travelling high towards the west, a long way south.  The searchlights waved vaguely towards it, but could not hear any motor, because of the noise of 2 trains on the mainline.  It disappeared and I could not tell whether it was a bomb or a ‘plane.  There were two or three big yellow flashes towards London, but no sound.  All-Clear did not come for at least 25 mins, and I waited in the road until it did.

Aunt said that a diver had fallen in Norfolk Road, not much serious damage, only windows, slates, etc.  During June and July, Aunt and Jocelyn slept downstairs, as so many divers fell in the district, but the all missed the town.  A lot of damage was done at Windsor and Staines.  Lately, since the divers have come in over Essex, there have been hardly any alarms, though one or two have reached the Aylesbury district.

Saw Uncle, who was in bed, and looked very queer, so pale and wizened.  Left at 10.30, Aunt urging me to come again.

Back to Shurlock Row soon after 11.  Saw several “Specials”, and had to creep past them quietly as no rear light.  Can't think why these men don't go to bed.  The sound of singing and shouting in the camp in the Manor Drive.

8th November 1944 - Shurlock Row

Wednesday

Woke to hear the little church clock striking 8, on a dark wet morning.  Margery brought me a cup of tea.  Lay and looked at the ceiling.  How strange to be here again, yet 48 hours ago I had never thought of it.  Photos of Bert and Claude [Margery's brothers] on every wall, on the dressing table, mantelpiece.  Remembrances of summer days long ago, Bert, long faced, Claude very like him but with a moustache, in cricket flannels.

Claude’s beautiful “still lifes” downstairs.  Uncle Jim so hale, and hearty so incredibly spry, quite unbelievable that he is nearly 84.

Rain all day.  The Essex County Standard arrived from Chelmsford relatives – the first real news of Colchester since last September.  How long I have been away, yet it seems only yesterday.  The chief news is “post-war planning”, this time by some extraordinary “Youth Organisation” (Colchester Area Local Youth Committee).  Among the proposals is one that Colchester shall become a ‘tourist centre’, and in order to aid this, special care should be taken to preserve ancient monuments, Georgian houses, etc.

This manifesto is signed by Cr. H.H. Fisher, a man who has not been very conspicuous in the past for his efforts to preserve anything.  I remember some 10 years ago when he attacked Dr Penrose and the Civic Society over the attempts to save the great brick house in Northgate Street.

This evening talking about agriculture with Margery and the WLA girl.  There does not seem to be much ploughing in the neighbourhood – hundreds of acres of grass in all directions.  Margery says the blacksmith shut down not long ago and took a job at the local waterworks pumping station.

The War Agricultural Executive Committee does not seem to carry any weight here – nobody appears to know who the local members or officials are.

Margery was talking about the old Billingbear Estate.  The ruins of the ancient house remain as I saw them 25 years ago but the Park is now occupied by the Army.  She said that when Braybrooke of Audley End sold the place, Uncle Jim bought this house and the village bought the schoolroom to use as a parish hall.