7th February 1945

Wednesday

Very late again, not up until 9.  Nice warm morning, but a light drizzle.  Very nasty look from Mrs. Shepherd for having breakfast at 9.15.

Set to work to arrange a special exhibit for Lever’s Grammar School class in the Library this afternoon – a few Romano British pots, the Venus from Lincoln, a few coins, plough coulter from Towcaster, etc.  About 12 old Doble and his son came in, so showed them round the museum.  Then lunch.  Back at 1.30, and then did not go outside the building again until 9.30 tonight.  Lecture went very well, class of 20.  Have never talked to children before.  Lever seemed very pleased.

Miss Thompson gave me a cup of tea, and I ate some tarts I bought, then settled in the Library for the evening.

Looked through the maps and atlases.  We have, besides the Ptolemy’s, Speed, Blau, Mercator, a Dutch “Zee Atlas”.  In the same case is Cook’s plates of his South Sea and Alaskan voyage, with the wonderful pictures of the Polynesian dancing, so like modern ballet, yet out of another world.  Found also “Wild Wales” and “Lavengis”, and looked up G.B.’s reference to the great Marshland Shales.  Much amused to think what a ruffian G.B. really must have been, a sort of Regency Wentworth Day.  Dear old Carredoq sometimes referred to me as “Sious Borrow yr ail”!

Letter from Penry Rowland today, saying there have been no ‘divers’ or rockets at Colchester all last week.

Tonight, in bed, reading Compton MacKenzie’s “North Wind” with great enjoyment.  Had imagined that this would be one of his best books when the reviewers sneered at it and reviled it.

Lying in bed, could hear the sound of drunken singing in the town very late.  Curious how often one hears the sound of voices or the starting of motor cars in the Crescent and Museum Square as late as one in the morning.

Hope poor Ann is feeling better.

In the “Daily Telegraph” today is a report that one T.R. Humble has devised a plan to destroy all the fine Regency Squares and terraces at Hove.  A piquant thought that, while many citizens of Hove “firewatched” at the risk of life and limb to save these buildings for posterity, the Borough Engineer’s Office, was working out a scheme to destroy every house that the Germans left standing.

6th February 1945

Tuesday

Up 8.30.  Dull, but not too cold.  Drizzle all day.  ‘Planes going over in great flocks.  

Another letter from Ann this afternoon, to say she has an abcess on her face, which has swollen to a huge size so that she can't speak or eat, and can see only out of one eye.  Wrote to her at once, offering to go and see her, although am desperately short of money.  Poor darling actually ends “All my love” a thing she has never done before.

Evening papers had huge headlines “20,000 killed in Berlin” in a  daylight raid by the Americans on Saturday.  In the face of this achievement the Russian advances take second place, and the West Front news is squeezed onto the back page.  

Tonight went to WEA lecture, very dull speaker, talked about Michaelangelo, Leonardo and Raphael.  Such material, but how dull.  Mrs Osborne and Mrs Swift both there.

Out at 9, Bed at 10.30.  Thinking of poor Ann so far away.

5th February 1945

Monday

Committee meeting at 12.  Went quite well, but no business done of any importance.  Mrs Munday promised to call and see me.  A lot of chatter in the Committee about the waterworks trouble – Gardiner, Girling and Dawbarn are all deeply concerned.

This afternoon Mrs Osborne, of the Art Club, called, and we cycled over to Collett’s brick pit beyond Walsoken to see if she could get any clay for modelling.  The men at the pit told us that Roman pottery had been found there many years ago, but could give no details.  The 6” OS marks B.A. implements as being found there.

Glorious, fine, sunny afternoon, with a balmy breeze.  Cycled back by Paradise Farm to the main Lynn Road, and so back to her house where she gave me tea.  While we were having it, at 6pm, there was suddenly a tremendous flash and heavy explosion, but whether a rocket or thunder could not say.  Late tonight there was another big explosion, at 1.15am, when a flight of ‘planes was passing over.  May have been a crash somewhere.  Sound travels great distances over the flat Fens.

4th February 1945

Sunday

Up soon after 9.  Lovely warm spring-like morning, many ‘planes going out.  Had a wretched breakfast and then walked out to buy a paper.  Quite a crowd round the paper seller with his little trolley at the foot of the Clarkson Memorial.  This seems to be the only way to get a Sunday paper here – no newsagent’s shop open anywhere.  

One paper mentions that the Germans are now using old Heinkel ‘planes filled with explosives, without pilots, in the manner of giant flying-bombs. 

Crossing the bridge saw Miss Ellis, Miss Morgan and Miss Rees, all looking very smart in Sunday best.  

North Brink looked very lovely this morning in full sun, under the clear blue sky, each building standing out sharp and individually.

Set out for Woodgate’s house, through North End and along the river bank.  The tide was full, but not a ship in the river.  Went over the railway lines, and asked a boy for Woodgate’s house.  “That’s it,” he said pointing to an early Victorian castellated Gothic erection near by, “The house like an ol’ castle.  You’ll have to knock hard, they never take no notice there.  I’d kick the door if I were you.”  Thanked him for his kindly advice.

However, Woodgate heard as soon as I rapped, and let me in.  He lives here alone in this amusing house, with its gothic windows, long passage, and battlements.  There is a fine high study, piled with books and MSS, with family portraits on the walls.  Reminded one rather of an illustration from “The Antiquary”.  Had a good lunch in a high sunny room looking out over the garden, the piece de resistance being the chicken given him by a grateful client.

Talked of museum affairs – ARP absurdities, etc.  He described the so-called “tumulus”, Cherry Hill, about 200 yards away, and said how some years ago he had “opened” it, finding nothing but a fragment of a millstone near the top, from which he concluded it was really a mill-mound.  Well, whatever it is, it is certainly not a tumulus, any more than the other mounds in this neighbourhood are.

He told me that old “Philosopher” Smith, who took so many of the early Wisbech photos, used to live next door, in the house facing the river, by the railway gates.

After lunch he showed me his methods of indexing MSS material, and I left at about 3.  Cycled slowly back, not knowing in the least where to go – debarred from my own office by the caretaker, nowhere to go in the lodgings except the cold bedroom, no prospect of a cup of tea anywhere.

Spent a couple of hours cycling round Walsoken, Emneth, and the edge of the Smeeth, and then went back to change my clothes before going to dinner at the “White Lion”.

How bitterly I regret that I ever came to this town.  Lot of searchlights tonight, all round the town.  Heavy explosion far away in Norfolk, and many flashes in the eastern sky.

3rd February 1945

Saturday

Another fine day, and much warmer.  Out shopping for half an hour and ‘phoned to the Coulther’s house at Elm, as Mrs. C. had suggested I should do.  Mr Coulther answered, and must confess I did not like the sound of him.  He sounded a rather bumptious type.  However, arranged to go down this afternoon to tea, which I did.  He turned out to be about 33, fair, rather fat, and of a nature such as I would have guessed from his voice over the ‘phone – bumptious and loud.  It seems that he is an insurance agent but was directed to take up farm-work.  He thereupon bought a few pigs and a couple of Jersey cows and announced that he was a farmer in his own right.  We had a very nice farmhouse tea, with lots of butter and milk, rather spoilt by two awful children, who squalled and quarrelled over the tea-table.  Mrs. C. is very pleasant, with a fine handsome face, rather in the Rossetti manner.  Stayed until 11, and left in a fine rain that began to fall after a lovely warm evening.

G.M.G. Woodgate sent round today to ask me to lunch tomorrow, as he has a chicken.  

2nd February 1945

Friday

Fine day, quite warm.  Went across the park to look at a trench for a new drain which has been cut from Townshend Road to Whitby St.  This runs straight across the bed of the ancient estuary, but nothing has been found, and there is fine, clean, hard packed silt to a depth of just over 6’.  How delightful if we could find a boat in this old river.

Lovely evening, light until nearly 6, and the sun setting up the river, blazing in scarlet on the windows of the lovely Georgian houses on the North Brink.  The river was running strong and black, and 6 or 7 little pony carts came trotting over the bridge on their way back to their stables behind Horsefair.

Decided to call on Miss Ellis at Old Market, but as I knocked at the door, which was partly open, a most charming, tall dark woman came hurrying down the dingy staircase towards me, and said, “Are you Mr. -?” (something or other).  I said no, I wasn’t, I was the Curator.  “Oh are you?  Well, do come upstairs and meet the Arts Club, I’m sure you’d like it.”  Only too delighted I went up the stairs and along a dark passage. We went into a large room which apparently serves as a studio and workshop.  There were about half a dozen people there – a rather sad, dissipated looking man, called Harper, a charming fair headed woman called Day Shuker, another woman who looked almost a twin of Dodo Rose, called Mrs Swift, and the delightful woman who captured me, whose name is Charlotte Osborne.  Within five minutes of entering the room, in spite of my protests that I can neither paint nor draw I found myself a member. 

Everything was very jolly and we had a mug of strong sugarless tea and a bun, and then began to go home.  I offered to show Mrs. Osborne where she could get clay suitable for pottery-making, and arranged to take her to Collett’s brick-pits at Emneth next Monday.  

1st February 1945

Thursday

Another month begins.  Not quite so cold, fine and sunny.  Busy all morning mending Roman and Medieval pottery.  Tea at the corner café in Market Street.  Saw a little boy on a fine grey pony, trotting softly through the Market Place in the early dusk, a man cycling quickly beside him.

Tonight ‘planes going out in ceaseless streams.  Wondered what was going on down at the old Royal Observer Post: “Fox One”.  Back to the office tonight, and at 8 went down to the Control Room below to talk to the two girls on duty and listen to “Itma” programme on the radio.

Bed at 10.30.  Mrs Shepherd makes pointed remarks at breakfast about my reading late at night.  No doubt my light has been reported to her by someone on the other side of the Crescent.