24th September 1944: Colchester to York

Sunday

Wakened at 4am by an ‘all-clear’.  Looked out to see driving clouds and pouring rain.

Got up at 9, found it still raining hard, and strong N.W. gale.  Tried to make up my mind whether or not to go over to Fordham to see Capt. Folkard, or whether to telephone.  Finally did neither.  Perhaps I shall see a doctor when I get to York.  Felt in a state of high tension all day, listening for sirens.  Several times turned the radio on, only to turn it off in a few minutes, thinking I heard them.

About 4 o’clock got everything packed and ready, loaded cycle, and then felt a sudden panic that I should miss the train.  Cycled to the station about half past 5, Halifaxes and Stirlings going over very low, under scudding clouds, heading for Holland.  The situation there must be very bad to send out bombers in such weather.

Big noisy crowd at the station.  Felt depressed and anxious.  A wedding party there, North Country people, all dressed in their best, - a young blonde widow in a fur coat and black veils, with a fat, ugly baby, a blowsy old mother, a hard looking red-faced man in a bowler hat, who had had a good deal to drink, and was shouting across the lines to some more of the party on the up-platform.  A London train came roaring through the sleeting rain, clouds of dirty brown steam enveloping the coaches.  Began to feel more and more anxious as the Edinburgh train failed to come in, and began to wonder if we should be clear of Essex before the next lot of ‘divers’ came over.  Enquired of several porters and the ticket collector, but got only evasive answers.  What a curious and annoying attitude of secrecy always pervades railway stations.  The railway staffs appear to consider the passengers as nothing more than undesirable trespassers.  They never by any chance announce the destination of a train until it is actually entering the station, when the roar of its arrival mingles with their incoherent shouting.

The train eventually pulled in off the siding at 6.30.  Got a seat without trouble, in a carriage with two RAF men, a young farmer, a Dutch sailor, and a very talkative dark, swarthy woman, who settled down to tell me her life story almost as soon as I got in.  She was very proud that, although a grandmother at 47, she was still the belle of the ball at all the local dances.  “My son, he’s twenty and in the Navy, he’s got grey hair and he doesn’t like to see his mother dancing with boys no older than himself.”  Probably not.  She said she was married to a man of 63 who is manager of a Cambridge cinema, and went on to tell of the trials and troubles of running a cinema in these days.  Said she never saw any films, but liked to hear Deanna Durbin singing.  Not in the least interested in the technical side of films.  Besides doing all her husband’s clerical work at the cinema, she said that she puts in 8 or 9 hours a day at a local factory, working a lathe, and (according to herself) is reckoned to be the best woman there.  She was born in Norfolk, near Norwich, but her mother was Italian and her grandfather German.  She said she liked both Germans and Italians very much, but could not stand Americans at any price.  Felt much the same myself when 8 or 9 American pilots got in at Bury, all laden with heavy “grips”.  Their rudeness was really quite extraordinary, throwing their luggage on top of other peoples’ and crowding into the carriage in a most offensive manner.  They were apparently bound for Edinburgh.

After Bury, I felt that I must at least be outside the “diver” zone, and relaxed and slept a little.  Strange to feel that I am leaving it all behind, perhaps for ever.  Who knows?

York at 1.00am.  Bright starlight, and the street lamps burning, not so bright as before the war, but how strange a sight after five years.  Absurd of course, but could not help feeling almost hopeful.  A training aircraft sailed slowly over the station, its red and green lights mingling with the stars.  Just on chance went to the Station Hotel and found I could get a room there.  The night-porter was visibly outraged when I admitted to having a bicycle, and with bad grace told a page to put it in the baggage room.

Undressed completely for the first time for weeks, put on clean, cool pyjamas, and got into the soft clean bed.  Noise of a train shunting in the station below, and an occasional training-‘plane going over very low.  Lay wondering what was happening down at “Fox One”, yet feeling vaguely unhappy.  Should have no compunction whatever were it not for Father.  If only he were away from Colchester, I would never go back.  Sorry about Captain Folkard but it can't be helped.  I should have to throw up the job soon, in any case.  Must see a doctor.

23rd September 1944

Saturday

The last day.  Fine and clear, warm and sunny.  Two of the smallholders ploughing along the Straight Road, under the pale blue sky.  Worked hard all the morning, and had hoped to have gone to the Mersea Ploughing Match this afternoon, but decided not, and went back to the office again.  Captain Folkard left at 1.00pm, and looking at me rather oddly, said “I hope your holiday will do you good, and you’ll be better when you get back.”  Wonder what he knows or guesses.

Rushed up town, bought a fine copy of Michelangelo’s works for Diana, as it is her birthday, and took it to the workshop for her.  Found her in the midst of a very theatrical tea party, all the cast there – lovely Yvonne among them.  Robert Digby came in and kissed Di very affectionately, but I had not the nerve to do so in a crowd.  She was very pleased with the book, and seemed genuinely glad to see me.  Asked me to stay to tea, and very ill at ease, I did, sitting between Yvonne and a fascinating girl in blue slacks.  Di rushing about everywhere, feeding everybody, enjoying herself enormously.

Came away at 6, went home to say goodbye to Father.  Stayed hour and half, and told him cautiously that I expected to be away “about a fortnight” and that I would write often.  Suddenly determined to stop first at York, and perhaps go to Whitby.  How nice if I could persuade him to go there, but he never will.

To Boxted for a quick supper, and then to Post at 9.  Sky full of bombers sailing out with their navigation lights, a dreadful, deep, incessant roaring.  Lot of chatter at the Post about people “quitting” and “holidays”, obviously directed against Howard Page, who had left, and me.  Kept very quiet.  Less than 24 hours now.

A clear, starlight night, and not very cold.  Thought the quiet too good to last, and “diver” came on before 10, before we had had any tea.  I did the “booking”, and the other man, old Diaper, plotted.  Felt very ill and depressed.  Tried everything, sitting, standing, leaning on the wall etc, but nothing any good.

 

There were two more flashes far away, beyond Hadleigh, I should think, and then “diver” was off, and the first “all-clears” came through.

“Good”, I said “now we can have a cupper char.  Reckon we deserve some,” and old Diaper replied “Kettle’s on the boil.”  So we sat drinking out of the big mugs, (tea too strong as usual), staring at the notices on the brick wall in front of us, about Gas and Recognition tests and so forth.

Just as we finished the sandwiches, a Tempest came down from the NW, at about 10,000 feet, the navigation lights like tiny coloured stars.  We plotted him and reported, and were chatting idly when I noticed suddenly that his engine had stopped.  I said “He’s cut out,” and Diaper told Centre.  As he spoke we heard the shriek and moan of the falling ‘plane, getting gradually louder, then dying away to the South.  There was a dull bump, a flash, a rumble, and a huge fire sprang up, a long way off beyond Stanway I thought.  Centre said it was near Birch, which made me anxious for Birch Hall, but they said no it was beyond there.  The fire flickered, died, swelled, and died again, and occasionally explosions drifted on the wind.

Took over the ‘phones at about 11, to give Diaper, a chance to go out, and in a few minutes “diver” was on again.  A voice said “Mass raid of divers coming in, S.E.  Thought "Jesus Christ, what the hell is going to happen now?"  However hardly logged “Diver procedure” when it was off again, and in a few minutes saw the cause of the alarm – the navigation lights of the air fleet returning home, very low.  The ‘planes were passing over for the next hour, two or three dozen at a time.  One or two were limping, and the sky blazed with their red, green and yellow lights.

At last one o’clock came round, and I got away, happy in the knowledge that I shall not see the Post again for a fortnight.  Am not looking forward to spending winter nights there.

Bed at 1.30, in a state of horrible nerves, with less than 16 hours to go.  Feel terribly worried about work not done at the office, but at any rate have left drafts of nearly 40 “memos” for the girls to do on Monday.

22nd September 1944

Friday

Glass falling, cloudy day, some wind.  Daphne still in Manchester, Walling furious, swearing he had no idea she was going.  She ‘phoned to Captain Folkard, but Walling puts it about that she was “plotting” to go behind his back.  He was most objectionable.  What an ill-mannered bore he is.  How I loathe these office rows.

Fine afternoon.  Decided to go to Dedham this evening, got over at 7, just as the Sissons got back from Cambridge.  Was asked to supper, and felt uncomfortable, as I always do, knowing that they have no servant, and often little food.  Try as much as I can to take them some tinned stuff.

About 8.30, heard sirens.  Said brightly – “I’ll go outside and see what’s happening.”  Went out into heavy rain, pitch black.  Boys and men singing and shouting as they came away from the “Sun”, lights of torches flashing in the slanting rain.  Heard a “diver” coming up from the East.  Walked down Mill Lane, rain running down my neck.  Nothing happened, and the thing passed out of earshot.  Walked almost to Stratford, as the church there struck 9.  Three more “divers” came over, and there were some explosions far off.  A moment later “All-Clear” came, and I went back. Told the Sissons some of my plans.  Have decided to leave on the Edinburgh night train on Sunday, 5.25.  Only about 40 hours to go.  Mrs Sisson said very kindly that I certainly ought to get away.

Left at 11, and went home slowly, but nothing else happened.  Have a feeling of the most intense anxiety.  Bed at midnight.  Wish I knew whether “diver” was “on” or “off”.

21st September 1944

Thursday

Slept like the dead, and missed another “diver” attack at 4.15, when a number went over S. of the town.  Fog, then clear.

Office 9.30.  Daphne gone to Manchester, to try for a job as a teacher.  Can't blame her, but shall miss her.

At lunch heard a radio talk on “the smallest house in Britain”, that at Conway.  They make a fuss about it, yet all that row, and part of the town wall, will be destroyed as soon as the war is over.

By afternoon post, letter from Meg MacDougall, to say I shall be welcome in Inverness, and ends “Hope you have no more divers.”

To Post at 9pm.  A very dark foggy night.  Not much happening.  Felt tired and sleepy.  Off at 1am and hurried home.   A slight fit of the phantas magoria on the Straight Road, - a large, entirely non-existent farm on the left side of the road.

20th September 1944

Wednesday

Two hours sleep only.  No rain, but thick fog this morning.  Office at 9.  Asked Captain Folkard for a week’s leave next week, knowing full well a week is quite useless to me.  He agreed grudgingly.  Yet he is not a hard master.  It is simply that his boundless energy makes him incapable of seeing when somebody else is quite worn out.

Lot of nonsense in “Gazette” today about the “last of the flying bombs”.  This ridiculous stuff is copied from the statement of Duncan Sandys and others to the effect that all sites from which they are sent have been captured.  It is quite obvious that other methods are being used, to say nothing of the use of rockets.

Weather cleared, and many ‘planes went out.  Called at home told Father I shall be away fortnight or 3 weeks, just to prepare him in case of my staying away that long.  If I do, Captain Folkard will be furious.

Saw Diana, had tea with her, and after saw the theatre set which was very good, she is excellent at this sort of thing.  Dead tired, and wanted to go to bed, but “divers” were over at 8.30, one almost overhead.  Went into the field behind the house.  Bed at last, 9.45.  Only 90 hours to go until I leave for Scotland.

19th September 1944

Tuesday

Only three hours sleep.  Felt ill, and vague, as if I hardly knew where I was or what to do next.  Could not keep still all day, or concentrate on any work.  Two amusing stories in the office from Culley.  One is that he was stopped in High Street yesterday by an American who asked him where he could change French francs, indicating bundles of them in his pockets and in the blouse of his battledress.  He said he had 15,000 frs, all won at gambling in France last week.  Culley advised him to try a bank.

The other story was about a new girl Culley took on.  He told her she had to have a cycle, whereupon she said “Good lor’, do I have to chase’m on a bike?” meaning the rats.  Culley said she was quite serious.

Dull all day.  Had no food until this evening, then had a good meal at the Regal.  Went out to Boxted, hoping for a long night in bed, but felt so bad I could not possibly settle.  Crept out and cycled to Nayland about 9pm and called on Phoebe Fenwick Gaye.  Didn’t seem very pleased to see me, but gave me tea and some cakes.  Stayed as long as I dared, about 10.30, then wandered out.  Dull, dark night.  Decided to cycle towards Sudbury, thinking that perhaps I might get there and call on H.J. Cape, [a teacher from Colchester Royal Grammar School] if not too late – might spin him some yarn about having a puncture – he asked me to call on him, anyhow.

After about 4 miles suddenly became aware of a cycle lamp following about 100yds behind in a persistent sort of way. Accelerated.  So did the pursuer.  Pedalled as hard as I could.  So did pursuer.  Whizzed round a sharp bend where the road is wooded, saw my chance, nipped into a gateway beside the wood and got behind a stack.  A second or two later the pursuing light shot past.  Waited.  The light came slowly back, and I was right.  He was looking for me.  He came very slowly past the gateway, about 30 yards away, but could see nothing but a vague dark figure.  Waited another few minutes, saw him return again, turn in the road, and then go back towards Nayland, as if giving up the chase.  Gave him a few minutes, then sped away in the opposite direction without any lights.  Odd that, although the man might have been a robber or even a murderer, I did not feel as alarmed by his dogged pursuit as I do of the purely blind “divers”.

Cycled as quickly as possible another 2 or 3 miles, then decided this was absurd, and that I must go back.  The night was black as pitch, and could see nothing but the white line in the centre of the road.  The sky was only a shade lighter than the land.  Turned to the left, and dodged down the lanes to Stoke by Nayland.  It began to rain.  Went on towards Nayland again, and then, half a mile short of the village, a covery of divers swept over behind me, hidden in the low wet clouds.  Rested for a few minutes behind a straw stack on Tendring Hall land, but no more came.  Getting very wet and cold, so went on through the village and over in to Essex again.  Along the bottom road, hearing Nayland church strike 3, rested again on the old stack.  Still raining, and heard a few faint sirens, far away.  A sign of dawn in the east when I woke from a doze, so went slowly up the hill and down the back roads to Boxted Cross, and so home, in bed by 4.30.

18th September 1944

Monday

Another false alarm at 4.30am – siren and all-clear within a minute.  Up at 7.45, cloudy and misty.  There was a threshing drum on Head’s holding, chugging away, and a black and brown horse ploughing in the next field.

Busy with Committee work, but rang Spivy and slipped out to see him.  He was most affable, heard my story, looked up my dossier, and told me that there was no reason whatever why I should not go back to the museum as soon as the Museum Committee like to apply for my return.  I was quite delighted, rushed out, met Diana and Yvonne walking down the High Street, both looking very smart, pretty and cheerful, pleased with the opening of the new season.  As we stood talking, a single Dakota towing a glider passed slowly over the S-side of the town.  Later could hear many ‘planes towards the north.  The press is very non-committal about the success of the Arnhem venture. 

Called at Holly Trees told Poulter what Spivy had said, and left him to tell Ald. Blomfield as soon as he can.

Committee this afternoon, very long, tiring, and acrimonious, everybody in a very ill humour.  Did not see Joanna, and came away very depressed.  A.W. Page said that as many ‘planes went out over the Stour Valley today as there were yesterday.

Called at Holly Trees, Poulter told me an incredible and infuriating story.  Ald. Sam Blomfield had been in, Poulter told him what I had said, Ald. Sam immediately got cold feet, and got Poulter to go to Spivy himself.  Poulter then comes back with the exact opposite to what Spivy told me.  He says Spivy made it very clear that it was entirely my responsibility – that – I must give notice to leave War Agricultural Committee, become out-of-work, report to the Labour Exchange, who might then direct me back to the Museum, or, alternatively, I can apply to the Museum Committee to have my old job back.

This I would not do under any circumstances whatever – the post is still mine, and I have never left the employment of the Corporation.

Sam Blomfield apparently seized this with alacrity – I don't believe he ever had any intention of bringing the matter before the Committee at all – he is terrified of Hull, and dare not even mention any matter with which Hull would disagree.

I was so angry I almost quarrelled with Poulter for being such a damned interfering old fool.  If he or Ald. Sam think that I am going to crawl back to the Museum, as an unemployed worker, begging for my own job, they’re both wrong, for I’ll do no such thing.  I would rather stay with the War Agricultural Committee for life, I’d rather work on the land myself.  It is scandalous that I should be treated in this way, after all I have done for the Museum.  If Sir Gurney Benham were alive it would not have happened.  Don't know whether to see Spivy again or not – don't trust any of these Ministry of Labour people, and it is very dangerous to upset them.  Rather lucky I did not get the chance to speak to Captain Folkard after all.

I have no intention whatever of going back to the Museum at less than £4 a week, and will not go unless I am invited and offered that sum.  I certainly won't ask for it.  Considering that I have given 14 years service to the Museum, at the end of which time I was getting £150 a year, I think I deserve a little better treatment than this.  [Rudsdale was earning £5 a week at the War Agricultural Committee].

To Boxted, darkness growing, flooding the road with light from my unobscured lamp – for the first time since 1939.  The Government have at last decided that perhaps bicycle lamps are not such guides to bombers after all, particularly when there are no bombers.

Had to be on Post at 1am, but felt so nervous and restless, could not stay indoors, so collected milk and food and went down to the big straw stack on the lower road, just below the Post.  There curled up in the warm straw and had supper.  Dozed off, hearing through half-sleep Nayland church strike midnight, and immediately as if waiting for the witching hour, the sirens blared out.  Very comforting, down among the straw, to know that I had nothing whatever to do about it.  The air was so still I could hear voices in the Post on the hill above me, then the sound of planes far off to the S.E., but almost at once the ‘all-clear’ came.  These continual false alarms show what a state of nerves the Civil Defence people are now in.

 

Afraid to go to sleep again, so went up to the post early.  Minter was on with me.  Talking about rockets, he said that a brother of A W Page is an Royal Observer Corps post in Watford area, and one of them fell within 350 yards of the post, without doing much damage.  He (Minter) thinks they may be launched from aircraft flying in the stratosphere.

We spent a quiet night, talking about farming, and listening to the girls at the Centre reading fortunes to the men on the Easy’s until 4 o’clock, when there was a sudden cry of “Diver!”  Sirens at Colchester were 5 minutes later, and Centre told us and the other two Foxes to look out for a “Diver” on one-four, coming straight at us.  We could hear it plainly coming along the valley, over Dedham and Stratford. 

Another diver was down across the Blackwater, we heard Centre say.  We saw the flash, but heard the rumble of the motor some time after.

That was all – just two of them.  Centre chattered a long time about the one which glided over us, and the Easy’s and Fox 3 were yapping like excited children.  ‘All-clear’ was at 4.30am, and I was in bed an hour later, just as light was beginning to break through.  Heard the golden plovers crying in the dusky dawn, and the clank of milk pails in a cowshed as I rode by.