1944 August
From LJT to Annette
Great Leighs
Nr. Chelmsford
Aug. 13th 1944
My darling Annette
I have found the numbers of your War Saving Certificates and enclose a list of them. Dad and I both think they were left with Uncle Bous. I am sure I must have made a note of it somewhere, but cant find one.
Our heavy boxes arrived a few days ago, all safe and complete – Your over coat and skirt have travelled well and my old fur coat does not look too bad and may last you a winter or two till its possible to get you a better one.
Everything is unpacked and sorted now, so I can give better attention to learning the routine of cooking and managing the house.
By the way, I will wash and mend the cotton frock you were wearing here – Have you got the missing button anywhere
Aunt went to the Slade wedding yesterday and enjoyed herself. I finished cooking the joint and veg’, and managed the supper alright –
The days have been so busy, I have not yet written to anyone except George Pilcher about your future career – nor have I talked to Dad about it, but I will do so soon
When I was sorting out papers to-day, I found Romeys letters nos. 8 and 9 – so if you have not yet posted them, just send 10 and 11 – Later in the series I see that she has not put a number on the one which, from its date, must be 16. and after that comes 18 with a gap dating from 8.6.44 to 20/6/44 - . Did you get one numbered 17.
For a bed time book (and I have not been reading at other times) I have Lin Yutang’s “Importance of Living” and enjoy it – I have just borrowed from your shelf “The Life of Christ” by Chinese Artists –
Its wonderful to come home and be within easy reach of you again. Dad and I are both so delighted with you and thank God that you and not P. are our daughter!
Aunt has not heard about dates for her visits yet – but I’ll let you know the moment she does –
Love as always
Mother
Reg No. GW 8753 Annette Townend
No. Date. Amount
E
58
784743
6.10.19
£1 after 5 years
15/6
B
65
456697
4.1.20
£1 after 5 years
15/6
F
15
510287
9.10.20
£1 after 5 years
15/6
E
77
466842
28.9.21
£1 after 5 years
15/6
G
3
871055
23.10.22
£1 after 5 years
16/
H
1
390483
24.9.23
£1 after 6 years
16/
H
9
650553
2.2.25
£1 after 6 years
16/
H
13
408530
23.9.25
£1 after 6 years
16/
From LJT to Annette
Great Leighs.
Nr Chelmsford
Aug.16th 1944
My darling Annette,
How too, too, maddening that you should have come out with chickenpox spots 24 hours too late to make it possible to stay here.
Were it not that Aunt has just arranged to go to Uncle Bous on Monday or Tuesday, I should have tried to come straight away to Bletchley, but I know if I breathe such a thing, she will want to put off her visit.
A plan came to me during the morning. It seemed to me quite a good case for getting a petrol grant for a car to come and fetch you. I rang up Tipping, who is willing to do the job, if the necessary permits are forthcoming. Aunt has taken a letter into the petroleum controller which she will send by express letter to Cambridge this afternoon. If the permission cames, we will try to fetch you on Monday or Tuesday, or, even on Sunday. I have no idea whether the permission will come, so dont get too excited.
Could you do this? If the doctor says you may not do the drive before a certain day, will you send us a wire? If I dont hear by midday on Saturday, I shall conclude that you will be able to come whenever we can fetch you, and that will be, the sooner, the better. It will fit in beautifully with Aunt’s plans, for we could take her over in the car.
Peg thinks that she and Mrs Jiggins can manage for a day, to allow me to come to fetch you. I dont suppose Dad would come, as motoring tires him so much. Whatever Aunt and I do, we will bring our own food.
Oh dear! I do hope we get the permit!
The distance from Braintree to Bletchley is just about 70 miles, much too much for someone with chickenpox to bicycle, I fear.
If we dont get the permission for the car, Aunt will come to see you after tea on Tuesday, on her way to Uncle Bous’. If the car is no go, I must see what other plan we can think out. I suppose there is no chance of the authorities in your office helping to get you back by car? It seems hard luck that the people in uniform get all sorts of things done for them, but the plain clothes people dont.
Its most disappointing that you wont get any Autumn leave, especially as if you had had it in the spring, you would have had the same time off plus this necessary sick leave. I am sorry, too, that it is being so awkward from the point of view of work.
Have you any idea where you picked up the infection? I hope the lotion that Peg has sent you will soothe the irritation.
As regards infection in this household, there is no difficulty. We have all had it.
Please tell Mrs Evans how thankful I am to hear how nice she is being about it all. It really is a mercy, because some people are not at all nice where infectious diseases are concerned.
If we cant fetch you during the next few days would you like me to send you that History of S. Africa, which I thought so good, and “Man, the Master”, also, if you have not read it “The Sun Was My Undoing”?
Life is going on much as usual here. I am trying to learn all the things I ought to know about the house. To-morrow I devote most of the day to going to see Auntie May and washing her hair for her.
Sonia was wired for on Monday, and had to rush off at once. We all liked her. She seems such a nice, calm, sensible type. Oh, Mr Cape lunched on Monday, and asked all about you. He advises us to write again to Miss Martindale for advice, and has given us her new address.
I must go and do some machining now. I have to turn up the sleeves of an old coat of Dad’s, - - a nasty job! I am waiting to do your shirt till I can get some sea green cotton to match the material.
Sorry I have made these muddles with getting on to wrong lines and what-not. I am using Dickie’s machine.
Much love and sympathy from us both. I dont wonder that you feel disgruntled!
Mother
From LJT to Annette
Highways
Great Leighs
Nr Chelmsford
Essex
Aug 19th 1944
My darling Annette,
When there was no reply from the Petrol Controller this morning, I put through a trunk call to him. After telling my tale to two departments, I got on to the right man.
He read me out a reply which is now in the post coming to us. It was politly phrased, saying they hoped I would not think the dept unsympathetic, but if it was unfair to the public to bring you home by train, then surely it was not fair to bring you in a public taxi?
I explained that the doctor had assured us that chicken pox was only infective between person and person, and that therefore there would be no danger of your leaving germs (or viruses) in the taxi. The Controller said he would see what he could do; took our phone number, and hoped to ring up later. At 3.30 on this Saturday afternoon no call has come, so I fear its hopeless for Monday. If no permit arrives on Monday morning, I shall ring up again. I do hope we shall get it through and be able to come for you on Tuesday. I chafe at not being able to get at any one personally. I also chafe at the stupidity of a dept, who had not the sense to check their facts by some medical authority instead of causing all this delay. They suggested that we should get an ambulance, but when I said that I had been told that it was difficult to get them for people who were seriously ill, he softened a little.
I do feel so sorry for you all alone in your rooms, and would have loved to have dropped everything here and come to you, but you know what the situation is!
Gav has promised to post this in London to-night on his way through to Barnet, so I hope you get it morning, of Monday.
On Thursday I spent the day in Whitham, washed Auntie May’s hair, visited Uncle George, who does not look too bad now, but says he feels wretched. He spoke with great affection of you. and pointed to your photo on the writing table.
Yesterday and to-day I have been doing all the cooking, in preparation for Aunts departure. It makes me rather anxious and a bit tired, but I expect I will get accustomed to it in a day or two.
Gwen is coming for an hour every morning to ‘do’ the Byeways rooms and she will probably have a little of the house to spare in which she can give me a hand in the kitchen if I want help or advice.
All Romey’s letters have now come on from S. Africa. We have had an enormous number of letters from all parts of the world during the last two days. Its fun getting them, but I wonder when I will answer them.
I hope you are not feeling too bad, and are not desperately bored. It is so maddening to think I might have had your company all these days!
I must go and put the kettle on for tea, so I’ll stop this.
Best love
Mother
From LJT to Romey
Great Leighs
Nr Chelmsford
Essex
August 20th 1944
My darling Romey,
Its really disgraceful of me not to have written you anything save one air-graph since we left the ship three and a half weeks ago. The time has just flown. I have been so busy, and by evening, too tired or too lazy. There is not much leisure after dinner as a matter of fact. By the time we have washed up, watered the tomatoes, marrows and a few of the flowers, its almost time for the 9 o’clock news, followed by war commentary. That takes us to 9.30, and then it always seems too late to settle to letter-writing.
I feel the more repentant because no matter how busy you have been you have never missed writing. A huge budget of letters from you were sent on from Cape Town, but I had seen copies of them all. There have been so many that I am going to read them all through again soon, for I feel I have not digested them. I am anxious to know what sort of accommodation you found after leaving the - - - - (I cant remember the name of the people you lodged with, nor can I see it amongst your letters though I am sure it is there) I am rather glad you are not still with them, and glad too that you had the nerve to stick up for your own and other people’s rights. What a pity that with all the advantages of being on the river bank etc, they had not more idea of running the house and treating the p-gs properly.
It was thoughtful of you to let Louise Ranken know that we had left S. Africa. I had an air-mail letter from her yesterday, still hoping that you will be visiting them, and that some day we shall be too.
Here at Highways you seem much closer. There are memories of you and of Dickie everywhere. Its more than two years since we had the news that he was missing. What a darling he was! Curious that he should always have been so perfectly simple, and that Gavin, although I like him, should have so many affectations. Its curious too, that Uncle and Aunt, who are both so unselfish, should have produced a daughter as selfish as Peggy. To me she seems to have gone right back to her most tiresome period of the year or two after she left school. She was much nicer when she was working in London, and when her engagement to Jinny was snapped in two. One must make some excuses for her for two reasons. The first is that she must be anxious about Michael, for however brilliantly the fighting is going for the Allies, danger is always there for the men who are fighting. The second reason is her condition. After the previous mishaps, there is a good deal of apprehension lest this pregnancy should go wrong too. She seems flourishing at present.
As for that Perkin, her two babies are beginning to venture out of their box. None would suspect that Perkin is eleven years old, and must by now have hundreds of descendants. She looks a young, almost maidenly cat still. Pim does not look his age either, The exact date of his birth cant be remembered. Uncle found the entry about Perkin in his 1933 Diary. It mentioned “2 male kittens, Perkin & Gherkin”!
On Wednesday we got a letter from Annie saying that she has got chicken-pox. The spots started the day after she got back to work. At first she thought they were blisters from sun-bathing, but on Saturday when they had spread all over her back, she sent for the doctor. Directly I got her letter, I wrote to the Petroleum Controller at Cambridge to ask for a grant of petrol to go and fetch her. When no answer had come yesterday (Saturday) I rang him up. He read me out a polite letter which was in the post coming to me. It was to the effect that they would give the petrol, but did not think she ought to be fetched in a taxi (The car here is laid up) I explained that the doctor had told us that chicken pox can only be passed on by direct contact. He said he would see what he could do, and would try to ring me later. No call came. I live in hopes that there will be a permit in the post to-morrow. Poor Annie is alone in her rooms, with Mrs Evans out for half the day. Luckily Mrs E is being nice, and does not mind having her there. Its maddening to think she might have been home with us all this week had there only been someone in Chelmsford who could have given the permit.
On Thursday I went over to Witham to wash poor old Auntie May’s hair. I also went to visit Uncle George who asked a lot of questions about you. He had some sort of an accident a few weeks ago. He thinks he was knocked down by a vehicle and had concussion. He still feels ill and shaken. He says he get so tired and feels slack. The garden which was the one thing he was interested in, is getting out of hand, because he has not had the energy to work in it. For the first time, he seems inclined to consider the possibility of letting the house, and going to live at the George, which would obviously be better for him.
Auntie May has given me her lovely black Musquash fur coat. It is a full length one, in excellent condition, and a god-send to me. She says that when the weather is cold enough to need a fur coat, she does not go out. I can now hand my old brown coat on to Annie, and it will serve her for a year or two till we can manage to get her a new one.
From Friday I have been doing all the cooking, in order to be in some sort of practice before Aunt goes away on her round of visits on Tuesday. I felt a bit exhausted on Friday evening, but much less so yesterday, since I begin to know where things are, understand the stove and not feel so anxious. Mrs Jiggins comes each morning for a couple of hours, and does most of the housework. By a great stroke of luck Gwen is willing to come for an hour every morning to “do” Byeways, which will be a great help to Dad & myself. Since I have done the cooking, he has been doing our rooms, except for the bathroom, and he does them so beautifully that it takes him half the morning. It will be nice to have Gwen about the place too, for she is a good cook, and can advise me if I am in difficulties. Her son is a fine fat boy, very like her to look at. The babies in England are lovely. They look so fat, pink and healthy.
All our luggage arrived safely, and nothing has been lost or broke. It has taken a little time unpacking and arranging everything. I have been helping Aunt in the kitchen every day too, so as to learn her methods. That is how day after day has gone by without my sitting down to write to you.
Did you know that there is now a little electric stove in the kitchen, which is a tremendous help, as when the house is full its difficult to cook for the whole family on the coal grate? The electric saves all that bother of oil or primus stoves, and if things look as if they are not going to boil in time on the kitchen grate, one can transfer them to the hot-plate.
Gavin has made Gwen’s old room look nice, with most of his books in shelves and a few nice pictures. We like being over in Byeways much better than being in the house. Its such a boon to have our own sitting-room and a writing table each. We are getting a grant of fuel for our own use, and Aunt has a ton of logs she laid in for us a year ago, when she thought we were coming home, so we shall be able to have the stove going as soon as the weather gets cold.
The American soldiers seem to have had a sad effect on the manners and morals of some of the village maidens. Mrs Jiggins is always agog when there is any little bit of scandal going. The other morning she said to Aunt “That Gladys! The wye she pynts her fyce, shemykes ‘erself look just lyke one of them street moppets”. Good Shakespearian English Mrs Jiggins talks. Its nice to hear the ugly old Essex speech once more.
Its been the driest of summers from all accounts, so there has been joy over rain last night and to-day so far as crops and gardens are concerned, but I suppose our R.A.F. and army want it to keep fine.
The stretch of coast from Toulon to Cannes where the landings by the Allied armies have been made, is well known to us, especially round Ste Maxime and St Tropez. Its strange to think of those quiet little towns and the lonely Montagnes des Maures all full of soldiers and the noise of battle.
Aunt sends you her love. I think she is looking forward to a real rest, and she certainly deserves it. It has become quite a joke that everyone in the village, when told that she is going away for a holiday, says “Oh! I am glad!”
There is so much in you letters that I should like to comment on, but I just have no time to do so. Your work, your play, your friends and your clothes are all of interest to us.
Bless you, my dear, and, as always, my dearest love to you.
Mother
P.S. Dad observing Pim with lines of dribble pendant from his mouth, remarked “That cat’s mother must have been frightened by a snail”.
LJT
From LJT to Annette
Great Leighs
Nr Chelmsford.
Aug. 25th 1944
My darling Annette,
Its too disappointing for words that the doctor wont let you come home. In my heart I think it would be wrong to travel by train but, if it is so, why did she ever mention it? Almost I think I am as sad as you. It just makes me mad to think I might have had these past two weeks, and the one that is to come with you! I should have done my best to come to Bletchley, had it not been that Aunt’s plans were already fixed. When you are out and about again, will you find out if there is anywhere I could stay for a few days later on, when I hope to visit Uncle Bous? I suppose Irene is not getting a holiday during the next few months? If she is, would she be willing to sub-let her room to me?
Dad sent off two books to you. I will try to post some more to-morrow. It seems that they may take several days to reach you.
Since Aunt went away, I have been managing alright, but I seem to make a whole time job of the work. I feel rather as if I had no life of my own at the moment, but each day gets a little easier. The coal range complicates things. It takes practice to judge how much, and with what to build up the fire. Peg has helped a little, but her assistance is chancy. Gav has been good, but he goes away to-morrow for ten days.
Dad is busy writing a note on the Bengal famine for Sir John Woodhead. It is worrying him a bit, and I shall be glad when it is done; so I think, will he. He seems pretty well, but finds P intensely irritating, as also do I. Its sad to have to say it, but it seems so pleasant when she is out, as she has been this afternoon. We were able to talk round the tea-table without being put in our places all the time.
The more I think of it, the more it seems that it would be desireable for you to drop your present work as soon as you can be reasonably be spared after the cessation of hostilities. You had so little holiday after your Oxford finals, and have worked so steadily ever since, that you deserve several months rest, and we should like your company. We might have time then to think out some plans for the future. Though I have always said that I thought I should like to live in Essex if Dad could stand the climate, I am now beginning to wonder whether it would not be nicer to settle somewhere in the region of Oxford, not necessarily very near, for we have a good many friends who would be within easy reach from that part of the world. You have friends out on that side of London too, have’nt you?
Later.
Then I had to go and cook the supper. One way and another, what with washing up, listening to the news (and how exciting it is) seeing to the fire and a few other jobs, I never got back to this. I’ve had my bath now, but I’m sure I shall not get a chance to add to this to-morrow before post time.
Its satisfactory that Romey found a place to live which sounds reasonably comfortable and convenient. I’m glad she left the other people, who seem to me to have behaved shabbily.
I wish they would let you come home if even only for the weekend when your quarantine finishes, which presumably will be next Friday.
Best love, much much sympathy
Mother
From HPV to Romey
Highways,
Great Leighs,
Near Chelmsford.
August 29th 1944. Tuesday
My dear Rosemary,
Neglect of letter-writing is a thing to which I plead guilty. One air-graph in four weeks is poor work. When first we arrived I set myself to do good and wrote a letter a day to such as brother Roy, sister Susie, Winsome, H.D., Mr Cape, to announce arrival as well as business letters – to High commissioner about my arrival in England, to my agents (and bankers) about drawing pay, to the baggage people in Liverpool about delay in forwarding luggage, and so on. Also I set myself gaily to the task of doing odd jobs and gardening.
Scarcely had I started writing when there was an interruption: and it is now 2 ½ hours later. There was a whole series of interruptions, disappointing my hopes that I might settle down to this and finish it. First Joan asking if I could write to the insurance people about a policy covering our effects, for which the premium is due next week: things to be deducted and to be added to the list with values to be estimated and explained: a page letter but taking disproportionate time. Then a request that I should sharpen the kitchen knife. Arrival of Gwen, the ex-maid who obliges by cleaning out this annexe each morning, and consequent necessity of vacating the room till she had finished. Half an hour spent in hoeing the newly dug raspberry patch out of which, encouraged by the rain of the last few days weeds are appearing. Eleven o’clock tea. Request that I should wash onions before they are stored; a slow business in that I had no idea where the inions were or the colander in which I was to strain them or the sieve in which they were to be dried; and also there was competition for the sink above which is the only tap. Then followed the suggestion that I should pick out books to send to the troops; not so easy as it might be because the owners of the books are not here and because Peggy puts up objections to giving away any book that anyone could possible wish to read and many that no one could; eventually the selection included only books owned by Joan or myself or Annette. Churchill’s suggestion that the books to be given should be those one would like to keep oneself is considered absurd by Peggy who strikes me as essentially selfish these days. Then at last I came back to the table where I had been typing only to be summoned away before even I could get the machine out again; the policeman had come to verify the number on Richard’s little rifle (given to him aged 24 or so) and covered by a license in Barnie’s name. No one had seen the rifle for a couple of years; would I search for it? Ten minutes search in the cupboard under the stairs which was full to bursting with junk of every kind finally revealed the rifle at the bottom of a pile of old tennis racquets, squash racquets, lacrosse sticks, skates, rugs and holdalls. **** There followed discourse with the policeman who wanted forms filled in and signed: so I filled in and Barnie, tracked down in the goatshed signed, with lamentations at being interrupted. The policeman went off, after compliments; and I settled down to this, only to be called away at the place where the asterisks mark a break by Barni who needed help. The drain to the goatshed had choked up; laborious probing with a 30 foot wire and extraction of miscellaneous muckings; final confession of defeat. In the middle of this a summons to go off and help lift down the pot in which fruit bottling was going on; and not a very clever effort on my part either because again of ignorance of the kitchen arrangements and inability to follow instructions without explanation of their meaning. Return to the pipe-clearing. Distraction by the goats, which tied up near our door had found that they could reach a mop and started eating it. Distraction by that cat Perkins which announced that no one had taken notice of her that day and demanded stroking. Finally a return to this; and then the lunch bell.
My temper is now not of the best.
I forgot to mention the washing of the glass; Joan discovered yesterday that the damp had got into the prints which were hanging in the playhut, some of hers, and I took them out of the frames to dry them. The glass was dirty and just before I started seriously on this I washed it (three pieces) so that it might dry in the sun and be ready for re-framing after lunch. A washout. It has marks on it from the drops of water. I make a lot of extra labour for myself by staring on things without first finding out how to do them. It is a pity that I left in Calcutta all my books on how to do things: Household Hints, Practical Tips, Every Man His Own Mechanic and so on. They are unobtainable nowadays in England. Richard had lots of books on doing things, but not that sort of thing: his taste ran to books on illuminating, handwriting, sailing boats, cooking for small yachts, and shorthand. I marvel at his having been enticed into the study of shorthand by the books which are on his shelves; they seem very dull: and that he should have succeeded in teaching himself from them I call with brother Harry’s success in learning to play golf out of Morrison’s New Art. Harry mentions by the way in a recent letter that inability to buy golf balls in England will mean backsliding in this golf-business. I am glad now that I gave away my clubs to the troops before I left Calcutta: it is obvious that they would have been useless to me, for apart from the lack of balls and difficulty of getting to any links there is the added fact that I have not the strength for the game.
Saturday Spt 7th.
Without doubt I overdid things on Tuesday and the day before, for since then I have not been up to much. On the Monday I had done a little digging and also had picked apples, which involves stretching far: the tree on which I adventured myself was the tall one near Richard’s little garage now used for hay for the goats and it straggles so greatly that it is difficult to get a ladder fixed to deal conveniently with the top parts. True, I had refurbished a contraption made by Michael Pringle, a small net on a ring at the end of a bamboo by which the expert may drag down apples too far to be reached by hand; and I had added a Heath Robertsonian device to overcome the reluctance of the fruit to come away from the tree --- a safety-razor blade tied cunningly so as to cut through the stalk. But the labour was great. Incidentally the fear that members of the family might cut themselves on this device or that it might cut the fruit and not the stalk only caused me to dismantle it later. Peggy was full of jealously concealed admiration of it but without cause.
On the Tuesday after the typing I slept heavily; and rose weary. But having discovered that brother Barnie was really grieved because during the double digging of the raspberry patch I had cast out all the big and biggish stones I enforced myself after tea to throw back all these stones on the top of the newly dug patch and to rake soil over the; a labour which was the more tiring because it still appeared to me useless to have the stones. They make digging a burden and blunt the spade; but the books available (few) do not mention what stones are good. In fields, as I have read, such stones are useful because they help to retain moisture, but in gardens??? I think that the inconvenience must outbalance this good.
When I started the minute account of my Tuesday morning doings it was with the idea of adding that other mornings have been like to it; but the sequel, the excessive tiredness, proves this to be untrue and I refrain. Other mornings then have felt like it. A multitude of odd jobs which turn up to interfere with my getting down to the things which I want to do: to wit, write this letter, finish the double digging of the raspberry patch (before Gavin who has done 9-tenths of it returns, - but it is unfinished and he returns today) and then get round to my heart’s desire, the making of a compost pit.
Barnie’s compost heaps were (are) nasty little fly-breeding piles of miscellaneous ordure, for naturally he refused to be bound by any directions or to follow anybody’s advice consistently. Of all the eccentric things ever done I imagine almost the most eccentric is the burying of an old chamber-pot under the hole in the floor of the goatshed to catch any agreeable drippings; an inadequate contrivance in mere size but also because it is almost ungetatable and because when there is heavy rain as there was last night the whole thing overflows. He asked me to take over the compost-making (it is much needed in the garden which is starved) but makes rather difficult by seizing on the materials which ought to go into it and making bonfires of them; he loves bonfires and defends them by saying first that they produce valuable potash and secondly that if he likes using stuff for bonfires instead of composting it why should he not? “I am paying for the cab,” said Mr. Salteena, “and I think I might put my feet where I like.” Precisely. And Grace has asked me not to argue in condemnation of the practice because he enjoys it so. My protests about the impossibility of making compost without water have had some effect; I conspired with Grace to mention to the plumber when he came in about another job that the pump had not worked at all for three years or efficiently for fifteen, and though my dear brother raised some objections when he found that the plumber had taken the pump down he allowed the work to be done. Weeks passed before any results were visible; but the man finished it off yesterday and to the general stupefaction the pump now works like any ordinary pump and does not need gallons of water to be poured down it whenever one goes to draw water. What is more the plumber tackled many other things.
He was called in primarily for the fitting of a cold water tap in the kitchen; for some reason unknown Barnie had objected to the installation of one connected with the cistern when the main-water supply was brought in; and during all these years it has been necessary when cold water was wanted in the kitchen to fetch it from the annexe or to pump it up. And as the kitchen pump has also been out of sorts for years past and works only when primed with water this was an infuriating burden. At last Grace had struck. It took ages for a plumber to appear but when he did things moved. The tap, the two pumps, a burst pipe in the annexe (which had meant that the water was turned off and the w.c. would not flush), ball-cocks on the main cistern and the house w.c. cistern and yards of piping through the kitchen wall up into the loft for the better working of the new tap. Now everything works and the pleasure to your aunt is worth the money. We have told her that we shall pay for the pump because if it were not for my playing with compost it would not have been touched; and I am in hopes that we shall manage also to be allowed further to pay for other things – but Barnie is most touchy about these things.
The raspberry patch is being dug owing to the failure at last of the raspberries after some 15 years. Barnie is perplexed by their ceasing to yield but it does not seem to me an astonishment when one considers that they have during all this time had practically no attention. My insistence that Gavin who had undertaken all the work should double dig (bastard double actually; remove top spit, remove bottom spit, and fork over the ground beneath; three spits this means in all) was unfavourably received by Barnie who said that none of the garden had ever been treated so and that it was a waste of time. But Grace is delighted and Cape who is so expert a gardener that once he won a second prize for sweetpeas for the south of England (a feat of unsurpassed difficulty, unless you consider the winning of a first prize as well you may) declared that it was a most necessary thing. The subsoil was the toughest clay ever seen and we had to use the mattock on it, a heavy implement that I can wield with difficulty.
Barnie has to an amazing degree been successful with his vegetables, both in the garden proper and also in a portion of the field where the fowlrun used to be. He curses aloud as he works; of course; for that to him is a great part of the pleasure of it all. There is a lack of manure everywhere; and of water. The container which used to hang on wheels and be so useful in the days when he kept fowls has departed this life; full of holes at the bottom and I do not know if it will be possible to solder them. Galvanised iron is difficult: will scraping do the trick! It is years since I used a soldering iron: last time was when Richard and I together made a collecting bottle for microscope specimens – and that must have been in 1930 or 31. Needless to say a new one is unobtainable these days.
Yet the war does not obtrude. Not to a casual observer. It astonished us as we came down from our port of landing to see so little obvious sign of war: at the port demolished buildings were frequent but they did not look very different from the derelicts of pre-war slums: and on the route taken by our taxi across London which dodged the parts near St. Paul’s where there are now open spaces there were only occasional wrecked houses. Pill-boxes at corners in the country should have struck us as strange but were unobtrusive: batteries of box barrage guns did stand out rather grim. The flying bombs, bumble-bombs or doodle-bugs go overhead occasionally and pass at a distance not infrequently and the sound of their explosions on some days and some nights was disturbing to peace; but no one seems to worry about them particularly in these parts. As in all places in the south of England so here the big bombers are often seen by dozens, by the gross for that matter, sailing out overhead, (and the Fortresses look particularly lovely as they flash in and out among the clouds) but it is not easy to realise what dangers they will be running in so short a time: they are remote and rarely give one the thrill that comes so readily when one sees the ships go out. There seems to be hardly a moment when the noise of planes is absent. But for all that the general impression of the countryside is peaceful. They have been working hard at getting in the harvest which looks good. Strange to say some of the pastures have not been ploughed up; pastures which have been used as such ever since first we knew these parts, and that is some fifteen years. But a lot more has been under the plough than for years past.
As to food shortage there is none, for a family living in the country with established connections; when one has dealt with the same shops for twenty years there is no necessity for queuing up, for the shopkeeper keeps one’s fair share of anything that is going and mentions it when one goes in for one’s usual things. Sugar is short; those who take a lot of sugar normally may feel this. Butter and margerine are short too; after reserving enough for cooking there is one pat of butter and one of margerine per head per day; as this is twice as much as I was allowed under one of my Calcutta diets I do not mind it. To be certain that I should not inadvertently take more than my share I had the week’s allowance of butter weighed out and kept separately for me; and by the end of the week I had a fair idea of what was what. It is a great help not to be accustomed to sugar in tea; and I do not have coffee under my present diet. The ration books were obtained without fuss and they cause me no trouble personally, being handed over to Grace; the only thing with which each person deals personally is the sweet ration. Twelve ounces per month; what that works out to per day I do not know (I have still some of the barley sugar that I had for the voyage) but Barnie says it means two acid drops. Tea seems reasonably plentiful in the house but then there have been presents of it every now and then from India: it is one of the few noticeable things that morning tea is not obtainable in the shops in Chelmsford, but there is “coffee”. I wondered what were the impressions of certain American soldiers in the railway refreshment room who denied tea, said that they would take the coffee; for, though the stuff was not very different from pre-war station coffee, it must have seemed strange indeed to habitual coffee-drinkers.
There is another thing that is different under war conditions; getting a haircut. On board ship nothing of the sort was possible; I had clipped mine with nail-scissors to my satisfaction more or less. It was necessary to get one quickly – but twice visits to Chelmsford failed to permit of this (queues nine deep and only half an hour to spare) and finally when I paid a special visit to Braintree for the purpose I had to wait 1 ½ hours for my turn. A small boy who held me in talk, an evacuee from the fly-bombs and very knowing, had been waiting longer; he had been done down by men who took advantage of his not claiming his turn, perhaps thinking that he was merely waiting for a parent to be finished. The barber was not so pleased with my nail-scissoring as I had been and I was not very gratified by his ideas of a cut.
An astonishment; the buses still run as before past this house. Packed. But not too bad. Coming out from Chelmsford one has to be there about 15 minutes early to be fairly sure of getting in, nor sure of a seat. It was an astonishment too when we travelled south to find that the trains were not so crowded as the South African papers had led us to expect; we came first class and had seats right enough; there were people standing in the corridor; but there were none standing in the carriages as they should have done according to the papers. Perhaps it was because the bumble bombs were coming over that folk were not flocking down from the north to London.
Clothes-pegs are used to secure the curtains for the blackout. Very practical. Cloakroom tickets are in great demand; for the raffles which the troops seem to relish as part of a coffee-room service. Whenever there is talk of any visit to the town there is a clamour for the purchase of (1) these tickets and (2) saccharine. Neither easy to get. There are notices in Chemists’ shops “No saccharine” so that one need not go further than the door. Seeing how easily one can give up sugar I wonder that people use the stuff. But for puddings it may make all the difference.
It seems to be absurd to call the bombs “doodle-bugs” when the same name was used by the Americans for the remote control tanks used in Italy; but it is unfair to impute to them a lack of variety, - the lot that christened the tanks were not the same crowd as those who wanted a name for the bombs. I saw one of them pass close overhead the other day; with flame jutting out from its stern; pretty.
Barnie’s birthday present to Grace – membership of the Cremation Society. Match me this thing, who can!
Joan works like mad at the house work; first she worked to learn from Grace how all things were done; and now, having forced Grace to take a holiday, she works to keep the house going. It is hard labour; and for almost the first time since we married (31 years on August 23rd) I have seen her coming to lie down in the middle of the morning; once only. Did I tell how I remembered the date of our wedding day but got the days of the week muddled so that I greeted her in celebration a day late? But this year she had forgotten it altogether; so no harm done.
After all I have failed to get down all that has happened in the month since last I wrote; but too much already. Annette encourages me by saying that sooner or later she does read our letters however long; carried about and read by snatches. And that is more than can be said for my printed works.
Much love
Dad