5.1.40
Dear Parents,
I am sorry I forgot to say last week that I go up on the 13th, and term ends on March 9th I expect.
We all went up to the dance at the village hall on Saturday, and were much amused to see how Peg got off with a whole crowd of soldiers who were there. The whole dance went with more swing than usual and was great fun. The same soldiers came to the W.I. social on Tuesday. Peg was not there, of course, but it was a good thing they came, as there were very few young men there, and most of the people were the older women who like just to look on, but without the soldiers to make up numbers there wouldn’t have been much to look at. The rest of the family went again to the Hall yesterday for one of the 6d hops, but I didn’t go, as there has to be a lot of gaiety to set off the disadvantages of the fug and smoke to my mind, and I wanted to do some work.
On New Years Eve we went to the Watson’s, the whole lot of us, and the Macs came too, and we played some games, and Mrs Watson told fortunes from hands, and we drank sherry and more sherry at midnight and Dicky went out and came in as first footer with a piece of coal and an egg, as the darkest man present, and had to kiss everybody all round. And it was altogether a very cheery evening. On Monday we all went to tea at the Holbrook’s, and there again played games. Mrs Parker and Barbara were there too. One game we played I have not met before. Someone who knows how to draw sets off and draws say an animal, but perhaps first an ear and then a bit of a hind leg and so on until the whole thing is drawn, and the other people sit in a circle and copy each line as it appears on the paper of the person on the right, starting from the original. Barbara drew a most elegant baby giraffe, which turned into a legendary monster with vast thick legs and a head almost on the floor. it was much more amusing than the ordinary drawing consequences. For your kind party we went to Braintree to see Conrad Voidt in “The spy in black”, which we enjoyed, and then had an excellent tea at the tea shop close by. The weather has been cold but fine on the whole. No more snow after the one fall.
We were very pleased to see Uncle Harry on Friday. It does seem a good thing they have decided to keep on the new nurse and not take nan back, although she now wants to come back, since from all accounts Charlotte is much better with the new one. It is lunch time. I can’t quite decide whether to go to see “Edith Cavell” this afternoon, because it is so fine. Romey’s been out riding and as she’s going to the pictures, she can’t write.
Love Annette.
From Annette to Parents
Highways
11.1.40
Dear Parents,
Its no good Papa asking me if I don’t think Perseus is like a giraffe, because I don’t know Perseus. The only constellations I know are Orion and the plough, although I’ve always thought it would be nice to know some more.
Gavin went back to Oxford today, and I go on Saturday. he took a lot of books for me, as he said his trunk was half empty, and even said he would bring them to Somerville for me, which would really have been too noble. Rosemary and Uncle have gone to the weekly dance. I might have gone too, if I hadn’t had a slight sore throat, but I don’t know. I don’t really care for popular entertainment with all the smoke there is about, and rather lumping refreshments, unless there is a great swing about the show. On the whole I’d much rather be actually running or helping to run that sort of party, handing things round and washing up and so on. Dicky hasn’t gone either. He is finishing the Buchan omnibus I gave Romey and which she hasn’t looked at yet, chiefly because we had it, but also because she had all her horse books. Last Friday we went to see “Nurse Cavell” on your recommendation, and thought it very good. I had rather felt it might be awful, and had avoided going to it. No films on this week of any merit at all. I have not been away at all except to go to the dance at the Henry’s on Saturday, which was very pleasant. Actually of course most of the people at the dances we go to are hardly acquaintances of mine as I have been away such a lot every summer for years, and last year at Christmas, so ont he whole conversation remains rather polite unless one happens to hit on a lucky subject. Not that I mind at all. It just occurred to me the other evening.
On Sunday Peg and I took one kitten along to Waltham for the Henry Vigues. Max and Christopher Beale came over in the afternoon and we drove along in their car. They took the other kitten on the spur of the moment. At the Vignes they asked us to stay to tea, and then we walked back in a thick fog as no bus appeared. It was quite light really, enough to see vague shapes looming around, rather like the settings to French films, if you know what I mean.
I heard from Madame Blok. She is still in Paris, now at Mme Jalier’s flat, and says she has got a certain number of pupils for various subjects, which is a good thing. I also heard from Paulette Got. They are also back in Paris. I also had a Christmas card from Peggy Christie, which took exactly two months to get here from Australia. I have mostly been working, and going for walks as it has been fine, although cold and frosty. I never feel as if I’m doing much work, but when I look back it seems I have done quite a lot really, although nothing like what I should have liked.
With much love
from
Annette
From Annette to LJT
Somerville College
Oxford
Dear Mother,
I have just had a letter from one of our Austrian guides, the woman whose husband is a climber. She is in England, and he was out in India when the war broke out, and was interned, but has now been set free, or is about to be so. She asked me to ask you if you could possibly do something to help him to find a job of some kind, because he wants to earn enough money to pay his passage to England, where james Rowe (the farmer who lives near Withington) has offered him a job on his farm. Fritz Kolb has been offered a passage to America, but doesn’t want to accept charity and would rather earn his way if possible. Marthas (his wife’s) letter is in German, so I have translated freely. Of course, I don’t know Fritz but Martha was a very nice person. She says Fritz will do anything, and is very handy and doesn’t mind hard work. If you do think that there might be a chance of one of your many friends or acquaintances doing something for him, would you write to him.
Dr Fritz Kolb 86Y (B)
Central Internment Camp A
Ahmednagar.
What the ‘Dr’ means I don’t know, because there are so many doctors of all kinds in Germany. Martha hasn’t probably told him that she’s asked me to write, but if you write, you had perhaps better just explain the connection.
I hope my hasty note with Dicky’s letter wasn’t too illegible and incomprehensible. I thought it said the presentation for Miss Street was to be collected by Feb 1st, but its really March, so there is lots of time. Would you send you contribution to
Miss Tucker
15 Frithville Gdns.
W.12.
and put your signature on a sticky label about ½ “ by 2 “ to be put on the list for Miss Street.
I came up yesterday. This morning I went on the ice on Port Meadow and borrowed someone’s skates for a few minutes, and found it just like roller skating. I could stop by instinct, as it were, and got on pretty well, although of course a bit unsteady. I think I will buy some skates if it’s still freezing tomorrow, spending my Christmas money. Now my feet are grown it seems worth it, even if the are used so seldom, as it’s such a lovely sport when there is ice.
Otherwise everything is as usual, and no news yet.
I shall be very grateful if something can be done for Fritz Kolb, and I hope it’s not too much of a pig in a poke.
Much love
Annette
From Annette to Parents
Somerville College
Oxford
25.1.40
Dear Parents,
The great and only subject this week has been skating, the frost having held firm till yesterday, when it thawed rapidly all day, but still did not make the ice dangerous, and it seems to have frozen again today. I have been out most days in the afternoon, as by a great bit of luck, I have been lent some skates by a girl who doesn’t want to use them at all. I tried to buy some, but all shops seemed to have sold out of sixes. Port Meadow was the first place to go to, but it got very cut up with the hundreds of people on the very shallow ice, which had in many places grass sticking through it. We tried the reservoir by the railway, but the surroundings were unpleasant. The best place of all is the lake at Blenheim, where the public is allowed on one half before the big bridge, an enormous stretch anyway, very good ice, and of course the lovely setting. It was perfectly wonderful last Thursday, with a clear sky and a glorious sunset behind the bridge. I went there again on Saturday with various people, and enjoyed it equally. On Sunday Romey came out, and I had borrowed some other skates for her, but her ankles are so thin they didn’t give enough support, and it was rather wretched, because after a beautiful sunny morning it had become very hazy, and there was a biting wind on Port Meadow, which made efforts at learning very difficult. I wanted to go to the Cherwell on Monday with Ann and Christina, who skated right up to the bypass, but I had a committee meeting. On Tuesday we actually skated on the Thames up by Port Meadow, where the sailing boats are kept. We borrowed a board and a broom from the old man there and swept a clear space, and had great fun practising, just four of us as noone else seemed to have found the place. I have got on fairly well with outside edges, and yesterday, when we went to Blenheim again, this time with Mr and Mrs Drake, who came over for the day, I even began to be able to go backwards crossing over so as to go in a circle, the first step to a back outside edge. It now gets more unlike roller-skating, but that was a tremendous help.
I have only been out once in the evening, to the Ballet Rambert, who are quite good, with one or two very good people, (for a school, of course). The ballet “Lady into Fox” was the most striking, but on the whole I think I prefer the ones that are more of a dance and less of a story.
On Sunday I had a little tea party. Gavin came, Charles Elwell and Herbert Burchnall, who was up for the day, much improved in appearance through being in the navy. He’s had his hair cut and looks generally smartened up.
At the Principal’s knitting party this term we are having read to us another Henry James “The tragic muse”. I enjoy hearing it read, because I am sure I wouldn’t care to read it to myself, it goes so slowly, and I should miss most of the subtlety.
If there’s no match this Saturday, Romey is coming out, either to try skating or to go to the pictures.
Much love from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
Somerville College
Oxford
1.2.40
Dear Parents
The day I last wrote was the last day of skating. I went on the Cher, and skated twice up and down to Marston Ferry. On Friday it was damp, and on Saturday it rained all day, turning to snow in the afternoon and falling in white crystals like sugar. Then on Sunday night there was a really heavy fall of feathery snow, which was about 6 inches deep here, nothing like as bad as it seems to have been in other places. Now it is thawing, and it will be most revoltingly slushy.
Romey came out on Saturday, and we went to see “Love affair” Irene Dunn and Charles Boyer, very charming. I enjoyed it much more than “South Riding” which I saw with Ann the day before, and which was spoilt by the ending. We had tea at the Coffee Pot, where they no longer have lids to the water jugs.
On Sunday I went to tea with Gavin. Edward Fitch was there, just up for the weekend; he may be going to Finland with the Friend’s Ambulance. Which reminds me that Ian Hogg was here too, on Thursday. He rang up and asked Christina out to tea, and I thought it odd that he didn’t ask me, just a little, but apparently he thought I had joined up, having met someone who’d seen me in Essex. It seemed curious, because he knew I was up last term; Christina said he was most confused and full of apologies when he heard I was still here. But anyway, as we said, honour was saved. Ian has not been called up yet. He thinks he has been forgotten, as he came back from America after his age group was summoned.
There is going to be a dance at the Randolph on Saturday, to which we are going, Christina and someone I don’t know, and Gav and I. Next week-end Peg is coming to stay, so I shall have to get on with work. We have translations from German and French this term, so life is just one thing after another with that much extra, although they provide an agreable occupation.
Nothing of any note.
With much love
from
Annette.
From Peg to Annette and Gavin
Room 729, Shell-Mex House.
12.2.40
Dear Chicks (Annette, please hand this to Podgie next time you see him – I’m having an economy campaign and saving stamps!)
I had such a happy time at Oxford, that I though you’d merited a bread-and-butter letter. It was so kind of you to run around with me, so nobly and I enjoyed myself very much, and Please may I come again.
Podgie, what was the name of that author in the train? He was rather amusing, and we chatted amicably most of the way – two interesting things he told me (a) that the purpose of that curious erection on the pavement outside Queen’s is a water tank for the A.F.S. and (b) that the Clarendon isn’t going to be pulled down, but is going to become the head office of Woolworths’ for the duration, same as a lot of Government departments have commandeered hotels. He seemed to think that it would revert to being the Clarendon after the war was over. Anyway, it will continue to look the same.
We got talking about the Little Review, and were giggling in happy reminiscence about it, when another man in the carriage, unable to bear it any longer, leant forward and said “And do you remember so-and-so” also being a Little Review fan. So we had a very jolly journey, and got to Paddington surprisingly quickly.
I have got very bad neuralgia to-day; why, I can’t imagine – but it’s rendering me a bit weak in the hear, so I’ll stop.
Much love, and thank you both very much indeed, and Gavin, I hope you’ll do well in your Exam. (If I remember, I’ll write an official “good wishes” letter later), and Anne, are you sure we’re all square financially? If I owe you any more, let me know.
Peg
From Annette to Parents
Somerville College
Oxford
15.2.40
Dear Parents,
Thank you for a number of interesting letters. Its all very well for Papa to say we should get on learn astronomy, but he wouldn’t if he knew how cold it has been for weeks and weeks, in fact, ever since last term. This week we have again had a light fall of snow, and yesterday the ice on the flooded meadows was fit for skating. We went out for a bit. Which reminds that I must send you some pictures of snow and ice, Christina and me in the Parks in the snow, and skating at Blenheim, which people have taken.
I am sorry I did not write last week. I had a sore throat, which made me feel very low on Wednesday and Thursday, and I thought I must be in for a nasty go of something, as so many others, including Ann, had taken to their beds for days with a similar throat, but on Friday, as if by miracle, it disappeared, not even leaving a cold. I had some lozenges which I have been trying out on other people to see if that did the trick or whether it was just luck. Anyhow nothing had happened in the week, except the dance at the Randolph on Saturday, which was very pleasant, but nothing extraordinary. Last week again I didn’t go out at all because of working so as to have the week-end free for Peg. She came on Saturday morning and left on Sunday evening after supper. On Saturday we had lunch at the Kemp Hall, then met Gavin again and went to see Gerard Irvine in hospital, where he has been the whole term with some sort of poisoning. While we were there, there entered a perfect specimen of an art student, with long hair, orange tie, strange face, blue corduroy trousers and just the right type of voice. We were fascinated by seeing such a figure in reality. From there we went on and had tea in Fuller’s, and at 7.0 we went to the theatre, a light and entertaining piece called “Tony draws a horse”, sufficient to pass the evening agreably. then eggs and chips in a very good new snack bar, and home to bed.
On Sunday Peg and Gav went sight-seeing, Romey came to lunch and we chatted till it was time to get ready for a large tea party here. There came Philip, and his long friend Michael Stuttaford, Roger Green, who stutters badly in ordinary life, but has the most wonderful falsetto voice for comic female parts, Ann T, and a girl from the Slade, the daughter of one of Peg’s bosses, very nice.
We had a meal out and then saw Peg off at 8.30. She said she enjoyed herself and I hope she did.
James Joll was in Oxford for a few days. He had a sherry party to which Ann went. I went up to borrow a book the other day and he was having tea with Ann, and said he would have asked me and Gavin too if he’d known we were still here. A lot of my social life this term seems to be this kind of retrospective invitation. Rather like Eeyore, somehow. James has just finished training at Colchester and is going into the Devon regiment. He hates the army, he said.
Aunt is coming this week-end. I have got tickets for the London Philharmonic concert, as she will love it so, and Romey says she and John Averill will find something to do. Its such a popular concert that I can easily sell the tickets again if we decide against going.
For exercise I have taken to the Scottish reel class again. Such a pleasant atmosphere, because one feels it really is genuinely a part of these people’s life, unlike the crankiness of English country dancing. We teach the evacuated school the eightsome reel, and yesterday we asked the young who pipes for the Scottish club to pipe for us, with some success. The masters are very keen on the boys learning dances, and the Scottish ones have so much go in them. They all gazed in awe at the pipes which make an ear-splitting noise in the room, not very big, but not more noise than the forty boys when they are let loose.
No more. I am going to the pictures this afternoon, to see “The 39 steps” and “This man is news”, because the weather is so gloomy.
Much love from
Annette
P.S. Thank you so much for writing to Fritz Kolb. I hope the matter is not proving a nuisance.
From Annette to Parents
Somerville College
Oxford
22.2.40
Dear Parents,
We had a very nice weekend with Aunt here. I had to get her a room at the Royal Oak, a pleasant pub nearby, as the san and all available rooms here are full up with German measles and flu and this and that. Romey came out on Saturday and Sunday, because there was another thick fall of snow, and we went in the afternoon to the pictures, Errol Flynn in “Dodge city” rip-roaring Wild West in glorious Technicolour, and rather fun of its type. After tea we saw Jerry Irvine again, still in hospital, and his mother whom I had not met before. In the evening Aunt, Gav and I went to “The cherry Orchard” at the Playhouse. I enjoyed it more than I expected. I’ve never read any Tchekov at all, but it sound like a parody of what I thought it would be.
On Sunday morning I worked while Aunt and Romey went to church, and we all went to the Kemp cafeteria for lunch, meeting John Averil. I had asked Christina; luckily, because Gavin appeared and said he felt too queer to go to the concert, after a party the night before, which had affected his liver, so Christina came in his place. It was a wonderful concert. They did Beethoven’s Seventh absolutely superbly, and it was a delight to watch Malcolm Sergeant (or Sargent, I never know) conducting.
In the meantime Romey and John had just been mooning around, we gathered. I hope they were not too bored, but I don’t think the concert would have been much more exciting for them. We had tea at Lyons all together again, it being the only place open, and then moved on to Merton to see Gavin, who was better, and came to see Romey off and to drink soup at a snack bar. Aunt and I had coffee in Christina’s room, and we played a few of our recorder duets and chatted till about 10.0. I did not go and see Aunt off in the morning, because Gavin did, and I had a lot of work to make up.
Since then it has been damp and warm, and I have done nothing but work, going out only for Scottish reels on Tuesday, but not to any entertainment. People were skating up to Sunday, but I was last out on Friday.
I must rush out, as I’ve remembered I must get Romey a ticket to go to Maidenhead tomorrow, and it’s early closing today.
- I got a ticket all right. To return to skating, I was very pleased to end up with circles on the outside edge, which I hadn’t achieved before.
And that’s really about all. I am going to see the Principal on Monday or Tuesday about prospects for jobs. At the moment any idea of the Home Civil is out of the question, because the exams are stopped. And I have really no ideas.
Much love from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
Somerville College
Oxford
29.2.40
Dear Parents,
I just did a strange thing I’ve never done before; I sat down and wrote my name at the top of one of these sheets, as though to do an exercise. It’s become such a complete matter of habit.
I am sorry Papa has been ill. This will probably not be there in time for his birthday, especially as I think all my letters are a week late, since I sent one which did not get to Aunt in time, but anyway I wish him many happy returns.
I have had another slight cold this week, which is annoying. The weather has been on the whole soft and warm, feeling really like spring, but it seems to be worse weather for health.
There is but little news. Romey came to lunch before going to Maidenhead and to tea on her return. She and Christina were going riding next Sunday, but Christina will now be too busy, as she has a lot of time taken up with a play by the evacuated school, which comes off on Sunday.
Actually now I come to think of it, I have been to quite a lot of things, local talent completely, the E.T.C., the Majlis (the Indian society) and the temporary O.U.D.S., all of which did shows. The E.T.C. was a sort of modern morality play “A bride for the unicorn”, very well done considering, but I’m not sure if it was worth writing in the first place. The Majlis did “The toy cart” an Indian play of the second century B.C., which astounded us all by being complete melodrama, not all that different from the Victorian, all allowances being made. It was done in English, but the cast was all Indian except for one or two parts. I never realized before how different in tone our voices are from the Indians. One could spot the Englishmen immediately, although they were of course made up brown.
The O.U.D.S. did “Mandragola” a comedy by Machiavelli, very pleasant, and with a charming setting by the typical art student I told you we met in Gerard Irvine’s room (he, by the way, has gone home, though still ill with his obscure affliction) so the long hair and orange tie had something behind them.
On Monday I went to consult the Principal about careers, but got nowhere. I wanted to know what sort of things people had got, and she wanted to know what I wanted to do, and we did not advance, because it was very little use to say that I might be interested in most things, if I knew enough about them, which I do think is so. Still, I will go to the woman at the employment bureau and see if she can help. The Principal I feel, likes people who incline to teaching or social work, and those are the last things I want to do, since I don’t feel happy dealing with people in the mass, and I am sure I should loathe having to go round and get the rent out of people, which was part of estate management, one thing she mentioned.
I am thinking of going for an N.U.S. walking tour in the Wye valley for a week. Esther Trilling is probably going, and it would be the best way to vegetate, as Miss Starkie advises. Christina has asked me to stay a few days, to dance reels and play the recorder.
Much love from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
Highways
29.3.40
Dear Parents,
There was more doing this week because of Easter, and we really used the car quite a lot, because there was a lot of petrol saved up for Dicky to use. On Saturday there was the dance at the Marsh’s, at least it was at the County Hotel, and we went all four. It was very pleasant. There were a lot of people we know and hadn’t seen for a long time, a certain number in uniform, but a lot more without, as there were many medical students; Dicky got very hot in his uniform. Peg suggested he should leave off his jersey and just have a little modesty vest to fill in the gap, but he would not.
On Sunday we went over to see the Toulmins at the shoulder of Mutton. They were just down for the weekend, so they had to refuse our return invitation to come to tea sometime this week. It was delightful seeing them all again. The whole family was there except Roger, and there was besides a friend of Ann’s on leave from the army, whom I hardly recognized because he had his hair moderately sticking-up, and I had only seen him before looking extremely neat in khaki, with his plastered down and shining. It does make a difference. In Chelmsford I saw a sailor on the other side of the street and thought “That’s the first sailor I’ve seen besides Dicky” and it was Dicky, but with his cap on his hair cut so short, he does look different at a distance. To go back to the Shoulder, we had a very happy and inconsequential chat till nearly 7.0, when we tore ourselves away, just as Mr Toulmin had suggested playing some sort of race game, but as Ann and Stephen were making frantic signs in the background that they did not approve, it was as well we were going, and anyhow there was poor Aunt getting supper.
On Monday we had a great tea party, with Auntie Do, Mrs Watson and the two girls, and Mac and May. There had originally been an idea of going over to the Chase to dance, but as Richard and Gav had to rise up to catch the 6.48 train, that was dropped. I was really rather glad, because I don’t want to have too many late nights while working, because revision is mostly boring enough without feeling sleepy on top of it.
Yesterday we were at the Watson’s for tea, all except Uncle, who has been a little difficult with a cold all this week, one minute complaining that nobody has any sympathy, and then if he does stay in bed, insisting that he is better and must get up. Well, anyway, in the middle of tea he rang up and said that a telegram had just come to say Gav has got a first, whereat there was general rejoicing. I didn’t think he could get anything else, considering his record and the way he has worked. There are no details yet. Kenneth his tutor, was a Moderator, so he presumably has inside information before others.
This week we have had all weathers, wind, pouring rain, a spot of snow, and today a hard frost, 8 degrees. I have not been out very much to walk, because on Saturday night we did such a violent step in the Palais Glide that it pulled all the muscles down the front of my thighs, and I was stiff for two days. The step ending up with going rapidly down on one knee and then the other.
I go away next week. Peg hadn’t got tickets for the “Beggar’s Opera” before Easter, and had a cold, so only went back to the office yesterday, so she may not be able to get any, but anyhow I shall go up on Tuesday to shop a bit before going to the Drakes’.
We were all very amused by the story of the young Rani in your last letter, and also by the story of the revival of the aborigines, except that I am sorry it is Tara’s husband who leads them.
With much love from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
Heatherside
Gerrard’s Cross
Bucks
4.4.40
Dear Parents
I have just rushed away from great preparations for a small dance here this evening not having got my letter written this afternoon as I intended because we played recorder trios all the time, or duets with Mrs Drake playing the piano accompaniment instead of her recorder. The dance is only going to be about five couples which is really enough for the room, and in the middle we are going to dance reels, as some of the people coming know a few too, so it ought to be quite a merry time.
I got here yesterday morning, after spending the night at Peg’s old digs. We went to the “Beggars Opera” and enjoyed it very much. Both Michael Redgrave and his understudy had German measles, so John Gielgud took the part of Macheath and really did very well, although he has very little voice. As regards acting he was less like himself than I’ve ever seen him which was interesting. We thought it a valiant thing to do, to step into the breach and risk being laughed at for his attempt at singing, which was all right really, as I said, except for very high or very low notes. We think we must go again though to see Michael Redgrave.
I had come up fairly early on Tuesday, and went to see “Pinocchio” enjoying it very much except for the rather wishy washy fairy. Then I shopped, got stuff for new pyjamas, two white blouses for Schools, and a new afternoon frock, a bright greeny blue with a little scarlet bolero, for 35/-. I went down to meet Peg at her office and we went to see Auntie Arla before going on to have a meal. Ron and Audrey came in while we were there, which was nice. She seems nicer than one was led to expect, and Peg says she revises her opinion, formed I think only at the wedding, because of the very county relations. Ron has three weeks extra leave, having been let off the end of his course at Aldershot. They wanted to go to France, but found the place they wanted to go to is forbidden to any but the military.
Last Sunday Uncle Roy came down. We all walked up to Nrs Neild’s house to look round before the sale, which was on Monday, when we spent the whole afternoon there, to buy some of the books. Gavin bought Shakespeare Fielding and Jane Eyre, and I got two odd lots for the sake of a few things in them, a Wordsworth, a Tennyson, The Pilgrim’s Progress with Victorian illustrations, Robinson Crusoe, and a volume of Josephus, printed in 1709.
On Saturday I go to High Wycombe to meet Esther and go on to Chepstow, from whence we start to walk on Sunday. The weather at the moment is variable, but not too cold, warm rather. I bought a rucksack at Grose’s in London; they had no ladie’s frame ones so it had to be an ordinary one.
With much love
from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
Welsh Bicknor Youth Hostel
Monmouth
10.4.40
Dear Parents,
I write in the common room of a youth Hostel, with our party’s leader playing all manner of things as well as is possible on the rather bad violin of the Landlady’s small daughter. The said leader is a most entertaining Welshman, with a strong accent, who talks extremely fast, has a mass of black hair and an unquenchable thirst, which makes him tend to steer by pubs. He is moreover very musical, and he and Esther have an endless fund of tunes to sing as we go along or at any time. But the most remarkable performance is that of Trefor, when he sings South American Spanish songs after Pépé, an Argentinian in the party. There are eight of us altogether Trefor, Pépé, Jean Raymond (who is French) a very energetic school mistress, a young man from Cambridge, and a girl from Bedford College London, besides Esther and myself. There were to have been two Yugo Slav girls too, but they were too exhausted by sight seeing to come on.
It is great fun, and of course lovely country. The first day, Sunday, we walked from Chepstow to Usk in the valley of the river Usk. On Monday we cut across the dividing range again and came to Whitebrook, higher up the Wye valley. Then yesterday we came up the valley past Monmouth to this place. The weather has been kind, not too cloudly with patches of sun. The only blot has been that on Monday I got various blisters and yesterday by the time we got to Monmouth about 1.30 my feet were so sore that I took a bus to Goodrich, missing out a bit of the valley which we shall actually see from the other side on the way back, which left out about 6 miles; Esther stayed too and we did have quite a pleasant time, going to Goodrich castle, which has a nice Norman keep and lots of later bits and of course a wonderful commanding view. Today was to be spent less strenuously anyway, so I stayed behind while the others went off, and I suppose I only went about four miles altogether, just crossing the river into some woods, outskirts of the Forest of Dean where I had a broad view and I sat and read “National velvet” by Enid Bagnold, waving my feet in the breeze, which did them a lot of good. Tonight they are really better and I hope to be quite all right tomorrow to start back down the valley, which takes two days. Whether it was my shoes my socks or what I don’t know, but the thing I do know is that if I soap my feet they burn like fury by the end of the day so from now on I shall use Vaseline.
We heard the news of Germany’s invasion of Norway yesterday. It seems odd to be on a holiday which remains unaffected by such a thing, when for so long one has been as it were prepared to rush back from abroad.
Youth hostels are rough, with two decker beds, rather hard, cold water only in most cases, round here anyway, and of course nothing in the way of extra furniture. But the meals are quite good, here particularly, and anyhow it is pretty marvellous to have only to pay 1/1 a night for lodging. I’m afraid all this is a bit disjointed, but it would hardly be otherwise.
Much love from Annette
From Annette to Parents
Highways
Gt Leighs
19.4.40
Dear Parents,
You were wrong in your calculations of sending letters, because it is only today that Gav and I go up, and Romey doesn’t go back to school for another fortnight, but anyway they sent the letters on all right.
I got home last Saturday evening, after a wonderful last 2 days walking, and although I had still one or two sore spots on my feet they bore up very well with a lot of greasing. Of course we didn’t go really very far every day; Irene, the geography mistress, is going to send us the exact mileage for every day when she has worked it out and got her photographs printed to send us too. On Thursday, which was a glorious fine day, we crossed the Wye from Welsh Bicknor and came up over the top to Symond’s Yat and then down to the Seven Sisters rocks, and then up again, cutting out the big bend by Monmouth, through the village of Newland, which seemed the perfect English village, tucked away among green hills, with a big church dominating it. here there was a 15th century statue of a knight on a tomb out in the churchyard, which Irene says is a very rare thing to find. Moreover there was a pub called the Ostrich. That evening we did not get to Whitebrook until after half past eight, because we rather wandered as it was so beautiful. Besides, Esther and Trevor were having a terrific discussion about music, and quoting bits of symphonies and so on at each other, occasionally stopping in the road beating time with clasped hands, or falling on each other’s necks from astonishment at some piece of ignorance. I wished I had a moving camera, because the actions without the words were so very funny. That evening, knowing the hostel only provided a cold meal, we cooked our own, baked beans, spaghetti and fried onions, with a little milk to improve the sauce. We were so late that there was little time before 10.30, the official lights out in the hostels.
Next day we went to Tintern in the morning and saw the abbey, which is one of the few places that remain clearly in my mind from when we were, I suppose at Malvern. Unfortunately there was a cold wind blowing fiercely through all the holes in the Abbey, so it was not as nice as it might have been. We retired to a pub in the village to warm up again, and then went on across the river, along Offa’s Dyke for some way, until finally we struck a small road leading down to Chepstow, from which we had on one side a fine view of the Severn and on the other quite frequent looks over the cliffs down to the Wye. In Chepstow we met the other party, who had done the tour the other way round. I’m glad we went the way we did, because the first day was on the whole the dullest. We all had “feesh and cheeps at Cheepstow” as Pépé had been saying all day to keep his spirits up. He had three vast helpings, so that he really does seem to care for them. After that we went and sang all the evening in a pub; I had some qualms, because Trefor who had had his hair cut the minute he reached Chepstow, and looked quite mild and sane, had said he was going on a real blind, but luckily although he put away a lot of pints, it only appeared to make him sleepy.
On Saturday morning we all went and saw over Chepstow Castle, with great pleasure, before the parting of the ways. I came on quite a good train to London with Irene, a girl from Oxford in the other party and its leader, a Dr Parker, an interesting young physicist, working for the Admiralty. I got the 6.20 home and the 7.15 bus by the skin of my teeth. It was really a good thing to go away and vegetate for that week.
This week I have been twice to the pictures “The Women” and “The Stars look down”, both very good.
I must rush and get ready to go to Chelmsford with Gav and Aunt.
With much love
from
Annette.
Extracts from AMT’s diary
Tuesday, 18 June 1940
I went up to town and to the passport office as soon as it opened, but found there was a new form for Polly to fill in. Then to Oxford; the good train cut off for evacuees, I had to take a slow one, getting down at 1.50. A hot way to Headington. Found Romey was at a service, on a weekday. Fetched her on the way out. The food office, where we had to go, was not open till 4.0, her ration card having to be signed by the head man. Poor Romey very bewildered. I missed the 4.50 and had to get the 6 something taking two hours. Read “Jamaica Inn”, in a fever. It was too late to go home, so I saw Peg and then stayed at the Strand Palace the night.
Wednesday, 19 June 1940
Went to the Passport office, thinking I could get the permit at last, with Romey’s signature to everything, but no. Signature of parent or guardian required. Had to wait over an hour for nothing. Queues and queues of foreigners wanting permits for Canada. Came home very annoyed at all delays, and found everyone much excited because a German bomber crashed in Bishop’s Court garden last night.
Thursday, 20 June 1940
Aunt and I went in in the afternoon to see the bomber crowds along the roads. There was hardly anything left of it, but a lot of charred trees all round. It just missed two houses.
Wednesday, 3 July 1940
Up to London to meet Aunt John and Romey, whom I saw for about five seconds. Then off to catch a train to be at Bletchly park by 4.0. Aunt to take Romey and John to Scotland for Canada.
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
15 August 1940
Dear Parents,
Yesterday I got two letters, posted on June 11th and 15th, and the Reader’s Digest for May, also, although of course from a different source, Romey’s first letter, which Peg had typed and sent round. I thought it a most excellent letter, and they seem to have done quite well for themselves in the way of getting in with authority on the voyage. It was curious that Romey should happen to get into conversation with Sir Norman Angell. He is quite a friend of the Toulmin’s, and I think it was three years ago that we went to have a picnic out on Northey Island, and saw round his tower, in spite of a very disgruntled housekeeper.
Of course I did not get your letter suggesting that I might like to go out to India till I had started work here. In any case, I don’t think I should have gone but actually there were no passages going, and now there is the regulation that people over 16 may not leave the country, unless I suppose they have some good reason.
I think things must sound much worse to you, who have only the papers and wireless to get impressions from, than they really are. I suppose in some parts there have been a lot of raids, but it seems to me that until things get to a frightful pitch, they are never as bad when one’s actually going through them as they sound. The possibility of air raids is now such a constant thing, that most people seem to regard it as an accepted part of existence, and don’t bother about it, beyond taking what precautions they may. One almost stops noticing the barbed wire or concrete road blocks, or the sandbagged posts, or the L.D.V. walking about with rifles, just as it no longer seems remarkable to show a pass to a sentry when going to work. It was rather the same sort of thing when a girl of seventeen in my office remarked quite casually, and not I think merely pretending to be casual, that she woke up in the night and heard six bombs fall, and went to sleep again, not knowing of course until the morning that the bombs had only fallen into a field about half a mile away, doing no damage. That was the nearest raid to here so far, about ten miles from Bletchley, and here we have had no disturbances. It sometimes comes over me how queer it is to be doing work which is really so important in such a sober and everyday fashion, but it is all of a piece with the way in which villages have taken on various war activities as though they were the most natural thing in the world. Of course, there is a comparative lull at the moment, but there have not been many moments of real agitation, and even the, once the shock of the Belgians giving in, and then of the French giving in, was over, most people seemed to pluck up heart very quickly. The only things that made me feel really down were the closing of the Burma road, and the way so many people were being arrested for making despondent remarks, from the reports in the papers so many of them the sort of thing that anyone might say when feeling annoyed with something the government has been doing. Perhaps it is necessary to stop people forcibly who spread alarming rumours, but it looked at one moment a few weeks ago as though soon any criticism whatever of the government would be punishable and if we’re going to have suppression of free speech, anyhow, what are we supposed to be fighting for? Likewise the closing of the Burma road, admittedly out of expediency, and for the sake of sucking up to Japan, seems to make the talk of protecting those who are brutally attacked just so much tosh. Which reminds me that like Papa I thought the day of national prayer rather a poor show. I simply cannot see how war and Christianity can be reconciled.
It’s a pity the distance between us has suddenly as it were grown so vast, because by the time you get this you will have completely forgotten the remarks in the letters of June which give rise to my reflections. But a propos of what you said about a German victory, I too suppose that things might be pretty bad, but for most people endurable. I find it a great consolation to read history. All the different biographies I have been reading lately make me feel more and more that things have generally been as bad, and often a lot worse. It was curious your mentioning the Bhagavad-Gita, because that was one of the books I ticked off on the Everymen list, thinking to get it sometime, but I haven’t got it yet, although I have got a fair number, which will last me some while yet; Chaucer, Jane Austen’s ‘Persuasion’ and ‘Sense and Sensibility’ (which are very nicely got up in the new Everyman) Boswell, Sterne’s ‘Tristram Shandy’, Burton’s ‘Anatomy of Melancholy’ and Plato’s ‘Republic’, of which I don’t expect I shall be able to make head or tail, but one can but see.
I am again on the four to midnight shift this week. The weather is not so good, but it does mean that I am writing more letters, instead of lying in the sun. Last week I did very little but go for rides, and listen to the gramophone in the evening, having borrowed a lot of lovely records off our Mr Hooper. The night shift is better now because there are more of us on it, a whole lot of new people having been imported last week. I am in a group with Mrs. Wrigglesworth, who is by profession an actress, Mrs. Agnesetti, who was in the embassy at Rome, and came back on the Diplomatic ship, and Jean Fraser, who was one of the librarians in the art library at the Victoria and Albert. This just to show the remarkable number of people who have dropped what they were doing in order to do war work. Mrs Agnesetti, of course, was simply transferred from one branch of the Civil Service to another. A few of the office are still on from ten to six, because of transport difficulties. They include the girl of seventeen I mentioned before, Jackie Attewell, who tends to giggle with the soldiers, but is very nice, and consumed with envy of me because I was allowed to go abroad alone when I was fifteen. She asked me to tell her all my adventures in foreign parts, so when I go home I will bring back a selection of photos to show her. I think her idea of foreign countries is very highly coloured, and I feel I ought to think up a few glamorous adventures to please her.
This week end I went to stay with the Drakes, without any mishap this time. I got to Gerrard’s Cross about 8.0, and found they had all come to meet me in the newly acquired governess cart, with its pony, who can also be used for riding. I don’t think I have been in a horse vehicle since we left India. It was most entertaining. We went a picnic in the cart next day, and it certainly is the conveyance for a pleasant summer afternoon, but it inspired some of my conviction that I’d rather live now than earlier when we had to get out and walk up or down hills, which was all right then, but travel must have been pretty awful in the old days. The pony was passed as fit for picnics, because he stood stock still all the time we were having tea, and made no move to come and eat it, as we thought he might. Mr Drake was in bed with neuritis, and it appears that Christina and Veronica have been running the L.D.V. in Gerrard’s Cross, because the old Major who is at the head of it is a complete fool, and even if he does remember to do anything, he does it wrong. Christina says they are getting a bit fed up of it, because it takes up all their time, and work for next term has rather suffered.
She and I came up to town together on Monday, and went first to Schotts music shop in Gt. Marlborough St, off Regent St, and got a lot of new things for the recorders, and then to lunch in the spacious dignity of Peter Robinson’s, where the lunch is surprisingly just as cheap as at any other shop, and it is all so much more peaceful. Then we went to the Linguaphone shop, where I bought the ‘Brush up your Italian’ series, of five records, which seem to be very entertaining. I find that the big sets are rather a bore for Italian and Spanish, because French and Latin give such a good start in the written language that one does not need to work up so slowly, but only needs to hear ordinary colloquial speech, for which these small sets are right, besides only costing a guinea. I imagine though, that for Russian or any entirely new language the big set would be better. There are two sets of ‘Brush up your French’, if Papa ever wants any more. The girl in the shop was much amused when I told her my father recited for us the record on Versailles when we went there. We got her to fetch out some of the literary courses, which are really very good, extremely well read. One can see or hear how good the Linguaphone is when one hears Hugo’s records, which are much cheaper small sets, but the conversation is terrifically stilted, even in the later records, whereas with the Linguaphone one might almost imagine one was listening to a real conversation.
Much to my surprise, I am going to have a week’s holiday, as are all the staff, even to those who came only last week, and we may have another week later, D.V. I don’t as yet know what I shall do, because it is so unexpected, and I had no plans. We had been old by some people that we shouldn’t have a holiday before next Easter, as we came so late in the year.
We have a scheme of having a great reunion at Aylesbury, Veronica Gillott and I riding from here, the Drakes from Gerrard’s Cross, and Esther and Lulu Trilling, who is at Newnham with Veronica Drake, from High Wycombe. Aylesbury is the place because it is about half way between us, and I couldn’t possibly do the ride all the way both ways with only one day off. The scheme is purely theoretical at the moment, but it might be rather fun.
I had a postcard from Ann the other day. She and Roger are walking in the Lake District for a fortnight before she joins up, presumably to be Wren, at least that was the idea when I last heard from her. The postcard has the most glorious view of the head of Derwentwater on it, which I gaze at in longing. I might get Esther to come Youth Hostelling in the mountains on my holiday. One thing that peeves me is that I had no feeling whatever for the mountains when we were in Darjeeling. Now when I see pictures of the Snows, they fill me with delight, but I suppose when one is small, one looks at scenery as part of the furniture, as it were, unless particularly imaginative.
I had a note from Miss Martindale, saying she thought it very wise to take this job in the Civil Service, which was rather a relief to my mind, as I thought it might be rude to drop strings like that, after Mr Cape’s kindness in getting them.
I went over to lunch with Uncle Bous, and found them all in very good trim. We went for a walk in the fields, and lay under a tree on top of a hill, as it was very hot. The laundry has made quite a nice house, and they have a few of their own things down from town. Pam and I had to tear ourselves away from after dinner somnolence to go to catch our train for work. It’s nearly time I did that too, now, although not to catch a train, but I walk, as I have lent my bicycle to Muriel, as I can’t in any case ride it home until I get lights.
With much love
from Annette
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
21 August 1940
Dear Parents,
I am trying to adjust my life to working from midnight to eight, which I now have to do because of pressure of work, so there have to be shifts in our department all round the clock. It really is not so bad as one might think. The first day, having got up late in the morning, I only went to bed for three hours in the evening, and felt, by eight o’clock, not sleepy, but very dull and heavy. However, as I had decided that the best time to go to bed was after lunch, because that solves best the problem of meals, I went for a short ride to take the air, and then did odd jobs all the morning, and went to bed about half past two, getting up at 10.0. So that last night I felt very well, and I think tomorrow I shall have got quite adjusted to an upside down life. I am the only person who has to be on this shift, but Mrs. Wrigglesworth has been put on it too, for company, and chiefly because of getting things put away in case of air raids. We find we eat much more on this shift, because we have a supper or what you will at 2.30 A.M, breakfast (at the office, where we must appear offensively cheerful to the people coming on at 8.0, having got up early, while for us it is the equivalent of tea time) lunch, and high tea or breakfast when we get up at night. I am glad to be with Mrs. Wrigglesworth, because she is a very cheerful person, really the most congenial on my shift, although they are all pleasant. Working these hours will also, I hope give me a chance of seeing something of Helen Butchart, whom otherwise I only see for about five minutes when shifts change over, and who is a delightful person.
The weather has turned chilly, which makes it much easier to go to bed in the daytime. But it was still lovely last weekend, Saturday being hot and cloudless. Muriel and I went for a ride round all sorts of lanes, just taking any one we liked the look of. without signposts, I think one gets something of the feeling of those eighteenth century wanderers, particularly in German books, who just set out without the vaguest idea of what they are going to do, but it is such lovely weather and such lovely scenery and so nice to go along. But of course, we were hardly so picturesque, because of our bicycles, and we had no lute to sing to. I reflected again that bicycles are not romantic or dignified when Jean Fraser and I rode through the grand gates of Woburn Park, where the Duke of Bedford lives. There is a road right through. One does not get a view of the house, but the park is very fine, with a lot of deer and ornamental birds about, also, it is said, bison, but we were quite glad not to meet one. In the open stretches of the park, there are wires strung from tree to tree to stop aeroplanes landing, but they don’t spoil the view. We went to the park after eating a picnic lunch on Aspley Heath, which is also part of the Duke’s property, and a great surprise in the middle of the green and pastoral country. it really is a heath, with pines, and heather and springy turf on sandy soil. Since the war started, a lot of the paths have been closed to the public, but there are still a number open.
We lay under a clump of silver birches, and enjoyed the sun until it began to be covered by cloud, when we got up and proceeded to look at Woburn and the park. I should like to see the house, and see something agreable in the way of architecture. Bletchley Park is a monstrosity, and really rather suited to be makeshift offices. We spend much time trying to pick out all the different styles in it. One cannot imagine how anyone ever could design such a place, although there it is, and one has to accept it. Even ‘From pillar to past; the pocket lamp of architecture’, fails to provide us with a definition.
I seem to have wandered from an account of my doings, but it doesn’t matter, because I have described the extent of my week’s diversions, apart from reading Jane Austen, whom I now begin to like, although I always wish I had somebody to read her aloud to me, and trying to acquire proficiency in the high notes of the recorder, which are ear splitting if played wrong, and very piercing even when played right, so that I wonder Mrs. Evans doesn’t come up and hit me with a broom. I find I am very lucky in my billet, with people who don’t mind what I do. Some people have a wretched time trying to placate landladies who say that they can’t sleep with billetees on night shifts, and grumble continually, though protesting all the time that they only want to do their bit for the nation.
Mrs Wrigglesworth has an idea that we should go to a play at Stratford for our day off, but we haven’t made any plans, because she has an aunt coming to stay, who will have nothing to do, and will make all the arrangements, so she says. The aunt is also bringing details of the programmes at Stratford. I hope there is something nice on on Saturday, because that is the best day for us.
I must go to the post with this before going to bed, which really seems very welcome on such a cold and windy afternoon.
Much love from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
Bucks
1st September 1940
Dear Parents,
I have just been sitting and laughing aloud at Boswell’s tale of how Goldsmith went to a puppet show, and when people praised the way the puppets handled their pikes, got into quite a heat and said ‘Pshaw! I could do it better myself’. This is what made me come upstairs and begin this letter, because I thought I was too weary after a two hours bicycle ride to do anything but read. However, Boswell has revived my brain, if not my body, which is still agreeably tired. I am now sorry I never read Boswell before, but I so disliked the pomposity of the selections from Johnson that we read once at school, that I always avoided him. Maybe, however, I have merely got used since then to the eighteenth century.
This evening I was out alone on my bicycle, but the last few evenings I was out with Muriel. There are any number of lanes to discover, and it has been perfect weather in the evenings, a clear golden light. The only pity is that one has to come in. A good holiday now would be just to set off on a bicycle with such necessaries as make one independent, and just take any roads one fancied, and see where one landed up in a week or whatever it was. After riding on happily for a bit, it is tiresome to have to decide to go home, and the way back is always less interesting, because it is not exploring. Which reminds me of the excellent name of Polo which Romey has given to her puppy, and also of the fact that I meant to get hold of Polo in the original, which I could now read in comfort, as he wrote in rather peculiar Italian French, French being considered the finest language in his day. I am sure he must be even more delightful so, but of course no books can be got from France. There are now no neutral countries left for books to come through.
It is great news that most of the French West African possessions have come in with us, because, amongst other things, the Air Mail will be able to go so much farther. Our Mr Cooper came in and told us this news the other morning in great glee. He has been in high good humour all this week ‘And who’ he said to Leilah Wrigglesworth, ‘is the other member of the midnight Follies?’ This was me, and we thought the remark more applicable than he knew, because we were singularly lively on the midnight shift, and laughed a considerable amount most nights, whereas most people were a bit glum. Still, it was an unnatural life, and I was glad to get off it; this week I have been on 8.0 – 4.0 and feeling much the better for it. It is certainly a far more healthy life to get up early, and get out of work early, doing it all in daylight, and then go for a long ride, and of necessity go to bed comparatively early.
We have had two air raid warnings this week, once in the afternoon, and once at about 8.30 in the morning. Both times we had to pack everything up, and come out to the shelters in the garden, where we stood around in the sun, and looked at the cloudless sky, and the few yellow training planes there were about, and said what a waste of time it was. But we are very lucky, and it was not so peaceful when I woke up in the middle of the night with a terrific start and fright at the blast of an explosion about three miles away, as it proved. I was so dazed with sleep that I could not remember the morning after exactly what I had felt or heard, but there must have been both the noise to wake me, and the rush of air, because the windows shook, and a woman next door put her head out of the window and said the panes had been rattling and had Mrs So-And-So across the road heard anything. After which they had a long chat, which was peeving, because I wanted to go to sleep again.
Most nights too, we have heard the throbbing of German planes, either distant or quite near, single ones only, I think, and there have been some fine searchlight displays over towards London, where they have had warning after warning this week.
We had our first warning since I have been here last Saturday, just when we were starting off for Stratford in a car, but it did not last long enough to deprive us of seeing a bit of Stratford and looking at the theatre before the performance, which was ‘The taming of the shrew’, most delightfully done, gay and decorative, and just the sort of entertainment for the moment. I went with Leilah, (which is simpler and not so silly as her surname) and her aunt, who was staying with her a few days to get rest from air raids, and it was really worth expense of the car. The evening was lovely, too, and from the top of Edgehill we had a glorious view right over to the Malvern hills, which we did not get when we drove to Wales the same way. By a most amazing coincidence, I met Janet Hills at Stratford. She and her family had driven over for her 21st birthday celebration, and they had come about fifty miles from Gloucester, as we had come about fifty miles from here. She is going to be a Wren. I heard from Ann that she is already a Wren, and is being sent to Dover, of all places. I do hope she will be all right, because it must be pretty frightful there, in spite of all the pictures in the papers, showing Dover harbour undamaged, and saying ‘This was taken last Sunday’, which is no proof one way or another, although one sincerely hopes that things are as they say. One nice cheering thing Ann told me in her letter was that she suddenly bumped into a young Check (I cant remember how to spell it. It has now suddenly come to me – Czech) she used to know in Switzerland, in Oxford St, and they had a reunion celebration. He had managed to get out, and is now in the Czech legion. She said it was like a symbol of all the people with whom one can’t get into touch, and very heartening.
I heard from Romey as a special favour, in honour of my exam, a long and very good letter. We had hoped that having to keep up the honour of England would make John work hard at school, but if, as Romey says, he is already so far ahead of boys of his age out there, it doesn’t seem likely.
I have met Patricia Barclay, who works at Bletchley Park too, and whom to my shame I could not remember, although she says they came to see us at school, and I suppose you must have mentioned her in letters. The world gets smaller and smaller. Helen Butchart knows very well David Lubbock, of whom Dicky always talks, and his deaf wife Minty. Helen is away on leave, and I am due to go next week, but I am waiting to hear from Dicky when he gets his, because I should like mine to overlap a bit at least.
I have done nothing with the bit of paper to ask Grindlays to continue my allowance, for which I thank you very much, but I don’t need it all now, and am glad to be able to relieve you of that expense. I suppose you had better tell the bank to discontinue it, unless I fill the blank space with noughts and send the form to them thus.
Much love
Annette
PS. I have just met Mrs Cowgill (is it spelt that way?) whom I did not remember either, but less to my shame. She comes and helps here with the coffee after lunch. This is written at Bletchley Park itself, before posting.
From Annette to Parents
Highways
Gt Leighs
15th Sept 1940
Dear Parents,
Aunt says she will not write to you this week, as she has been so very busy with her jam factory, and I am at home to give the news. I am afraid I have again let time slip past without writing. I don’t know whether I told you that I was getting a week’s holiday, but I didn’t know when I would be taking it, because I heard from Peg that Dicky might be coming home. Well, I wrote to him, and got no answer, and finally I wrote home last Sunday and said should I come this week, which letter crossed one of Aunt’s saying that Dicky had gone to Arbroath, and then we crossed telegrams too, but both were to the effect that I should or would come home on Wednesday. I could have gone on Tuesday evening, but as the air raids usually start in London at about 5.0, I thought it wasn’t worth risking spending the night there. I had no excitements on my journey. The train was on time, the undergrounds still running all right in North London, and there was no air raid warning, except that just after Ilford we thought we heard one, but there was no excitement, or noise. Here we usually know when a warning will be coming through, because British fighters go over towards the Thames. It is less peaceful than Bletchley in that there are more planes about, but it is a great relief not to hear the sirens, but only to have Uncle and Mr Collier and such riding around and blowing whistles, while it almost becomes farcical at the All Clear, when we ride out with the little silver dinner bell, with the apostles on it. There is usually a warning on all night, but here it is very difficult to remember whether there is one on or not. After dark we can often hear the noise of guns from London, or see the sparks of the bursting shells, like fireworks, but since I’ve been home there’s been nothing nearer. On Friday at about 7.0 a.m. we were all woken up by a terrific clap of noise, and it was such a relief when we realised it was only a roll of thunder. Uncle had already leapt from his chair bed and seized his tin hat and other things and was rushing out of the house before he realized it wasn’t a bomb at all.
But of course we have been very lucky. Peg suddenly arrived on Friday evening instead of Saturday saying she couldn’t stay another night in London, not she said, because of the bombs or the guns, but because they will turn off the air conditioning plant in the shelters, since a lot of the girls say it keeps them awake, and they also shut the great iron doors which are meant only to be shut for gas or fire, and Peg says she woke up in the middle of the night on Thursday, unable to breathe and unable to get out, so that it felt like a nightmare. But she hopes to be able to go with another girl in a small room outside the shelter but in the basement, otherwise she will probably give up the job and work down here.
She brought us the sad news that half of Auntie Arla’s flat was blown out by a time bomb that fell in the garden. Peg rang up to know if she might go and sleep there, and was answered by Ron and Audrey who were clearing up the mess of the study and drawing room. Of course, as it was a time bomb, Aunt Arla had gone when the explosion. In so many places they have managed to get those bombs away, it was a pity they couldn’t here.
I have led a very uneventful life since I last wrote, the only diversions being a visit to Leighton, for lunch with the Bevingtons, who had Michael Warlock staying them, grown terrifically tall. We have had a lot more air raids at Bletchley since they really started on London not raids, but warnings, usually with not a sound about, so that it seems too ridiculous to be putting all our work away, and going out three times in the evening to sit in the dank dark air raid shelters. It happened to be the last evening I was on the evening shift, and apparently after that they struck and stayed indoors. What they ought to do is to have a watcher, as they do in factories now, and only have people put everything away when there are signs of danger.
Peg said everybody in London was keeping very cheerful, considering I thing the best remark so far is one made by a Shell Mex house charlady. ‘You don’t need no Bile Beans now, do you, Miss?’ Aunt said that the woman from over the road, Mrs. Harper came in the first night they heard gunfire, all of a dither, and refusing to go away, and being a general nuisance, but otherwise I’ve not heard of anyone being other than self possessed.
Coming home is a good opportunity to get out and alter winter things. All of mind are too long this year, while they just did for last year, so I am doing extensive taking-up and cuttings-off at the waist, coming to the dull conclusion that really I don’t need to buy anything new at all except a mackintosh, so I suppose I had better buy some more Savings Certificates on the strength of it. I have now done all the bits which need machining, so my sewing energy has rather fallen off, while I read ‘The seven pillars of wisdom’ for two days. Too fast, of course but it’s much a vast book that I can’t take it away with me, and also I got too enthralled to leave it.
We went to one village dance on Thursday, and another last night. They are a lot more lively with the Scottish troops, but I am glad they stop quite early, as the atmosphere gets really frightful.
On Thursday Gavin had a very charming Belgian woman, the widow of an R.A.F. officer who was lost in the Hannibal, and her son of eighteen who is just going into the Navy, over for the day. He met them up on Cheshire, on his various journeying. In the afternoon we went into Braintree, and saw ‘Contraband’ which we did not think very good. My chief objection was that there was no need for the story to have had anything to do with contraband at all. It fell into separate bits with no connection.
I gave Aunt a list of things I should like for my birthday. it certainly is a pity we didn’t come of age last year. Only Aunt Do and Mokes remembered Gav’s birthday, and there is no reason why anybody else should remember mine, not that I particularly mind, except when I consider the stacks of presents Peg, and even Joyce, had. From you, I think I should like a wrist watch, as mine seems to have given up the ghost.
Aunt and Uncle are both still very busy, but seem unaffected. The last of the jam is now done, so Aunt has a little more leisure.
Much love
Annette
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd.
Bletchley
8th October 1940
Dear Parents,
It is most remiss of me not to have written since I was at home. I always find it very difficult to settle down to anything unless I am working from 8.0-4.0. Somehow, on the other two shifts, when I have the morning free, I tend to moon about, or to spend all my free time washing clothes or my hair. Last week I was again doing the night shift, because another girl has come to take it in turns with Helen and me. This time I felt much better, finding it easier to sleep in the day time. The only thing was that the people on the shift before had not had the windows open, to let in the little air that can get through the curtains, and the atmosphere was frightful one or two nights. If they would instal some better ventilation, the night shift would be no hardship to me at all. It is generally less disturbed that the time before twelve. We have, thank goodness, new regulations that the siren is only an Alert signal, and that we are only to go to the shelters or the cellar when we hear the whistles blown by the plane spotters in the garden. We thought until the other night that that even then we had to put away our remaining papers, and then go down, but Mr. Cooper happened to be working very late that night, and said we were far too slow getting down to the shelters. We were to abandon everything and run. Actually that night we were so fed up of going up and down that we finally took everything down and worked in the cellar until about 6.0. It was a great relief not to have to both about anything after that, but I could not help laughing when Mr Cooper came in next morning and greeted Professor Last with ‘I’ve found the nearest thing to Paradise’, the cellars being full of old bits of wood and motor tyres and stacks of paper, with rickety tables on a bare floor. But there is no telephone, which is a great virtue to Mr Cooper who, as one of the biggish wigs, is always getting rung up and interrupted. The three of us who were on the night shift felt more like conspirators working for the revolution. The cellar was just the sort of setting one might see on the films.
Sometimes, although the sirens may go four or five times in the night, we don’t have to go down at all; apparently Bletchley gets a warning whenever north London does. But we have had bombs closer than when I last wrote, not, however, nearer than two or three miles. I suppose if we were in London we should take no notice at all, but we have been so lucky that there is still quite a fuss over any bangs that are heard. But although i find my hands tremble slightly when there has been quite a succession of bangs, it is still the sirens that are the horrid thing, wailing up and down. I am so glad that my Mrs Evans remains quite calm when there are bombs. Mr Evans really seems to be much more nervous, although his agitation takes the form of going out to see what’s happening. And it seemed to me excessively silly to say to one of the evacuee children ‘Are you feeling nervous, Jean?’ whereupon Jean, who had shown no signs of nervousness, immediately said she was afraid to go to bed.
Last Monday I had a card from Aunt saying Richard was coming home on ‘Saturday next’, but as it had been written the Thursday before, I didn’t know what that meant. So I sent a wire to say I would come home if ‘Saturday next’ meant Saturday 5th Oct, but it didn’t, and they wired back to say that Dicky’s leave was up on the 5th. It was a pity, but in any case I couldn’t have gone home last weekend, because the change of shifts was so short. As it was, I went to Oxford for this weekend, from 9.0 on Saturday morning, when I came off duty, till 4.0 yesterday, when I came on again, taking Sunday as my day off. Actually Muriel and I went over just for the day the week before, to shop. Oxford is crammed with evacuees from London. The first time we went it was bad enough, but this time I was thankful I did my shopping last week, because one could hardly walk along the Corn. It is impossible to get a room. Esther is working there now, in the foreign press-cutting department of Chatham House, and she had a room in Pusey St, paying 27/6 for bed and breakfast before the influx of refugees came, but then her landlady gave her notice, saying she could get higher prices, and she spent the week scouring the place for a room, until finally Professor Gibb, who works at Chatham House, arranged for her to go and stay in his house, where she has a beautiful room, with fitted basin, gas fire, and all, for 25/- a week, their spare room, I should think. Esther didn’t seem to think much of it, but that was chiefly because now she will have to lead a sober life, and not have her peculiar friends in chatting until all hours of the night. Also, of course, it is a bit of a strain having such a beautiful room as a bed sitting room. I should be afraid of upsetting coffee or ink or something on the white flowered carpet, or the pink silk bedspread. I had a room in Somerville for the week-end, of course, or I shouldn’t have been able to stay. We didn’t do very much, because I wanted to go to bed early on Saturday, having been up for nearly 24 hours; and then on Sunday it was a beastly day, so we sat in front of a large fire in the J.C.R. and listened to a Mozart concert, and then had tea with one of our research Fellows, and then sherry at Miss Starkie’s, and then thought we might go to the pictures, but decided it was too expensive for the rather poor shows that were on, so we found somewhere to eat, and wandered back to college, and listened to ’Hamlet’ on the wireless. They have so far only had about three sirens in Oxford, and it is very difficult to get out of the habit of listening to hear whether every plane is a German or not, which one does almost unconsciously everywhere else. There are plenty of planes over Oxford, but still just ours practising as they did last year.
I am going over again on Thursday week to take my degree. It is very nice having Oxford so near. It looks as if I shall spend all my substance going there, but a day return is only 4/6, so it is not really so bad.
Nothing of note has happened here, except the formation of a club in the office, to while away the evenings. They are getting up every kind of activity, games, music, drama, films, country dancing, and more, with long lists of people who are interested in them. So far, only the Scottish country dancing has started, but I couldn’t go last week as I was asleep, when it was on. This week I can go, in the dinner hour.
Last week I read a book called ‘Design’ in the Pelicans, in which among other things, the man remarks that it is extraordinary how people will go on living uncomfortably and not do anything about it, which inspired me to wonder if I couldn’t do something about making more space in my room, where there was only a narrow passage all round between the bed and the other furniture, not to speak of the three suitcases which were just piled around, and the books and the papers, and I had felt for some days that it was all rather sordid, especially as I may stay here any time. So I packed my summer things in one suitcase and sent it home, put another one away behind my arm chair, and in the corner by the wardrobe now left free, I shoved the big chest that filled the space in front of the window, with the result that the room looks twice as big, and also I can lie on the floor if I feel like it. All the books I now put in comparative order on the chest, instead of on the window ledge, where they blocked the light a bit. Fortunately, Mrs Evans approves, saying that that chest has been in every room in the house, without finding a resting place. It is half an inch too long to go in any of the recesses by the fireplaces.
Last Wednesday I saw ‘Night train to Munich’ which I quite enjoyed at the time, but I don’t think it is a good picture. The two farcical Englishmen who were in ‘The lady vanishes’ seemed to me to fall very flat after scenes of concentration camps. Of course, I should have been in bed instead of going to the pictures, and also I was so furious because of the way they rant on the News films that I missed the beginning of the film, the lists of the cast and all, and I still felt furious all the way through. The things they say are just as bad as the sort of things the Germans say ‘We will exterminate this loathsome breed’ and so on. And plenty of people who were, and of course still are, horrified at the Nazi persecution of the Jews, talk quite glibly about exterminating the Germans. If this is the sort of thing we are coming to, what did we go to war for at all, except of course, that it is better to be the oppressor than the oppressed. And anyhow, I suppose people will get over it, as they did after the last war, only if that’s the sort of spirit we’re going to end up with, how are things ever going to get any better? I fear I become incoherent, and I suppose anyhow, I had better wait till my home is wiped out by a bomb before I object to the ranting and raving on the news. Bit I don’t know. Coming along the City Rd the other day from Liverpool St to Euston, I felt neither surprise nor anger at the frequent craters and ruined houses, but simply more than ever, what absolute lunacy the whole business is. But it will be a pity if Hitler’s madness sends us just as mad.
I think it is a very good thing for Papa to have some leave, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves as much as possible. By now you may be in New Zealand. It is difficult to remember that the letter telling us about your plans is dated August 17th.
With much love,
Annette
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
15th October 1940
Dear Parents,
It was very silly of me not to think that of course the Air Mail still goes on being expensive and not just the ordinary method, because a lot of my letters much be taking much longer to reach you than necessary. I had quite forgotten that ever since the war started I have been sending my letters home first. Anyhow, the one that appears to have been lost, in which I told you about my job, I mean getting it, would have gone by sea anyway. You know, in any case, as much about it as there is to know. The question of money makes the extra time taken by letters really sensible to me, because I feel I want to write urgently and say I don’t need any, and of course your letters were posted at the end of August, and you won’t get this for a month or more, I suppose. I really don’t want any money. I ought to have a pound a week at least to spend or save after living expenses are paid. Of course, Government billeting is a great help. My living expenses are just about £6 a month, a guinea a week for the billet, and a pound for lunch. I shall now have heating to pay for. I have bought a small electric fire that runs on a double plug on the light current, saving installation of a point, and quite big enough for my room, electricity coming to about 2d an hour, and I am never in many hours. At the moment there is nothing I could do with an extra allowance, as travelling is impossible, and extravagance unpatriotic. I seem at the moment to have considerable amounts down in my accounts for sweets; we seem to spend the evening shift eating chocolate, which is curious, because during the day we don’t want it, and in the night I turn from it almost with loathing. The night shift is altogether a big help to economy. We get all our meals at the office free, and as one goes to bed all the evening one does not spend money at the pictures, altogether leading the life of a recluse. In spite of the advantages of having mornings at home, and getting longer periods of leave, I wish we did not work these shifts. i never seem to have much energy except when I work in the day time, and lead an ordinary life. All I ever seem to get done is washing and reading, which is more of a vice than an occupation. One thing that struck me was that my feet were still cold after a long bicycle ride when I was on the night shift, but perhaps that is not surprising, considering that by an ordinary time-table, it was then about the equivalent of midnight. All this is not to imply that i go about looking pale and languid. I just find even less resolution that usual to do the things I ought to be doing.
This week, inspired by Lawrence’s references to her, I read the letters of Gertrude Bell, in the Pelicans, which you ought to read, if you haven’t already. I found them fascinating, and I hope they bring out the third volume soon. Also I read some Elizabethan tragedies, which I bought in Blackwell’s as a bargain. I don’t get much pleasure out of reading them, and I frequently think that the rules of the French classical drama, which I do not really like either, are perhaps a good thing after all.
I am sorry to hear from home that they have had a good many bombs quite close. Here we have had nothing, the greatest upset being the train accident near Euston, due to a barrow falling off a platform. One of the watchmen at the office, a very nice plump and smiling man who used to collect the waste paper in the evenings, was killed in this accident, so we all felt rather sad, much more, of course, than we do at reading of all the horrors in the papers. But in a way one looks on bombs as Acts of God, like earthquakes, while this seemed such a futile accident. The thing about the air raids, I suppose, is that where they are bad, things are frightful, but where they are not, life goes on much as usual, for a few stray bombs round the countryside affect so very few people, if any. One certainly forgets here whether there is an air raid on quite often. In the office particularly, we often ask each other ‘Which went last?’
Oct 16th I go on with a pen, because I have brought this to the office, as I shan’t have much time this evening to do any writing. There are Scottish reels from 6.0 to 7.30, and then I have a lot of ironing to do, particularly a white blouse to wear tomorrow when I take my degree. Muriel and I are going over to Oxford together. I hope to find that Esther has borrowed a B.A. gown for me, otherwise I shall not look well at the Principal’s tea party afterwards. I hear that a lot of the people I like best are coming, so there will be a great reunion. Ann said she hoped to get leave, but it must be some business getting from Dover.
Last Thursday I had a very pleasant evening; Veronica Gillot and Helen both had the evening off too and we all went to see “Rebecca” which we enjoyed, and to have supper afterwards, because Helen needed fortifying before going to work at midnight. Usually I hardly see anything of these, because we always seem to be on different shifts, and our conversation is pretty well “Hullo! Goodbye!” Apropos of me not being pale and languid, it was Veronica who said the other day, when we were talking of the drawbacks of the tropics “But you’re almost objectionably healthy, aren’t you?”
I dislike the tone of Mr Churchill’s voice, but I like reading his speeches. With anyone else, one always has a feeling they are trying to gloss over something discreditable, just as the French authorities seemed to be shouting loudest about their determination to fight to the utmost whenever some disaster was going to happen. I was reading Winston’s book in the Digest for July, received yesterday, and I hope he will be able to carry out his motto of determination in war, “in victory magnanimity, in peace good-will”.
t is nearly half past two, so I must be back to work.
Much love,
Annette
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
30th October 1940
Dear Parents,
I have a lot of things to thank you for, firstly the cable which I actually got on my birthday, and which came as a complete and delightful surprise. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that you might send one, but it was better so. Next for Mother’s birthday letter, which was most undeservedly kind, and anyway, if I have been a satisfactory daughter, I certainly could not have had more satisfactory parents. And lastly I thank you for a most generous present, which is already converted into a gramophone, since Dicky gave me a watch, the only big thing I wanted. I could have bought Muriel Ansell’s off her for a small sum, but I wanted to have a new one if it was going to be a present, so I had great fun choosing it at Oxford on Monday morning. I got an H.M.V. portable, which has a very nice tone. It is curious how the very cheap ones don’t give anything like the same effect of space when playing orchestral music, apart from the fact that they do not fall to bits in a short time, as both those at home have done, or at least have become very groggy. This one cost £6, so if I may, I will ask Aunt for the extra pound some time.
I had a little celebration on my birthday itself quite unexpectedly. I was on the night shift last week, and when I come off work at 9.0 I thought it was too dull just to go back to bed, so I went along to see three girls who are all billeted together, and were going to work at 4.0, so they also had the morning off, and they had a bottle of sherry and a rich plum cake, sent from home, so we had a celebration. One of them has rather Peg’s gift for telling things amusingly, and she made us laugh a lot by her description of a trip to Oxford, and what with that and office scandal, we had quite a merry morning. Unfortunately next day I had a chill on the stomach or something, due I think to sitting about all Wednesday morning, and getting cold, and then not taking a walk after lunch, because I was sick when I got up to go to work, and although I felt really all right, I wasn’t really fit to work, so I retired with a rug to the camp bed in Mr Cooper’s office, where luckily he didn’t happen to be sleeping that night, and slept till breakfast time, when I was well recovered, but I didn’t get any of my thank you letters written, in consequence, till after the week end, which I spent in Oxford.
The incident seemed rather ironical, because there were two of us on the night shift who felt aggressively healthy most nights, because all we objected to was the atmosphere, eating heartily and quite prepared talk and laugh as usual in off moments, while two others sat and moaned all night about the work, not to speak of being unutterably gloomy about the international situation. I thought I was pretty gloomy about it myself, on the whole, but these two made me feel like an irresponsible optimist. Anyhow, they of course, made out to their own satisfaction that my sickness was due to having to work at night, which I am sure it wasn’t, because I am quite used to that now, and continued to gloom still more. I was pretty fed up of being sympathetic by the end of the week, although of course if you can’t get to sleep in the day, that shift must be awful.
The weekend at Oxford was great fun. I stayed in college again, and on Saturday morning when I arrived, Christina and I went out to find Gavin and arrange about some sort of a party, and very luckily met him in the street, so we met Esther when she came out of work at 12.30, and all had lunch together, and arranged for a tea party on Sunday, Esther’s idea of a bottle party being turned won because there are so few people I know, and it would consist of her odd friends. That afternoon we got Gavin a pair of gloves as a birthday present from me, and then went to see ‘The Westerner’, which we much enjoyed. I had hoped to go to bed early, but there was an air raid warning, of which they still make quite a fuss in Oxford, as they have had so few, and we were not supposed to go on the top floors of buildings, and I was sleeping on a top floor. By 11.0 I was so sleepy, having been up for 24 hours that I decided to go to bed raid or no raid, which I did, in fear and trembling of being routed out again, but just as I had got into bed the All Clear went, so that was all right.
Sunday’s tea party was a great success. We had 42 little candles for Gavin and me, in a tin lid on the mantelpiece, and the blaze was such that it had to be removed to the grate, for fear of setting something on fire. The conversation was mostly about Black Magic and queer sects, of which the prize one we thought was the Shakers, with their motto ‘Shake out sin, shake virtue in’. Gerard Irvine, who knows a good deal about the Catholic church, having leanings that way, told us that dozens of consecrated Hosts are stolen for purposes of Black Magic still, which seems rather curious, as well as that there are at least seven devil-worshiping temples known to the police in London. It was all really rather interesting.
Monday morning was devoted to buying presents with birthday money. I got an engine turned silver compact with Aunt Do’s, and a record case from Uncle, and the gramophone, and some records from Christina. I had another record from Ann and Esther, and a whole Beethoven symphony each from Peg and Gavin. Aunt gave me a lovely navy bag, a large one that will hold a lot of things, and Dicky’s watch is really charming, steel, with blue steel figures, a small one, but nice and plain for everyday. I much admire his taste. I don’t feel I could have chosen anything I like so well myself.
I don’t think I ever told you about the time I went to Oxford to take my degree. There were a lot of people I know well taking it at the same time, including Ann, who had come from Dover, and was in Wren uniform, which suits her very well, except for the round cloth hat, which looked too incongruous perched on top of large Ann in her flowing gown. Esther rushed up to a strange man with a camera and got him to take a snap of us after the ceremony, so I will send you a copy when I get the negative from Esther. You don’t get the proper Friar Tuckish look that Ann had that day, though. She likes her life at Dover, of which I am very glad. We have decided to take our M.A. for the sake of being hit on the head with a Bible. There was, I regret to say, a lot of subdued giggling during the ceremony, because of the way in which they rush through the Latin. A pity, because once you have the tradition, I feel you ought to make the most of it. Anyhow, we greatly relished putting on gowns that really are gowns and walking about the streets in them.
I must to the office.
Thank you again very much for everything
Much love from
Annette
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd.
Bletchley
Bucks
19th November 1940
Dear Parents,
I did not write last week because I was in such a state of indecision I could not settle down to anything. What happened was that on Friday evening I had suddenly a telegram from the Ministry of Information, asking if I would consider the post of Assistant Principal (that is the first step in the Administrative grade) and come for an interview on Wednesday. The salary would be about £250 a year. I took this to Mr Cooper, because I wasn’t at all sure about the ethics of walking out of one ministry into another, and also I thought I ought to have let the Central Registry know when I got this job here, but I hadn’t, because everybody said that it was such a muddle that nothing ever came of it. But Mr. Cooper said that it was supposed to be informed whenever they got any new staff, so that was a relief to my mind. He said moreover, that of course I was free to do as I wished, but that only made me more agitated than before, because he always sits there waving his hands about and looking miserable. Another consideration is that apparently our department is always neglected and paid considerably less than the equivalent work in many others. Anyhow, Mr Cooper took the telegram down and said he was going to show it to the chief man of the whole place, so as to show the ‘market price’ of the sort of people they need for the work. And I finally said I would go to the interview and see what it was.
By Wednesday I had time to think clearly, and I had decided that in spite of the advancement, I would not take this post, if offered me, if the work had to be in London, unless it was something really enthralling. I went up to town in the morning, and met Peg and also Ann Toulmin, who was on her way back to Dover, for lunch and the lunch time ballet at the Arts Theatre. We saw in particular ‘Death and the Maiden’ which is a lovely little thing. I then went with Peg to Shell Mex, and was strongly advised by her and others in her office not to take a job in London unless you could live in the kind of shelter they have there. Then I went to the Ministry of Information, which is London University, half of which was destroyed by bombs quite early on. I walked up the Tottenham Court Rd, and felt more and more dreary. There was hardly anybody about, and a lot of rotten buildings had been hit and fallen down into heaps of brick, far more horrifying than a burnt-out shell like Lewis’s, or places where a bomb had fallen straight through, leaving a hole, because one reflected on being buried underneath the mass. First of all they had some difficulty at the Ministry in finding out whom I and two other young men who were there with similar telegrams were to see, as they have given us no names. At length they got us through to the right people, and the interview itself was very pleasant. There was a whole row of gentleman, all very amiable, who asked the usual questions about interests and this and that. The job is apparently helping in the organisation of the Ministry, seeing that the Press is kept in a good temper, and that committees work smoothly, and generally requiring a lot of tact and presence of mind, and consisting of correspondence and telephoning. They were greatly surprised to hear I was in the Air Ministry. (This shows that the Central Register is just about as inefficient as one supposed. Mr Cooper said it was a ‘wild sort of place’)
I have heard nothing since, but I don’t think they will offer one of these posts to me anyway, as I am quite inexperienced in that sort of thing, and have but little interest in politics, and have done no social work. But anyway I have decided to stay here, because I am useful, and in a way I feel more good in the War than I should be pottering around in the Ministry of Information, which anyway is frequently cutting down staff. Besides, when I really consider it, I think I am more interested in the work here. Also, in London you have no life at all, since you retire to your cellar about 7.0 and emerge from it to go to work. Here at least there are the satisfactions of moving about, apart from its comparative peacefulness, which still continues, although the last few nights, particularly the night of the frightful raid on Coventry, we heard planes going over all the time, and wondered who was getting the bombs. Perhaps I am throwing away great chances of contact with interesting people, but I am quite happy here, and have quite enough to live on, and as I say, it’s not good enough to go and live in London. Also, but I wasn’t quite sure that this wasn’t a convenient cover for cowardice, I thought how much more worried you would be if I did go there.
I seem to be spreading myself excessively on all this, but I hate having to make decisions of this sort. It is a pity one can’t try both courses for a bit. And as I said before, I don’t expect I shall have the refusal in any case.
I went over to Oxford last Saturday, and it was there I met Ann and fixed up Wednesday’s meeting. She was on a week’s sick leave, after being in bed for weeks with a gash in the shin, got by falling downstairs in the dark. But the leave was after she was better. We all went to a piano recital by Solomon, much of which I enjoyed, but I couldn’t concentrate, because my head was so full of this wretched telegram. Mrs Drake was over, and had brought a selection of prints for me to choose one for my birthday. I chose a coloured one of fish, swimming among weeds, of which Christina has a copy in slightly different colouring, and which I have always like about the best.
I am going to Oxford again on Saturday, as Gavin and Gerard Irvine have asked me to a sherry party. I shall stay the night, as I don’t have to be back till 4.0 on Sunday. Last week I was on night duty again, and was much sustained by a very nice woman of about 35 who has come recently, a librarian from Oxford, who also found the groaning of the other two on the shift a bit excessive. In fact, she told them straight out that we are very lucky not to be kept awake all night and every night by bombs, and after the first night made no answer at all when there were complaints. I still have my one complaint of stuffiness, but otherwise I felt restored to a normal balance by this Miss Bertie.
On Sunday I was picked up by Uncle Bous and Aunt Cecil in the car and we went over to take Yvonne out from school, between Buckingham and Stony Stratford. She was not allowed to go into any building, but luckily it was a lovely day, so a picnic, with hot soup in a Thermos, was not so bad. Yvonne has grown up a lot. She talks quite differently, and has quite stopped being giggly. We had to drop her again quite early, as Uncle Bous had people coming in for Bridge, but I went to tea at Leighton, as Pam came in at half past four, and Betty at half past five. They have very kindly asked me to go there for Christmas if I don’t go home.
With much love
Annette
P.S. In London I ordered a Russian Linguaphone course on the instalment system, as they were selling off some at 7 Gns.
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
27th Nov 1940
Dear Parents,
I think this will be a very short letter, because I am going out to Scottish dancing in about quarter of an hour, and I want to get this posted before it. I meant to write in the lunch hour, but it was such a glorious day that I could not resist going for a walk. Anyhow, I don’t think I have much to say.
We had one great excitement last week. One evening we were working about 8.0, when we heard bombs starting to drop, as they often have before, and this time they really did come closer and closer, until finally we thought the next one would be on the house, and we tore down stairs, but by then it was all over, and in a few minutes we went upstairs and resumed work, but having first heard that a small bomb had fallen on a house near which we have too, in the next room, to where two girls were working, but they were quite all right. Altogether twelve of these small bombs were dropped round about the place, and when we came to look out of the window in daylight, we saw one had fallen about twenty yards away, throwing up some stones, but no more. It was rather curious, when I first looked out I just thought, ‘Oh, did one fall as close as that?’, and it was not till some hours later that I really grasped that it would have fallen on us a few yards nearer. it was very lucky the bombs were so small. There was no glass broken even. Since then it has been very quiet of nights. The siren is no longer a regular feature of our evenings.
I went to Oxford, for Saturday night, for Gavin’s and Jerry Irvine’s sherry party. In the afternoon Christina and I went and spent all our substance on books. I got some more of Harrap’s series that has English on one side and some other language on the other, both in Italian and Russian, against the distant day when I shall be able to read that. Also I got a very nice little German edition of Dante in two volumes, and I bought Christina’s Decameron off her, because she had got a new annotated edition. Ordinary Italian I can read fairly well, although I could translate very little word for word. That is why I bought the Russian. There is another girl who wants to learn, as she agrees with me about Italian, that it is so easy to read it is very hard to sit down and learn the grammar. Whereas Russian is something quite new from the start, and one has to learn. The records arrived this Monday. So far I have learnt about half the alphabet, with the first Sounds record. I thought my billetore might object to such uncouth sounds, but they say they can’t hear from the sitting-room, accomodating as usual. I think the Russian sounds beat the French hollow, and some are very hard to get, but the writing is pretty well phonetic; it is rather fun, learning new alphabet along with new sounds. I have played them on Muriel’s gramophone, because, sad to say, my lovely new one thumps when going round. it must have got out of line in transit; it’s simply something catching under the turntable, but I must get it put right professionally, as I don’t want to tamper with it.
The sherry party was better fun that I expected, because I met one or two people who were friends of Richard’s. Most of Gavin’s are too affected for words, except Roger Greene, who is like someone out of Hans Anderson, and in fact is writing a thesis on the fairy story in the nineteenth century. He is lank and pale and has an odd kind of face, and a strong stammer when more nervous than usual, but one feels he is natural, whereas most of the crowd there were not real at all. I met too Robert Levxns, who until now has never noticed my existence, although we met quite often. He was most affable, and we had quite a long chat. Perhaps it was the sherry.
On Monday I went to the pictures, and saw ‘The mortal storm’ which I likes, because it let the story speak for itself, and did not have unctuous captions or an unctuous voice denouncing the Nazis, like the news commentator. I think it is that words get over-worked until they have no meaning at all, except when used by people like Churchill or J.B.Priestly.
I must be off.
With much love from
Annette.
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
4th December 1940
Dear Parents,
A thing I meant to say last week and forgot in the hurry was that Grindlay, not having had instruction to the contrary, have paid in my £90 allowance in October. Would you like me just to have it paid back, or should I invest it in War Savings? Anyhow, for the moment there it sits, because I am more to the good than I thought I was. I thought at first when I had my account from the bank that I had spent more than I thought, but then I remembered that some of what I had drawn out was put into Savings Certificates. On the strength of a balance of about £40 I put another £30 into the same. last week.
It was nice to have your letters from the Dutch boat. it certainly sounds travel in luxury. I hope the boat to New Zealand was as comfortable.
I have just come off night duty, and I was feeling rather low, although I slept quite well yesterday, but I suppose it was because I went to Leighton yesterday to give some blood for transfusion, but I have found a wire from Richard to say his leave is from the 23rd to the 31st, which is very pleasing, because I had pretty well fixed to take mine then anyway. We heard on Saturday that we can have a week between Dec 15th and Feb 15th, and I wanted to coincide with Dicky this time. Luckily no one else doing my work wants the Christmas week particularly, because we have of course to spread out so that only one is away at a time. We have a new system now, with four people doing the shifts. The fourth person does two days during the week on each of the three shifts, and those who are regularly on the shifts have to take their day off on one of the days when the extra replaces them. You are given Sunday as a free gift, in addition to regular days off, in order to recover, I suppose, but nobody ever does, because it is too good a chance to take Saturday one week, and Monday the one after, with Sunday in between, making a really long week end. I shall do the ‘rotating’ as they call it, next week, but I am going to try and wangle the extra days onto my week’s leave the week after.
Going over for the blood transfusion is about the only thing of note this week. I can’t think why more people don’t do it, because it is so easy, and you feel nothing except the prick of the needle that gives the local anaesthetic. I have found it a bit more of a nuisance than some, because they rejected my left arm, because the vein wasn’t good enough, and took the rights, and the bandage round it is rather hampering to doing the hair and eating. The bandage has to stay on for 48 hours. I had been meaning to do this for ages, but I missed the first testing last time I was on leave, and they had full batches to take over from the office. I went over yesterday in the car of our First Aid lady, who drove me right back to my door, which was nice; it’s quite a treat to go in a car at all these days.
On my day off last week I rode over to Woburn Sands and saw Barbara Roscoe, whose parents were already staying there, having been bombed out of their house in Croydon, Mrs Roscoe at least; Mr. works here anyway. Barbara was evacuated to Tunbridge Wells with a Secretarial school, but there were such a lot of raids and such a silly lot of girls that she left after the first few months. Anyhow, she is probably going to get married and go out to Columbia in South America if her young man gets a job there. It was very nice to see her and her mother again. Mrs Roscoe remains comfortable and cheerful as ever, in spite of the house having been shaken to bits almost by a string of bombs in the road, and all their possessions damaged, or at least smothered in grey dust from the plaster, which was apparently forced inside even air-tight boxes.
I am going over again this Friday, as Barbara writes that the lady they P.G. with is going out to bridge, and so we can do what we like, which will doubtless be gossiping.
I have done some Russian this week, to the end of the sounds record, not that I can make all the noises by any means, but I can now tell pretty well which letter belongs to which noise. A few diagrams for the position of lips and tongue are what I should like. I now have to learn a little grammar before starting on the course itself, declensions and so on.
A new activity is added to those of the office club. Apparently we have working in the place a man called Alexander, who is the chess champion of England, and who is going to start a series of elementary lectures for beginners, so I think I shall go. I may say, to avoid the accusation of snobbery, after having for so long refused Richard’s offers to teach me, that I said I would go before I heard that so great an authority was going to do the lecturing. He is a wild looking young man, who dances Scottish reels with tremendous energy, not at all the sort of person you would think would play chess.
This time I am really quite enjoying the night shift, because I am with very nice people, all of whom endure the stuffiness with calm and even with humour. It makes such a difference not to hear continual complaints. The food also is greatly improved. They have installed Aga cookers in the kitchen, so we fear it is going to be a long war. With every one of Romey’s letters I feel she changes more and more. She seems to be acquiring that racy, off-facetious style that Americans mostly seem to have, and I don’t feel it’s the same person talking at all.
With much love from
Annette.
From Annette to Parents
171 Buckingham Rd
Bletchley
11th December 1940
Dear Parents,
I have had no letters sent on from home this week, only one from Romey that Aunt sent me, describing her initiation into a sorority. I never took thought about Christmas, but I hope we shall send you a wire from home, so you will have some greeting. As for presents, they have to be renounced for the moment. To Romey Richard and I are giving Savings Certificates, which seems a frigid present, but she will be able to count her growing wealth, except that I don’t suppose it’ll be worth much by the time she gets it. Christmas present buying generally is rather dismal this year. I did some in Oxford on Monday, and I wandered around for about an hour, and the shops had nothing in the, and I felt more and more gloomy. However I got some very nice perfumed things, bags of pot pourri and soaps from Culpepper House, where I went to get some powder and things Mrs Baker had asked me to get. The immediate family’s presents I shall leave till I get home, as I shall have a few days before Christmas, although I don’t expect there will be much in the shops in Chelmsford either. But I suppose Oxford has been so bought out because of all the extra people.
I went over on Sunday, and went to the carol service at New College in the afternoon, and then to a tea party with a girl who is staying up the whole vac., and with whom I chiefly became acquainted because I left her all my beautiful typed philology notes. I had to come back here on Monday because I am ‘rotating’ this week, filling in gaps when the others on all three shifts have their days off. It is very nice to get two days work in day light in the middle of the week. I never realised before what a difference it makes. The lights in our room seem to be wearing out or something, but we are moving into new quarters in a large army hut next week, so I shan’t make a fuss. I have made one already about the lights in the new hut, about not having desk lights, which are what we ought to have, but nothing has been done. I shall send for my own light from home if we can’t get anything done. If the people who fit the place out had to work two weeks out of three in artificial light they would see our point about needing a properly directed light. At the moment all the old colonel will say is ‘You can’t want any more light. You’ve got four lights to one small room’.
Last Friday Muriel and I went over to Woburn Sands again to see Barbara. There was a fierce wind to blow us there, but unfortunately it hadn’t dropped by the time we came back, and it was horrid, and I think we cursed each other, Muriel me for wanting to push on and on and get home as soon as possible. I certainly became annoyed because she wanted to stop so often, but I hope I didn’t show it. The trouble is that my bicycle’s natural speed is much faster than hers, apart from my extra size, so that it is more tiring for me to ride down to her speed than forge ahead at my own. Also I wanted to get home and get as much sleep as possible before going to work at midnight. I had to take Thursday night off because of the ‘rotate’ coming on, which is a bad thing because one has to sleep one night in the middle of sleeping for a week in the day time.
On Thursday I went to the pictures with Mrs Baker to see ‘Foreign Correspondent’ which is good, but I was far more impressed by seeing on the news the Tacoma Bridge in Washington getting up such a swing in quite a mild wind that it finally broke. I don’t know if you saw it, but it made me feel quite queer to see this great concrete bridge waving up and down like a piece of rubber.
I have nearly finished the first lesson of the Russian. I must do the excercises and send it up to the Linguaphone Institute to be corrected, as they suggest, giving one forms for the purpose. It will be particularly useful later, when the description is not just a matter of writing out the lesson by heart.
This week we have had very few sirens. The unusual quiet makes one wonder what the Germans have got up their sleeve this time. But of course the great excitement is the apparent crumbling of the Italians everywhere. I always feel it is useless to talk about the news, because by the time you get letters it has either been belied or almost forgotten.
With much love
from
Annette