The news tonight is shattering: Yugoslavia is broken up, disintegrated. Let us hope they will continue to conduct guerilla warfare.
Our carrier told me yesterday he had looked through a pair of field glasses yesterday, and perceived that some planes had written ‘Adolf’ in the sky!
Cis writes from Tweedmouth to say that an old Scotsman whose cottage was badly damaged in a raid replied, when asked what time the bomb fell, ‘Twelve o’clock, but a didna’ get up till eight.’ ‘So wise,’ adds Cis.
Thursday, 17 April
Home from a day in London.
The city had the previous day experienced the sharpest and longest assault of the war.
The damage to the Kingston by-pass was not so bad as I had imagined, but a great many of the confident little villas had boards over their broken windows, and one or two houses were down. The bus conductor urged passengers to assemble in Cavendish Square in good time for the return buses, as there were great crowds.
Not till we drove past the outlying suburbs did I understand how many people had left London. Road after road showed deserted, empty houses, silent, forsaken, often shuttered.
My first journey on arriving was on foot to Harley Street. London had gone through the most ghastly ordeal. You could see it in the people’s faces: the women looked sleepless and worried, and the demolition squads hurtling along in their lorries with ladders and tools held crews of grimy-faced and weary men.
A chauffeur hung about outside a house. I asked him if it had been very bad the night before.
‘Down in my little place, lady, you couldn’t get a wink of sleep. There must have been thousands of them over. It was terrible, the worst of any night I’ve ever known.’
I saw his face was haggard. ‘Well, we can take it,’ I ventured.
‘Yes, but we want to dish it out,’ he replied.
Harley Street has lowered its proud flag. Gone are the rows of brightly enamelled front doors – at least the doors are there, but they are no longer cherished. Dirty and gloomy and faded, and the little silver plates all dim and rusty.
A great cavity, too, showed the entire departure of at least two houses.
I went down the Oxford Street tube. The bunks on the platform were most hygenic I thought, steel and wire, and numbers were written on the wall behind them. Coming back, I saw that bundles of bedding and shabby, broken suitcases were already placed there.
Children play on the space at the bottom of the moving staircase, and canteens come out with tea.
I got very weary, toiling about. Every major street seemed to have a barricade across it with ‘No Entry’. St Thomas’s Hospital had a pile of rubble still alight and smoking, near the Terrace.
Depressing and agitating to see the fantastic holes made in the rows of windows in County Hall. One poor little shop near the cab stand, a cobblers, had its shop window blown out, and I saw the old shoemaker on his knees in the hall, nailing up a box. God! What is going to happen to these people whose living and occupation has gone?
Then on to Leicester Square. Here men were digging at a pile of debris; a shelter had received a direct hit. I wondered if there were any bodies remaining. At one of the very worst moments of this day I found myself passing the Haymarket Theatre, outside which was written up
‘No Time for Comedy’
Very true. With mind and heart oppressed by the fearful damage, the name of the play (I’d like to see it) rang through my soul.
Up Kingsway and into Holborn tube. A tall house next to it had a big bit of roof in a pendant position; it looked most dangerous and about to hurl itself down. I saw Paternoster Row, which was my main object. The opening of the Row and its name plate are still intact, and miraculously enough Nicolson’s shop (showing pretty linen teacloths and little napkins) is intact. You go for a few yards and then – a barrier, and a shambles that was the Row, extending far back into a kind of square: all rubbish, planks leaning on bricks, dust, ruin. Where are the lost manuscripts, where the writers’ broken hopes?157
In Cavendish Square I lined up in a queue and studied the square intently. I should imagine quite half the inhabitants had gone. An old man played the fiddle for us, ‘To cheer you all up,’ he said, collecting our pennies as the Green Line buses for Hertford and Gerrards Cross started up.
A woman, very pretty and smart, passed with a blue coat and skirt, a maroon pill-box hat and mauve gloves. This did me good.
The wreckage of Paternoster Square. The dome in the background is the Old Bailey, which somehow survived the devastation, although the streets around it were almost entirely destroyed.
Photograph © IWM HU108965
But in a few minutes we were moving by Langham Place, and a perfect inferno of a fire showed itself behind the BBC. There was a high curtain of smoke. In Portland Place, where many houses seemed to have crashed, I saw red flames leaping and firemen with hoses. All down this broad, once luxurious street I saw flats with windows blown out. Oh, what havoc there has been here!
Friday, 18 April
And now on this chilly spring afternoon, I take leave of the journal which it has given me such joy to write. Things in Europe are serious, the Greek war does not go well, we are being pushed back, and are very much outnumbered, and the poor Yugoslavs have given in. We trust Wavell,158 but the Germans are giving us trouble in the desert.
Not too much to eat; our income tax about to drain our pockets; life docked of happy travel and happy meetings, the necessary machinery of a million households cracking. Girls of twenty conscripted – what a chaotic business, its humorous side apparent to every woman, and to no man.
*
Editor’s Note: in the eight months before Connie resumed the journal on 17 December 1941, the complexion of the war changed considerably.
The German invasion of Russia began on 22 June, ending the non-aggression pact and bringing Russia into the war on the Allied side.
Japan, which had been at war with China since 1937, was threatening US and European territories in the Far East, aiming to gain full control of the Western Pacific.
America entered the war on 8 December, following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour on 7 December.
Also, during the intervening period, Basil got his wish and was posted to North Africa.
PART TWO
December 1941 to April 1943
Connie and Elystan (Robin) at Springfield, 1947.
1941
Wednesday, 17 December
Resumed 17 December, 1941 for, I hope, a year. This is for Harry and Jenny, in their far Rhodesian home with its lovely rose-garden, so remote from war-torn Europe.
The news is, as I begin again, quite bad; Singapore and Hong Kong are threatened. ‘We have not won the war by a long shot. It is going to go on for a long time.’ They must do ‘unheard of things’ in production. (They will!)
America has, in the first ten days of their entry into hostilities, lost seven per cent of the number killed in 1917 and 1918.
Hong Kong has been bombarded quite eight times a day. Mount Davis fort, which Robin knew so well, has been heavily shelled.
I wish I could give some idea of this Xmas of 1941 in a Surrey village. If you go into the grocers, you almost despair of being served, the crowd of strangers is so extensive. The basis of our housekeeping is American bacon, which we can get without coupons. I keep on telling people this: they don’t know it.
I am sitting by the fire; the boys of the Home Guard are coming in for their lesson in signalling. We have some lovely preserved fruit from Harry and Jenny, and I am eating some ginger which is heavenly and pre-war.
We are delighted with the Libyan and the Russian front, but anxious, very anxious, about Hong Kong and even more about Singapore.
The spirit of the people, as I find it in my little circle (stretching from the north of Scotland to the west of England) is calm and patient and unmoved. Yes, the outlook is hopeful, in spite of everything.
7.30 p.m.: Not so good. The Japanese clai
m tonight that part of Hong Kong is in flames, and that the resistance of the Governor General is destroyed.
Friday, 19 December
Walked arm-in-arm across the frozen December fields, and saw the raw cold grey mists floating around the old church spire. We had been depressed by the news of the Japanese landing in Hong Kong. Robin keeps on talking about his pleasant years there, and the water picnics attended by the young officers. He was as gay as a lark then, in his twenties. Now he sits by the fire, sixty-three, apprehensively reading the news, while Mozart’s heavenly music is being played. Einstein said recently that we could not despair of a world that had produced the man Mozart, or something to that effect.
Christmas is indeed subdued. I never remember a Christmas so sombre, and with so slight an air of festivity.
Met Mrs Bray,159 who has a good deal to do with the local Land Girls. She says several have had to give up as they get rheumatism. Her own girl gets wet through twice a day, and is none the worse.
A delightful event at breakfast; another airgraph160 from Basil. ‘Apart from the Greys I look after some of the local soldiers who keep on saying, “I am dead”. It is useless to argue. The other day I was able to buy Pop a 5lb package of various foods and two pairs of silk stockings for you.’
Sunday, 21 December
Last night came Bey who told me some touching details of the house full of Czech refugees she looks after. There are some small children who attend school and already have acquired more English than their parents. One child wrote a letter to Santa Claus, asking for certain delectable expensive toys. The poor father, unable to buy them, wrote a letter back from Santa, explaining that there was a war on. The child read it thoughtfully, accepted the reply and only said, ‘Santa Claus has made a mistake in his English.’
Bey says that the Czechs often write on long paper streamers the words, ‘We shall be home next Christmas’ and pin it on the mantelpiece. Poor things!
She said that whereas only a few children at the High School where she works used to stay to lunch, now 200 do!
Monday, 22 December
Mrs F. was very jubilant over having found a fifty-year-old chintz dust-sheet which she had made into two overalls – it saves coupons. At the hairdressers I was told that the one and only assistant was going into the WAAFs. The proprietress owned that she could not earn enough working alone to pay her rent, and her advertisements for elderly assistants have not yet been successful. And all her money is in it. Tragedy lurks everywhere.
‘Shall be glad when it is all over,’ exclaimed two women separately to me this afternoon when I went round with the last parcels for Christmas day: soap for Isobel, a book for Bey, a little woollen quilt for Rachel’s cot.
I am feeling so happy now that I am going away for a few days. I shall adore seeing the flat brown and purple stretches of the New Forest again.
Tuesday, 23 December
The New Forest is specially lovely in winter with the bare oaks and the glistening holly trees. There was a warm welcome at Picket Post, and a room filled with Christmas cards, many from the Forces. Muriel’s eldest son is in Burma, the second is flying in South Africa, the third arrived from Aldershot on sick leave. Peter is very thin and tall in his khaki. What a hideous colour it is, especially for women.
Thursday, 25 December
Rose joyfully, and gave and received gifts.
Later. We heard with dismay that Sir Mark Young, Governor of Hong Kong, had been told by his naval and military advisors that it was of no use to defend the place any longer. The Japanese had destroyed the water system.
To bed in great gloom. I considered the miserable case of my great friends the Eustaces. Every penny they had was invested in Hong Kong and Shanghai. He is white-haired, but will have to find a job.
At tea today, a Colonel said, knowing Hong Kong well, that it was never anticipated that we should be able to keep it: the defence, he surmised, was made to delay attack on Singapore.
Saturday, 27 December
Received with wrath and indignation, all sitting round Arthur’s comfortable fire, the news that the Japanese had bombed Manila, the open town, for two and a half hours.
Monday, 29 December
Very busy trying to get straight after the blessed and restful holiday. Various women I know listened enviously to my account of my trip. ‘I have not slept out of the house for over two years; one gets so stale . . .’
Tuesday, 30 December
Petronelle, my god-daughter of seventeen, has arrived to stay. She is longing for February, when she will join the Wrens. News about the Philippines is bad. Winston has made a long speech to the Canadians.
Wednesday, 31 December
Sad and restless today. What is happening to Hong Kong and to Manila?
1942
New Year’s Day
To tea with the Hopgoods. Marna is now an officer in the ATS. ‘Will you girls miss it all when peace comes?’ I asked. ‘Yes – but we all want six months’ fun at the end of it.’ Grace and I shivered, as we thought of the confused period directly after the peace.
Today came a parcel from Harry and Jenny – sugar and chocolate and dried figs.
What will this year bring? Final victory in Libya, at any rate. But how can we regain Hong Kong? Perhaps only at the Council table. I hope Sir Mark Young is being considerately treated.161
Friday, 2 January
Medical supplies weighing more than 100 tons, including surgical gloves, sterilisers, hypodermic needles, amputation knives, syringes, hot water bottles, and 695 lbs of agar-agar (a type of seaweed to be used for bacteriological work) were yesterday loaded in London ready for dispatch to Russia.
This morning I had letters from Tickie in Boston, from Nancy in Canada, from Jenny in Rhodesia. Tickie, who is engaged, says her fiancé is volunteering for the Navy: they can’t be married for ages. ‘But why should our affairs go well, when the world is upside down?’
Saturday, 3 January
Rachel says in her letter this morning: ‘As I listened to Winston’s firm promises of ultimate victory, I thought, yes, but what of all those we lose by the way? I’m afraid I don’t even feel any delight in thousands of Germans being done in. We can only drift on, just snatching at passing happiness, and doing any kindness we can along the way.’
Sunday, 4 January
Cyril Thompson, able seaman, was fined £6 at Hull yesterday for neglecting to proceed to sea after he had been lawfully engaged to serve on a vessel.
Thompson said he found his two brothers were in the same ship, and he did not think there should be three from one family on board. He had been twice torpedoed already.
The Stipendiary, Mr J. R. MacDonald, asked Thompson to visualise the position in the Mediterranean if Admiral Cunningham had said he did not like his brother, General Cunningham, to be be fighting in Libya at the same time.
Thompson replied that two were all right, but not three. Mr MacDonald told Thompson not to be so superstitious.
It was a great privilege to hear Robert Nicols, the poet, speak of Japan on the wireless last night. He was urgently concerned that we should understand that we and the Americans were up against a formidable foe. Behind an iron self-control, there lurked an underlying hysteria. The Japanese are not encouraged to be individuals. If they lose, there will, he thinks, be a most terrible internal revolution in Japan.
I finished Pepys and Wife Go To It, a diary of this present war, by R. M. Freeman. I laughed at this passage:
Mr P: ‘Late last night, just before going to bedd, we heard a weird, piercing noise, that I did instantly identify for a screaming bomb, my wife likewise. Whereat she hurriedly to dive under the bedd and I under the table. And there we lay, holding our breaths, and awaiting the explosion, when lo! through the party wall the clearly audible voice of neighbour Lee, saying, “Poor old Babbs!” (being the name of their catt), “Did I tread on him, then?” Never did I enjoy a laugh against myself soe heartily.’
Monday, 5 January
<
br /> Can we hold Singapore? This question is in all our minds, on this very cold evening, with mists hanging over Newlands Corner.
Saw the film of our Commandos’ attack on Vaasgo:162 the snow-covered hills, the dark water, the black outline of our ships, the humble houses, the sturdy figures of our men dashing hither and thither; the German prisoners looking impassive as they hurried along with upstretched hands.
Tuesday, 6 January
The Russians have issued a statement about the price Germany must pay when the war ends with the Allies’ victory. Here is an extract:
‘For all eternity, Russia declares that for all the German brutalities, Russia will call down on Germany the most solemn curse, and the most sacred vengeance. Russia will pay back a hundredfold every crime committed by Germany.’
I have always been persuaded that the Germans in Germany are still hugging themselves with delight over their victories, but surely any thoughtful Hun must be disturbed by the simple fact that America has come in.
Today Roosevelt has promised 45,000 fighters, bombers and dive bombers in 1942 and 100,000 next year.
Robin had a talk over the Russian manifesto with L., our local builder. He was all for the manifesto, and wished ‘to exterminate them all.’ Truly the tide of hatred towards Germany is running at the flood in Britain now.
L. said to Robin in wrath, ‘What, you’d let the Germans come in here again after the war?’ Robin replied gently, ‘I hope that will be possible.’ ‘I never did like your ideas,’ was the wrathful reply.
I see that Mr Ernest Bevin will now excuse domestic servants from leaving old and infirm people. How late in the day! Many tragedies have occurred already, in houses all over the country. But perhaps it is a good thing for old people to die during this war.
Friday, 9 January
Mrs Miles's Diary Page 17
