Friday
Another tremendous racket in the
early hours, when a commercial who had been to a fireman’s dance came in a bit
tight about 4am. Much chatter at
breakfast about this, speculation among the other inhabitants of this place as
to what anybody can find to do in Wisbech until 4am.
Brilliant sunny morning, but
freezing. Horse-drawn lorries coming
along the South Brink loaded with potatoes, the horses unshod. Noticed that they did not slip on the ice
going up over the bridge. Must enquire
as to what proportion of the Fen horses go without shoes.
Spent the whole morning in the
Library, repairing Roman pottery, then after lunch moved a few books about and
became thoroughly tired out. Had to go
out on cycle, looking for a sweep to come
and see to the boiler. Found him at last in a tiny alley
called Russell Street ,
all early 19th century cottages of yellowy brick, with pantile
roofs.
Miss Thompson brought word that
old Edwards is in bed with phlebitis, so I went round at tea-time to see him. He seemed very cheerful and resigned to stay
in bed for several weeks. Felt very
sorry for him.
Back to the Museum at 7, and went
through every drawer and cupboard in the office, not having had time to do this
before. Found all sorts of extraordinary
things, - magnificent “scrap book” of Nene
River , compiled by a man named Oldham , profusely illustrated. Excellent piece of work, containing most
valuable records – MS of “The Monk”, by Lewis, - Third Canto of “Don Juan”,
dedicated “with the Author’s Compliments” – series of plans of all the
defensive earthworks in Cambridgeshire, by a Revd. Dorling. Felt overwhelmed and quite depressed at such
a mass of material.
Meant to write letters tonight,
but this job took until 10 o’clock. Then
back to hotel, beneath brilliant stars, and the noise of high flying
‘planes. The moon will rise soon, so I
don’t suppose there will be any divers tonight.
Street lamps gleaming on the snow, and light glowing in the windows in
the Crescent and Ely Place .
Just at the corner of Castle Square ,
three French sailors came running and sliding on the icy road, whooping and
shouting. They had no hats, and seemed a
little drunk. One of them, a
petty-officer, fair-haired with a cheerful, pleasant face, came up to me and
asked in tolerable English if I could tell him the way to the “Toc H”
Canteen. I replied it was round to the
left, and seeing him rather puzzled added “au gauche, Monsieur,” to which he
laughed and said “Ah, c’est bon! Il
parle français, ce garçon! Tres bon!”
I said “Mais non, seulement un
peu, et mon accent est très mauvais, je sais .” They all laughed and ran away, shouting
something in French which I could not understand. Strange to talk French in a little Fenland
town on a cold still winter night.
Wonder where their homes are.
Went in, wishing that I had
somebody to talk to.
Been thinking about the divers
the other night. There seems no doubt
that the one which I saw fell about 4 miles the other side of Peterborough, and
it certainly seemed to me to pass 2 or 3 miles south of Wisbech, coming more or
less from the N.E. Lining this up on the
map, it would appear that it might almost have come in near Hunstanton or even
Cromer, and may have been wrongly directed.
Hope such mistakes don't often occur, or I shall regret that I ever came
here.
Have noticed that divers often
come in pairs. Wonder if they are
carried two at a time, slung under the wings of a ‘plane, rather than one under
the fuselage, as we are told in the Press.
Mrs Saltmarsh said today that she saw a bomber this morning which
appeared to be carrying something very like a flying bomb, and that she had
“heard” it was intended to use these things against Germany very soon. Yet we know, and never cease to repeat that
they are “cowardly”, “useless”, and “of no military value whatever!” Mrs Saltmarsh also said she had heard in a letter
that a rocket had fallen near Reading .
Mr Girling came in today to get
me to sign an agreement of my appointment here, which I did. One clause specifies that I am bound by 3
months notice on either side.
Listening to the talk among
commercials in the lounge tonight, I learnt that potato clamps are known as
“graves” in the Fens, and as “pies” in Yorkshire .
Bed at 11.30.
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