A Very Private Eye: The Diaries, Letters and Notebooks of Barbara Pym

by Barbara Pym

  Later on we had quite the opposite. Margaret and I had gone to the YWCA after supper and were sitting in the room opposite the canteen when two young clergymen came in with hymn books and said that they usually had a short service – so we stayed. Somebody at once chose ‘Rock of Ages’ – so we sang then had a very nice little address, then some prayers and finally more hymns which people began to choose. I could only think of ‘Lead, kindly Light’ and the one about keep our loved ones now far distant ’neath thy care. Anyway it was all very nice.

  Monday 19 July. Too Many Women. Has this ever been used as a title? It would do for my life in the Censorship or this Wren life – squashed among them in the queue for breakfast.

  In the afternoon we were enrolled – 3/O Rendel did it – she is rather nice, with a kind of babyish air which is a contrast to her parade ground manner. I had been feeling depressed but at teatime I got 3 letters, including a lovely one from Honor – Gordon knows now – he said he was glad I had got into the WRNS and hopes it will turn out to be a nice thing to have done – My only reaction is – well, (dear), it had better be! I was a little disappointed, having expected some message a little less dreary.

  Tuesday 20 July. Today we were kitted. We were taken in lorries to Chatham at 8 a. m. – a great herd of us – I was standing in a mass of suitcases, lurching all over the place as we drove very fast. My hat is lovely, every bit as fetching as I’d hoped, but my suit rather large though it’s easier to alter that way. I have also a macintosh and greatcoat – 3 pairs of ‘hose’ (black), gloves, tie, 4 shirts and 9 stiff collars, and two pairs of shoes which are surprisingly comfortable. After that we had to get respirators. One girl and I got left behind at the clothing store so had to hurry through the barracks – on our way we came across a little company of Greek sailors being drilled – in Greek. Service respirators are a good deal more comfortable than civilian – we went in the gas chamber. Then had lunch in the WRNS mess.

  It all sounds quite simple written down like this, but it’s a long dreary business and we all looked very tired and fed up as we sat (or lay) in dejected groups in the WRNS fo’c’sle – I wished I was out of it all – but suddenly, drinking the dregs of a cup of indifferent coffee my spirits began to lift and when we got back I was quite excited – I packed two large parcels of civilian clothes and sent them off. At 4.30 we had a lecture by a Padre, but all the time I wanted to shorten my skirt and there seemed to be so much to do. I got down to it eventually and little Peggy Wall very kindly marked all my things for me. After supper we mustered in the mess and 3/O Rendel read out the draft list – most of us are to go to Westcliff which is a holding depot where we wait indefinitely for a draft. Days or weeks. I envied Palmer, a dark evil-looking little steward, who had got a draft to Drake at Plymouth! The evening was spent frantically packing and worrying about how we were going to get our heavy suitcases to the station in the morning. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of what I had to do.

  Wednesday 21 July. After a rush to the station with heavy suitcases we heard that we’d missed the 9.29 which was almost a relief. It felt funny being in uniform – more like fancy dress than anything, but I don’t look too bad. Hair is a difficulty. I think I must have mine cut.

  This journey was noteworthy as being one of the longest and most tedious I have ever made – as the crow flies it isn’t far from Rochester to Westcliff but it took us about four and half hours to get there – rain and carrying luggage and laughing and hating Vera Potts (who always managed to get her suitcase carried) and over the ferry from Gravesend to Tilbury where we had hours to wait and had tea and cake in the refreshment room (3rd class) and Beatrice Pizzey and I stood and watched the rain pouring down. Tilbury obviously has been a large exciting station, but now it’s bare and deserted, though not decayed, just empty and waiting. We arrived at Westcliff and it was still raining. We were given a meal in the mess then went to our quarters – Pizzey and I are sharing a cabin in 7 Clifton Drive – a typical seaside villa in a row on the front – there is a good view of Southend Pier and plenty of ships to be seen – but no beach to speak of. Was asleep literally as soon as my head touched the pillow. I was on fire watch duty – but no siren luckily.

  Thursday 22 July. There are no clocks here at all except one by the Regulating office, but there are various bugles, bells, bosun’s pipes etc. which sound in the camp and are some guide. First bugle is 6.30. Pipe down 10 o’clock. We had to rush into breakfast – I was unwashed and wore my hat – a contrast to our decorous behaviour and dress at the Nore – also smoked, though this has now been stopped. We had an examination by the M.O. after breakfast – at least when I say ‘examination’ it was hardly that – ‘Are you feeling quite well?’ – ‘Yes thank you sir’ – no more than that. After that Beatrice and I scrubbed a larder – saw masses of butter etc., large tins of golden syrup like petrol tins. The food is good here, though everything is rather slapdash – there’s plenty of it, but we often have to wait for knives etc. After dinner we had P. T., very strenuous with a very fine upstanding young man who puts on an Oxford accent. After Tea Boat a lecture from 1st Officer Bowen-Jones in a sad room littered with benches and piled-up chairs at the back – and round the walls large square mirrors, rather misted over and spotted – not with gold baroque frames, but the place had an atmosphere – the room where the children played on wet days or there was a dance in the evenings or pingpong – before it was table tennis I think.

  After supper we walked a short way along the front – sadness and decay – closed cafés, Tomassi’s ices, and Rossi’s – the idea for a radio programme came into my head – about a seaside town before and during the war. Now rolls of barbed wire everywhere, but gardens decently kept.

  Friday 23 July. The most strenuous day I’ve ever had in the WRNS so far. Gardened till lunch, then squad drill, then scrubbed a room in Palmerston Court. Quite worn out. One’s spirits go up and down. After supper we walked into Southend and had a look at it – it is definitely a common place with no charm as far as I can see – one great street of shops – Woolworth’s, Marks and Spencer and cheap stores – pin-tables and amusement halls – cinemas – the whole place smelling of fish and chips – raffish – and an enormous hotel, the Palace. Much of it decayed, but in a very depressing way, no beauty or dignity or even nostalgia about it. We finished up at the Women’s Services Club, which is a house with various rooms, library etc. and refreshments – very convenient.

  Sunday 25 July. Why am I always depressed at Sunday Divisions and church parade? We marched (rather badly) in shirt sleeves and were inspected by the Captain, who hurried along our ranks with his head bent. The service was awful – I was choking with tears and longing for the Coppice and Honor and everyone, so that I could hardly sing. The place was very hot and the sailors restless and irreverent. I was surprised at their bad behaviour. After dinner I had a good howl in my cabin! Then washed my face, powdered and lipsticked and went and sat in the public gardens and read G. D.H. & M. Cole, which I’d got out of the Services Club Library. It was terribly hot and I began to fall asleep and dreamed of a field of waving corn but when I opened my eyes it was just the sea and the ships and Southend pier if I could see it. I had tea at a little café and then decided to explore the amenities of Westcliff – to see if there was anything to see – any churches or fine buildings. Well, there’s nothing – I walked down a road of dreary suburban houses called Valkyrie Road which led me into what seemed an interminable street of shops, many of them shut up, ruined and otherwise decayed. One felt that the whole lot might just as well be wiped out and started again. I don’t think Westcliff or Southend has much for me now. I noticed an undertaker’s shop – ‘H. W. Whur – Cremations arranged’. I wonder if it’s any relation to the author of ‘The Female Friend’ in The Stuffed Owl. Walking along carrying my coat and feeling like a braised owl it all began to seem quite funny as it usually does and I gradually came out of my depression. For supper I changed into a cotton frock and sat on a seat on th
e front – really very pleasant like being on holiday. But I’m not.

  Wanting Gordon still comes into it. Now that the novelty of being a Wren is wearing off. WRNS – you aren’t giving me enough. I’m doing my best, trying to see the funny side, looking out for churches and buildings, writing it up, talking to various people and trying to take it all as a great chunk of experience – an extraordinary bit of life – but I want music and intellectual companionship and affection – to be able to lavish it as I could at the Coppice. Well – perhaps I’ll get all that, one day. Don’t forget the whimsical and perilous charm – there’ll come a day when you really will have to pack that Gladstone bag and go to wherever the Admiralty thinks fit. And in the meantime there are little things to look forward to, letters and the unexpected.

  Monday 26 July. It was terribly hot – and now I know how hot one can feel in uniform even without a coat. I scrubbed out a room in Palmerston Court. We visited four ships – ordinary looking middle-aged men in navy blue suits and trilby hats climbed perilous rope ladders. Somehow one didn’t connect them with the sea.

  I stood looking over the side – humming ‘Dearly Beloved’ and that took me back to the early spring and trips on the top of a 28 bus to Avonmouth, and I knew that the thought of Gordon is still an ache, a longing, a regret, a sadness.…

  Two sirens in the night – I had to get up – oh wretched, looking at the stars and hearing muffled guns towards Sheerness and Canvey Island.

  Tuesday 27 July. Another grilling day. Was working at Mount Liell which appears to be rather junior officers’ quarters. Cleaned windows and a bathroom and swept. It amuses me to pay exaggerated respect to very young sublieutenants and even midshipmen, flattening myself and my broom against the wall as they pass, less than the dust indeed. The F.O.I.C. was coming down to inspect us so we were urged to make ourselves very scarce indeed – consequently we did nothing from 12 to 2.30 except have dinner and sit under the apple tree in the backyard of our house, reading – The Constant Nymph. At 2.30 P.T. inside the gym – he was more merciful than last week. At 6.45 I had my hair cut and set – pageboy again which is more my style really, then tea at the Services Club and finally a walk in search of churches or other interesting buildings – so far I’ve only seen chapels, but tonight I found St Alban’s, modern and rather ugly outside but somebody was playing the organ rather well so I went in – it was a girl, her bicycle was in the porch. The church was dark and smelled comfortingly of incense – there were little lights burning and a statue of the Virgin Mary. It has no tablets or monuments worth mentioning – I should think it is quite new. I think I must try and go there on Sunday to take away the depressed feeling that the service here gives me.

  Wednesday 28 July. I was sent to sweep and clean in the V.A.D.’s quarters, but I had just started on a room when I was summoned to First Officer – so into uniform again, and after waiting for a time I went in – apparently she has just discovered I am a white paper (Rochester hadn’t told her) and I am to be given a job to do in Whitehall Regulating office. I saw 3/ O Patch and spent the rest of the morning and afternoon trying to learn a little about my job which is to take over Green Watch – rather formidable but P/O Williams is very kind and helpful and I hope I’ll be able to pick it up.

  Thursday 29 July. My first day in Regulating Office – quite enjoyed it, especially being able to smoke and drink tea – there’s so much to think about one has no time to brood! We were paid – about 32/- – the Paymaster is a thin harassed looking man, as he might well be. I officiated at 3/O Patch’s lecture and held up charts for her – had to march a squad of Pro-Wrens back – managed quite successfully. What will I turn into at this rate.

  Saturday 31 July. Had a rather hectic time looking for people to do the washing up and trying to hunt out those who weren’t there. Not like me at all, but it will be good for me to learn.

  Sunday 1 August. We had Divisions and I couldn’t swing my arms properly so Third Officer Honey had to move me. Gradually people will begin to discover what a fake I am – how phoney is my Wrennish façade. My Wren façade – no that makes it quite different. We had the service outside this week – it was much nicer, though singing was a little difficult as the harmonium accompaniment dragged rather. After that I went to the Regulating Office and made out my list for Monday. I am going to try hard to be really efficient – it doesn’t come naturally to me, no use pretending it does, but it will be good for me to learn to be.

  I went to a concert in Southend with Beatrice and Eileen Starinovich. Pouishnoff was giving a Chopin recital, the first concert I’ve been to since goodness knows how long. I became drowsy and thought all sorts of strange dreamy surrealist things – none of which I can now remember – of Gordon, of course, and it’s still a raw wound. And will I ever meet anybody here to divert my thoughts from him? Ought I to go dancing feverishly at the Queen’s? Is there anything for me in the future.

  Monday 2 August. In the afternoon we went on a tug trip – had some jolly conversation with some Irish Merchant Navy. One had a little sacking bag full of cockles which he offered to us, also cigarettes. The sea was rough and sometimes the spray drenched us. We visited several ships, two quite large ones. One felt very nautical, especially climbing back out of the boat on to the pier up a rather scarifying ladder. I was the first to set foot on it.

  Wednesday 4 August. A very busy day – went into Southend on a bicycle and enjoyed the ride – carrying a Petty Officer’s coat for which I was trying to buy buttons and an Admin. Crown.

  Friday 6 August. I was standby so did some ironing and talked to a strange girl with flowing blonde hair who asked me if I drank a lot. Gone are the days of round about Christmas when through a glorious haze of Guinness I was happy in my own little piece of world enough and time.

  Sunday 8 August. Did not go to Divisions, but watched from an upper window – no I mean from above and thought sentimentally how nice the sailors looked in their blue collars. After dinner I went to the Services Club and managed to get some chocolate – then lay reading and sleeping, listening to Johnny Canuck’s Revue, writing to Honor and talking to some ATS.

  Monday 9 August. I am officially drafted to HMS Westcliff as from the 11th. I’m pleased – Busy today as 56 are going out and 44 coming in on Wednesday.

  Thursday 12 August. Writing in my new single cabin, having just had a hot bath, great luxury. Spent the evening at the Services Club drinking tea and writing letters. Was called Leading Wren by one of the new ones!

  Friday 13 August. The Superintendent came. P.O. came in with a rumour that Holding Depot might be increased to 500 – Palmeira and the block of flats by us might be taken – awful speculations.

  (Oh dear, what value will this journal be to posterity with its nautical jargon and incomprehensible daily routine – the puzzled reader of After Christmas plodding hopefully on to A Happy Ending will stick in the bogs of Wren Pym asking plaintively but what is Holding Depot and what do you mean when you say you were standby?)

  Saturday 15 August. Went to Divisions and service. The dear boys behaved a little better than usual. But the Padre has no idea of what to say to them. In the evening went into the Queen’s with Margaret Earp to have a drink and listen to the band – orchestra I should say. It was nice in a way but I couldn’t help feeling sad. It would have been better if we’d had some male company of course. There was a full moon when we got out. I went doggedly to bed and read a novel by Stephen McKenna. On how many evenings, when one is older, does one just go ‘Doggedly to Bed’. (Obviously the title of something.)

  Tuesday 17 August. Busy coping with tomorrow’s drafts – everyone grizzling so that one feels harsh and inhuman and would like to knock their heads together and send them to some filthy place.

  Wednesday 18 August. Had a letter from Honor – it was over a week since I’d heard and this was a short letter – one page – I unfolded it, wondering.… And I read that she had had mumps and George had arrived suddenly in England on Saturday. Naturally
I was quite overcome – the thing one had never dared imagine – and oh what does it feel like to have one’s love come back like that.… I wonder if it will ever happen to me. But I’m so happy for her.

  We had quite a busy day – 23 out and 14 in. I staggered with luggage from the station. Like a seaside landlady showing them round anxiously pointing out the delights of a front cabin.

  Thursday 19 August. In the evening, I went to the Palace in Southend with Joyce Gresham. It is a large jolly smoky place, rather pleasant, crowded with people, mostly soldiers and cadets, a few odd Navy, Poles and Americans. We got some drinks, harmless little half pints, a Cadet asked Joyce to dance and bought us some drinks – I had a dance with one of his friends – not quite my height; but I found I still remembered how to dance. Afterwards Joyce’s cadet saw us most of the way home – we got talking about classical music. It was quite an enjoyable, queer kind of evening – and I know I should love it if I had someone nice (and tall) to dance with. Funny moment when, sitting in that vast smoky place I realised that I didn’t care twopence for a single person there!

  Thursday 26 August. Busy and weary in the evenings. Not busy with doing things entirely, but with wondering if I’ve forgotten things and coping with people. And yet it doesn’t really worry me – and I’m not frightened of anyone. It has given me confidence – and I feel I can do something I thought I couldn’t before.

  3–6 September. Had my first weekend – went to the Coppice. Off on the 10.16 train – then from Fenchurch St to Paddington, and it wasn’t till I was in the train there that I began to realise it – the real places – Reading, Swindon, Chippenham, Bath, Bristol. Hilary had expected me at 7.30, so there was nobody to meet me – but by a miraculous chance I was seen going up the steps by Honor and Julian – We had a taxi to the Coppice. No need to say what the reunion was like. And they think I look nice in uniform. A boiled egg for my tea. And what strikes me is the luxuriant greenness of everything – the lovely trees and the weeds in the garden!