16.
Your Mother in Englant
Monday, 18 March 1940
Since 1933 I have been using these 6d. Woolworth’s notebooks at a pretty regular rate of two a year for my journal. Now, at the same price, they are selling them one quarter or less this thickness.
I’m frightened tonight: the future seems so fearful. Italy is promising to join Germany and Russia against us – fighting lovely Italy! Oh the world is mad. Somehow one has a ghastly vision of Turkey turning traitor, of the Scandinavian countries withdrawing from us, of America suddenly, strangely allying with Germany, of unrest in Britain spreading, dying in our common desire to defend ourselves from our foes and, like Finland, fighting fearful, hopeless odds. England beaten by the Dictators! Hitler as King – really tonight nothing seems too fantastic to be possible. At least half of my friends would commit suicide or be imprisoned.
A year ago I was beginning a new book and reading Katherine Mansfield, as I am now. I had hardly decided to leave Hampstead for good. I did not think there would be a war. At the back of me are still those dreams. I could recall and re-establish them in a moment: a warm, thrilling, satisfying male companion with me on a couch by a sitting room fire, and later in bed. I had no clear picture of the man’s features, only his strength and warmth and a dark sparkle of admiration in his eyes, his sense of humour, his passion and tenderness and desire which equalled mine.
Tuesday, 26 March (War Diary)
No spring attack on England has been made yet. Fighting in the air and at sea continues. Tension over the Balkan situation increases. I am anxious for the possible fate of Suez, as my brother is stationed there with his wife and small daughter. We do not seem to be dealing with the unrest in India very successfully. Changes in our Government are mooted.
Though these events determine our future we have no control over them. We live from day to day in a kind of resigned doubtfulness, unable to make plans for more than a month ahead.
One night after 11 p.m. I was experimenting with foreign wavelengths on the radio when I heard a cockney voice speaking from a German station. A German announcer said in English, ‘Now give your name and address. Come, speak to your mother in Englant.’
‘I am a prisoner in Germany’ said the English voice, ‘I am not wounded. I am in the best of health. I send my love and kisses to all at home.’
More prisoners were brought to the microphone. Each gave his name and address. The address of one was near Bath, one near London, one in Berkshire. Said the announcer to one of them, ‘You are keen on football, I understand? You took part in a match against the German team, did you not? State in your own words the result of this match.’
‘The Germans won,’ came the reply without enthusiasm. ‘By 3 goals to one.’
To another prisoner the announcer remarked, ‘You have not shaved this morning?’
‘No,’ answered the Englishman, ‘I have no kit.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I left it in the trenches.’
‘You did not bring it with you?’
The Englishman began to stammer and was faded out. ‘No … I … it was all too quick …’
Monday, 8 April
For nearly twenty-four hours I have been saying No, I must not write in here. But my short story ‘Prodigal Daughter’ has just been returned from Penguin Parade and I cannot contain my feelings any longer.97 I am grateful that I have a fire and food and pleasant surroundings, but am depressed utterly that I have so much and have given so little. Perhaps I am just to be a proof that talent and desire and opportunity are not enough to make an artist. Or perhaps I’m struggling along a road I’m not and never have been meant to follow. All that I want to do crumbles and seems nothing. I think I know what a flower might feel that was not pollinated. I think now that I shall never be anything else: fit only to rot in time.
Wednesday, 10 April
A sense of impending disaster has haunted me these last few days. I put it down to my own depression. But now I wonder. Yesterday we heard that the Fleet had sown minefields in Norwegian waters. Today that the Nazis have overrun little Denmark and occupied certain strategic towns in Norway. The Germans certainly have a genius for organisation. This movement of theirs will lead to momentous doings.
Sunday, 14 April (War Diary)
I sit alone, grinding out short stories which no editor wants, and wonder whether I should not be playing a more active, a more obviously useful part in this war. Voluntary ARP work for instance or a full Red Cross training. Yet something (it may be laziness) says, WAIT.
It is difficult to understand why the German people tolerate and even approve, as they seem to do, the actions of their rulers. There are two opinions current in England at the moment. One is that we are fighting the Nazis, not the German people, and that if we destroy the Nazis everything will be all right. The other is that Nazism is the natural expression of the German character and therefore the whole German nation must be punished. I don’t see what right we have to punish the nation for Nazism. I think it is more important to find out where its roots lie and to see if its energy can be diverted into saner channels.
Sunday, 28 April
I have been staying with Joan in Hampstead for a fortnight. When I left here the garden and the trees were still hesitant, waiting. But the weather changed last weekend, and I returned to find the grass on the lawn three inches high, tulip buds showing lines of colour and bees chorusing in the flowering currant. Dinah’s kittens had arrived too – squeaking triplets. She is so delighted and proud. I wanted to send telegrams to everyone.
I think I shall have to find work of some sort soon, a daily job in High Wycombe, Slough or Windsor. If only I could get some freelance journalism. The depression deepens, it doesn’t go.
Saturday, 4 May
Dinah’s husband Ginger Tom was collected by his owner at the beginning of the week (after living here since January). But he returns every night in the dead hours to see his wife and family; he jumps through my bedroom window miaowing lustily. Tonight about 11.30 he didn’t go to Dinah’s saucer at once as he usually did, but waited for me to stroke his head and speak a word of welcome. Dinah jumped up from her box and ran to greet him, touched his nose with hers.
Sunday, 5 May
Last night the King of Hearts fell from the patience cards at my feet. I want to fall in love again. I want to fall in love with someone who will fall in love with me. Oh God, is it too late?
Thursday, 9 May
A debate has raged in Parliament. We have proved that we are still a democracy, that we may still criticise our leaders. Chamberlain seems to me a tragic figure. I have a respect for him, the feeling I might have for a Tory Uncle. A silly old fool but well intentioned, and he has dignity. His policy and views may be narrow and prejudiced but I feel that as a man he has character.
Graham Howe told Monica Haddow that he believes the war will end this year and will be followed by the beginnings of a great, bloodless social revolution all over the world. I find slight indications that this may be so. The feeling in nearly everyone I meet is that changes in a big way are necessary.
Friday, 10 May
Germany has invaded Holland and Belgium. Has it begun at last this war?
I have just heard from Canada: The Geographical Soc has accepted my article on Malta for their journal. They cannot publish it before 1941. But the relief and exultation!
9 p.m. I think Chamberlain is magnificent – magnificent! And I’m going to tell everyone I think so.
(War Diary)
Attacks have been made along the Western Front. The Whitsun holiday has been cancelled for all government workers. The paper this morning was full of Chamberlain’s possible resignation. The withdrawal of our troops from Norway was a bitter surprise – it made Hitler’s ‘strategical blunder’ into another masterstroke of strategy and we feel humiliated. What lies before us now? Is it coming at last, the terror we long since ceased to expect? Will Hitler reduce England to a smal
l insular state, take away our colonies, gold, platinum, radium and 80 per cent of our merchant fleet, make Egypt into a German protectorate, ‘free’ India into an associated state with Germany, and so on and so on.
I have just heard Chamberlain broadcast his resignation. I think that was a magnificent gesture – not the broadcast, but his resignation at this moment. He might, under the present stress, so easily have patched things up and gone on under the same administration for a little longer. I believe he has always acted, in his own view, for the good of his country – beyond any personal advantage. He has proved it now.
Churchill has been appointed new Prime Minister.
My little cat chases butterflies on the lawn.
Wednesday, 15 May
Ethel came for the day. Such a sad, lonely little person now, it wrings my heart. It upsets me to see someone as nice as E. unhappy. Is there nothing I can do for her – short of offering to share my life with her, which somehow I cannot bring myself to do. She is so kind to me now, loves to refer to me in casual conversation to strangers as ‘my daughter’.
Thursday, 16 May (War Diary)
Units of men between ages of 17–65 are being formed to protect coast towns and villages from parachute jumpers. They will wear uniform, carry arms, and receive training in their spare time, and be known as Local Defence Volunteers.98
Friday, 17 May
I have been racing through Barbellion’s journal.99 He uses words with fine, scientific clarity and an exquisite artistic sensibility. He writes much better than I do, yet he gives me courage that mine may be read one day also. If I could be certain I should relax and be happy. Barbellion told his intimate friends about his journal, he discussed it with them, let his wife read it. Not one solitary person in the world knows of mine.
(War Diary)
In Germany it is reported an institute has recently been established for a two-year course for housewives, ending with an examination and the conferring of title ‘Master Housewife’. This helps to give domestic activities the character of a profession which is publicly acknowledged and encouraged. Some sense in this. But as for its effect in Germany, see also ‘The Position of Women Under Nazi Rule’ talk published in the Listener, 16 May.100
Sunday, 19 May
Have spent the day at Whipsnade with Gus and Phyllis. We saw baby bears, peacocks, flamingos, black swans, three ugly black baboons in a very playful and entertaining mood, oh, and the tigers and the lions and the polar bears, the elephants, the wolves and the little free wallabies, and all manner of other interesting creatures, high on the North Downs. Then drove back through a countryside so rich in young greens, May blossom, lilac, laburnum and all the pageant of early summer.
Tuesday, 21 May (War Diary)
Went today to see Joan in Hampstead. She thinks London will be safer than the coast and is going to bring her son Geoffrey back from Bournemouth.
Wednesday, 22 May
Germans have reached Amiens. I have housework to do, I have letters to write, books to read, but I can settle to none of them. All I can think of is: the Germans are coming, the Germans are coming. They have got everything so far they have planned to get. Something is rotten in our state and in our armies. Each time we are taken by surprise. God, let me live to help build a new and real democracy, or let me die …
Tuesday, 28 May
The Belgian army has capitulated.
I have just returned from taking Ginger Tom to see a vet in Slough. He has strained a ligament in one of his hind legs, and must be made to rest as much as possible. The vet is a big, fair, good-looking man of about 40. He is physically rather attractive, but I affect not to notice it when in his surgery. He handles animals firmly and efficiently and speaks to them kindly. Something a little cynical in his manner: ‘These fussy women – how gladly they part with 2s. 6d. for their pets.’
(War Diary)
I don’t think I shall be able to keep out of this war much longer. I begin to see what I must do, but God I do not want to do it. I must join the Civil Nursing Reserve. I cycled through the woods this morning trying to think it out. Perhaps I shan’t have to go – shall I wait a little longer? But isn’t that just what we have all been doing, hoping. And now we and the French are alone against the Nazis in Europe, and they are on our doorstep.
Wednesday, 29 May
On the bus back to Farnham Common from High Wycombe I saw that they hold a course for architects in the evenings, beginning in September. I began to think: would it not be a good thing to ask for more details and see if I could work again for the Intermediate RIBA? This would give support to my architectural journalism efforts – a qualified person has more authority in writing.
Afterwards, alone in the cottage, I continued this conversation with myself: ‘I should like to join the Civil Nursing Reserve, but I cannot leave this place unless I can find someone to look after it for me.’ I thought of Ethel. I thought that this is just what she would love to do. I am still weeping. I do not want to do it.
Thursday, 30 May
The British Expeditionary Force cut off in Flanders is fighting its way to Dunkirk on the coast where communications are still open and ships are bringing supplies. Attacks are being made from the Channel by the French Navy and RAF.
‘Sensible People’ are to be nominated in every district to act as guides, under the authority of the Ministry of Information, to kill false rumours and circulate information in the event of a breakdown of ordinary communications.
Friday, 31 May
With the cooperation of the Allied Air Forces, the navies have carried supplies to the rearguard in the Flanders wedge and evacuated the first contingent of BEF, French and Belgian troops. A defeat has been turned into a great achievement. But how soon the Germans will turn towards Paris or attempt the invasion of England no one can say.
All signposts on the roads of Britain are being taken down. Saw some on a lorry by the Common this afternoon.
Saturday, 1 June (War Diary)
The evacuation of troops from Dunkirk continues. An epic.
Malcolm MacDonald urges the immediate evacuation of children from the East and SE coasts – Government consider raids imminent.
Monday, 3 June (War Diary)
Fanny tells me that a local man, one of the BEF, just returned from Flanders saying that the papers do not exaggerate. Germans bomb the wounded; he saw them. It was hell let loose. They had to run – how they had to run! – and he a man of 50 who had served in the last war. Troops were crossing in all kinds of craft – little fishing boats, motor boats, anything. The Admiralty has issued a statement describing how these were summoned and how they responded. What a magnificent achievement.
We hear the sound of guns on still days. I thought it was practice somewhere near but I am told it is the guns of Flanders. This is no longer considered a ‘safe’ area. They fear for the trading estate and are taking all precautions. The LDV is on duty in shifts the whole time.
A story is going round the village of a caretaker cleaning in a church one evening. A clergyman came in, said he was tired and wanted to rest. The caretaker went on with her work and left, but for some reason returned and heard a lot of noise in the belfry. She went for assistance and they discovered the ‘clergyman’ with wireless set transmitting messages to the enemy.
Friday, 7 June
London was calm. There are more sandbags and shelters. The sky was sprinkled with barrage balloons. But the daily life of the city seemed terrifyingly normal. I lay in bed in the morning listening to the footsteps of early workers in South Hill Park, the leisurely progress of a milk cart. The West End was not crowded but was by no means empty. Women shopped as usual. June sunshine had brought out a crop of light frocks, white hats, sunglasses. Strawberries were on sale. The weather is perfect.
Saturday, 8 June (War Diary)
Germans have launched a furious attack on the Somme but we are holding them back. On the outcome of this battle, says the New Statesman, the future depends.
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These are days of most appalling tension. One lives from hour to hour. Raiders are over the South and East coasts nightly but no serious damage or casualties have been reported. When I was in London I heard of people in Deal who say the town is barricaded and wound with barbed wire like nothing in their knowledge. Their house shakes nightly. All townsmen who can have left. Troops are in possession.
Ethel and Aunt Maggie have Belgian refugees. I met them – a master plumber and his wife, homely, pleasant folk. Ethel said that when they arrived they were in a terrible state. He burst into tears. They left two sons in Belgium, one recently married, a gendarme, but they have no news of them. They think their home and business are gone. They help in the house. They speak very little English but he speaks French. He told someone he was so glad that this house was clean, a point we overlook: while we fear ‘dirty’ refugees (I remember stories from the last war), we forget there are decent folk among them who may fall into bad billets. The couple were refugees in the last war (think of it – twice in a lifetime!).
Sunday, 9 June
The heat seeps down. It is as hot as it ever was in Malta. I was up before 7 a.m. and gardened for three hours in the coolness of early morning. The Listener, the Sunday Times and a Pelican edition of George Moore’s Confessions of a Young Man curl in the sun.
My championship of Chamberlain is short lived. I have not studied politics long enough to realise the extent and enormity of his crimes … Scarcely anyone but Fascists have a good word for him now. In fact, one is suspected of Fascist tendencies if one says anything for him.
A Notable Woman Page 19