Chapter 8: Failure and Frustration - August and September, 1941

Merry christmas, everyone. I've found myself uninspired these past couple of months, among other things.

This diary continues to be a very emotional piece, which, in conjunction with events in my own life, has made it difficult to really throw myself back into continuing this blog.

The good news is - for the first time in my life, I am visiting the South Island here in my home country of New Zealand this coming friday.
I'm going to get to spend christmas with my dad, his partner, my stepsister and if I remember rightly - my stepbrother is also able to come down.

I have affection for all of them, so I'm greatly looking forward to seeing a happy ending to a somewhat tumultuous year.

This past week has been especially charged, with small frustrations and stresses, but still with a glimmer.

A very old friend of mine, whom I also hold a lot of affection for, has come back into my life. Or rather, I have somewhat barged back into his. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I'm happy to say that the ones I made with him are being mutually put behind us for the sake of a better, brighter future.

Merry christmas, Chris.

Merry christmas and happy new year to everyone else.

Remember the rule - Imagine people complexly. Everyone you see, driving past you on the highway, walking past you on the footpath, posting on the internet - they all have as many internal monologues and problems as you do.

In spite of the war I was still living in the protected atmosphere generated by a loving family and close-knit village community.
Such an environment has great advantages but it has one great draw-back for it nurtures prejudices.

At eighteen I was a self-centred confident young woman secure in the knowledge that my opinions were the only correct ones.
The double shock of leaving my home and of entering the university blew my smug attitudes apart with the same force as a pin pricking a balloon.
All my ideas were scattered, leaving me gasping for knowledge to fill the vacuum.

The initial detonator was a college discussion “Should we hate the Germans?”
When I saw the notice for it I thought “What a stupid question - of course we all hate them.
They are responsible for this terrible war and the sooner we win it the sooner we can get our revenge.”
I decided to attend the meeting and voice my contempt for such ignorance.
Fortunately the meeting opened with a speaker who gave a brief resume of the conditions leading up to the rise of Hitler to power.

I had heard the name of Oswald Mosley but I had never bothered to discover anything about him.
I was astonished to learn that here in Great Britain there were people who were prepared to join a Nazi Party he had led before the war and that in Germany there were men who had actively opposed Hitler and everything that he stood for.

Such people had suffered at his hands even more than we are suffering now.

Most of the people in positions of power who are screaming for total subjection of the Germans after the war are interested in gaining control of German industry for their own profit.

They are covering these ambitions with a patriotic wrapping and if we let them do it then we shall not have a lasting peace.
If we hate a whole people then we are following the Nazi creed and punishing a future generation for the sins of this generation.

July 30th
Mum decided that she must go to Hull and see the situation for herself. She is hoping to bring Granddad back with her.

I have been to put her on the train at King’s Cross. We went by the usual shortest route via London Bridge and the northern line on the Underground, but coming back I could not face the desolation of London Bridge for a second time so I came by the inner circle back to Victoria.
It takes over half an hour as the two stations are on nearly opposite sides of the circle but since the trains continually travel in two circles going in opposite directions I knew I could relax and doze, since if I missed Victoria I could hop off and get the next train back.

I am very tired but tomorrow I am planning to take Barbara to see Charles Boyer in “Love Affair”.
She has never seen Boyer and I think he is so ‘dishy’ that every female should get the chance to swoon at the sound of his husky accented voice.

August 9th
Mum came back today but with Uncle Jim but not Granddad.
Uncle Jim says he needs a chance to recharge his batteries, so that he can continue to cheer the populace with his comic performances on stage.
I hope we do not get too many sleepless nights while he is staying with us.

Mum told me that she was really frightened when she first arrived outside Paragon Station as there was just a vast waste ground covered with rubble and derelict buildings instead of the familiar shops and pavements.
She says the city is dead and they had to walk most of the way to Spring Bank because the buses are so erratic.

Uncle Jim amused us with a tale of Bob’s introduction to the R.A.F. at Padgate.
On arrival Bob was given pilchards and mashed potatoes for tea, which was a bit of a comedown from Yorkshire pudding, hand raised pork pie and curd cheese cakes.

The first morning in the outfitting room they could not find a hat big enough to fit Bob’s huge head and when he arrived at his bunk to sort out his armful of equipment he had two left sandshoes.
Although he has large feet as well as a big head his feet do differ from each other. Since they were unable to rectify this mistake at the time he used it as an excuse to miss physical training and cross-country running.
Instead he was made the billet orderly, learning to take a pride in a good turn-out and well tried routine.
Eventually he got his shoes and joined in the initial training where the instructor continually referred to his recruits as his load of pregnant ducks.

The final rehearsal for their passing out parade was in the field near their tents and that instructor had great difficulty maintaining discipline when, behind his back, a mother duck appeared with her brood waddling along behind her in perfect formation.
Jack Guy came over with a bit of pig’s fry for Mum as he knows she likes it.

Officially the pig he killed does not exist, because Jack is not very good at predicting how many piglets his sows will have when they farrow.
After all, he is a farmer, not a prophet.

If an inspector arrives to count his pigs he stirs them up so that the stink and movement convinces the man that he has counted the same number as Jack has entered on the official form.

August 16th
Uncle Jim went back today but he has enjoyed his visit.
He managed to start Gordon’s motor-bike. There was no petrol in it.
Dad does have some petrol coupons for the little mobile pump used for emptying the humus tanks, so we will be able to keep it going now.

Uncle Jim borrowed Uncle Arthur’s bicycle and we went out for rides together.
One day, returning from Oxted after a scavenging expedition for saccharins, we came home along Mill Lane.

It is so beautiful along there with the willow trees trailing their leafy locks in the stream and by the side of the road purple wild scabious covered with tortoise shell butterflies lazily displaying their wings in the hot sunshine.

There is a letter from Gordon with another studio portrait. I am pleased he has shaved off that moustache as this picture is just like the Gordon I remember.

We are harvesting again and today I had a cheese sandwich for lunch. We do not get much cheese on the ration but Dad has a large extra allowance for being a manual worker.
He loves his cheese and could eat it all himself but he said it was what I needed to buck me up and counteract this continual tiredness.

When I came home for tea Mrs Hankey was there with her latest problem.
This really is a teaser. Joan, her daughter, is expecting her first baby and she doesn’t know whether to apply for the Army allowance for it, as her husband has not officially been on leave for ten months.
Four months ago he managed to hitch-hike home and back again on an air transport from North Africa. It’s amazing what some of the officers get up to.

However, she seemed quite happy with Dad’s solution.
He said “Don’t worry, you don’t have to put the father’s name on the application form because Brother Ernest’s girls all get the allowance. The authorities will just assume it is another affair with a Canadian.”

August 23rd
Mrs Fuller has had a communication from the Red Cross to say that Alan is a prisoner of war.
He is in Stalag Luft 3, wherever that is.

She can only write once a month but she wants me to write sometimes as he needs to keep in touch with his former school friends.
She sends the letters to the Red Cross who are responsible for getting them to the prisoners.

Mum thinks I need a tailored costume for College so we have been to Redhill to get me measured at the Fifty Shilling Tailors.
I have chosen a grey pinstripe suiting and pleated skirt. It has taken all the money that I earned last holiday with Mr Chapman at Copthorne. That job was very good experience for me.

The whole school, consisting of three classes, is in the village hall, one in the middle facing the side wall and the others at the two ends facing outwards.

At times it was bedlam with the teachers trying to talk against each other, but the worst time was when the children were outside playing and a German raider swept down and machine-gunned them.
By some miracle nobody was hit and Mr Chapman, who was on duty, blew his whistle and marshalled them inside.
But I know that he was very badly shaken as on the way home he ran into me turning a corner on our bicycles.

We have another letter from Gordon and he is now in Durban.

September 3rd
I hope I do not have any more days like this one. My costume arrived in the post
and the sleeves are too short, but the other two letters in the post were far worse.

The first one from London University was a list of results and my name is not there, although Cliff has done well, gaining exemption from the Intermediate Bachelor of Science examination.

The second letter was from Taffy listing my marks. I have only got forties for every subject, but oddly enough the examinations that I feared the most are the ones I have passed. I got in the sixties for both my practicals.

I suppose I can still go to King’s College as there was nothing in my letters of acceptance to say my entry depended on the Higher School Certificate results.
Perhaps they took it as a foregone conclusion that I would pass.

September 21st
I have had a letter from King’s with instructions for reporting times and places. I have been allocated to a boarding house in Bristol, since all the hostel accommodation is reserved for the Bristol undergraduates.

I have to be at Paddington station tomorrow for the 1.15 p.m. train.
I am apprehensive about leaving home, so this afternoon I took Barbara to see the film ‘Major Barbara’.
It is about a Salvation Army major and it was so good that for a couple of hours I forgot about my concerns for the future.

I hope the boarding house is near the University as the amount required for my board is so high that it will take all my scholarship money so there will not be any for bus fares.

Mrs Chapman has given me a lot of exercise books and other stationery as I have no money to buy that either.

September 22nd
Mum, Dad and Barbara all came to see me off at Paddington.
The number one platform was crowded with relatives waving to the King’s College students.

When we arrived at Temple Meads station I just followed the rest of them to the bus stop.
I now sympathise with Mum, as the sight of the wasteland outside the station depressed my already flagging spirits.

There is nothing between the station and the bottom of Park Street. The University stands on the hill at the top of Park Street.
The main building and tower are most impressive but the University library, standing, or rather falling, beside them is a gaping blackened ruin.

I was pleased to see that beyond that there are some shops and there is a cathedral at the bottom of Park Street.
My boarding house is at the back of the University, overlooking the shattered library, so at least one of my worries has been removed.

There are six of us in this boarding house, run by a Mr and Mrs Musgrove.
Heather Ware is sharing a room with me and she has littered the room with photos of her Naval fiancé.

She is very smug and obviously looks upon the rest of us as inferior beings, unable to capture a man.
I wonder why she has bothered to come to the University since her ambition is to get married and have children.

I have not mentioned Gordon to any of them and I have hidden my locket, where I carry his photo, underneath my dress.
There are four more girls in two rooms on the third floor above our room and I am going to sum up the situation before committing myself to any relationships.

September 23rd
Today we have been to Victoria Rooms where the Principal, Sir William Halliday, welcomed us and then left us with the office staff. It has taken all day to register.

I am in the Intermediate Bachelor of Science group and have collected my time-table and seen the staff who will be giving my lectures.
Some of them belong to King’s but the others are from Bristol University.

Apparently the academic work is a joint undertaking but for social activities we function as separate universities.
It will take a bit of sorting out but tomorrow I must locate a place called Royal Fort as most of my time will be spent there and not in the main university buildings.

Our lectures start the day after tomorrow.