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diary Meg

Meg’s Diary 1942

by Margaret Taylor, age 27 years
June 23rd 1942

There’s only one entry this year, but quite a long one.

Thoughts about war and morality.

A lot of health issues in the family to worry about.

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Sunday, June 23rd, 1940

Nine months or so since I wrote last, but the situation is unchanged as far as the apparent imminence of air raids is concerned. Those we dreaded at the beginning of the war never materialised, for Hitler has been busy in other directions. Now, however, with nearly all Europe in desolation and miserable subjection to him, he is almost certain to start his long anticipated invasion of Great Britain by air, sea or land. We are prepared now and not downhearted, for the series of catastrophes which have so far represented the Allied side of the war have not been due to our failures, but to those fighting with us, and amazing they have been. The evacuation of Dunkirk was so incredible and magnificent that it converted a defeat into a moral victory, and gave us all fresh heart to strive ever harder in the face of disaster.

Now the French have signed the Peace Treaty with Germany, and are negotiating one with the Italians. That which all swore would never be – the separation of England and France, and the capitulation of the French people – has happened. And with this undreamt-of desertion fresh upon us, we are already enumerating the advantages of fighting all together in our own territory, and almost persuading ourselves that perhaps the clouds have all got the proverbial silver lining. If any people ever deserved to win a life or death struggle I think we British are those people. No nation can be completely good or completely bad, and certainly nobody can judge his own people justly, but, all allowances made, I feel more proud of being English and more determined to resist as far as I can Nazi conquest and influences than ever before.

The old question of the unforgivable crime of killing human beings, whatever may be the quarrel with them I have recently given up, as being beyond my power of reasoning at present. Logically, there is nothing under heaven which will absolve a man of killing another, if the standard of values accepted in true civilisation is used as the basis of argument. But in politics, and especially in power politics, the arguments used are certainly not based on the tenets of true civilisation, and to cope with the actions of those following power politics it seems that civilisation must drop back to the lower standard. It is really perhaps that we cannot take a long enough view. Civilised thought and values are based on ultimate right and wrong, and the rewards it brings are immediate only immaterially, in harmony of mind, whilst the material rewards are often long-delayed though just as sure. Jesus only triumphed mentally over the Romans at the time of his death. Then they seemed to have the material victory. Later it became obvious who had really won, for might can never conquer right, only obstruct its development.

At present men cannot be content with the knowledge that however great the forces of degraded blood-spillers and power-graspers may seem, if they maintain their own spirit uncorrupted and free, expressing their individuality fearlessly, the victory of the enemy will be temporary only. Man is a short-lived creature, and can see only glimpses of the infinite age of spiritual things, and to him subjection, even though material only, to evil seems a betrayal of civilisation. Yet a material victory over evil means war, killing, and employment of the very methods which civilisation has condemned.

Truly, it is a tough nut to crack!

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About my personal history there is quite a lot to say, for once again I have reached a ‘jumping off place’  in the pilgrimage. I took London Finals in May, and failed in both parts of B.S. and passed in M.B. I found it a very bitter thing to accept, that I had actually failed Finals. For so long I have worked hard, and told myself I must know enough to be certain of passing, for failure was unthinkable. Yet now I know that there were bits I shirked because they didn’t interest me – and behold they ploughed me straight away! There was some bad luck in it too, and that helped me towards resignation, but even now, after about three weeks, I am only just above pitying myself. One of the most difficult lessons to learn is that whatever label and grade the others give you, whether they look up or look down on you, you are just the same and of just the same value as before. 

If you are honest you are never satisfied with yourself, and it should be this striving to satisfy your own standards for yourself, and not desire for the acclamation of others, that prompts progress and learning.

So now I am at home, reading surgery and gynae in the evenings, and helping Mums in the servantless abode in the mornings. There is really too much for her to do alone, though without me there would be only three people, so I don’t like to skoot off back to London, though I should be attending all O.P.s etc possible.

In October last year No. 9 was sold, and Staynes and I migrated into the hospital to live in Mary Scharlieb under the emergency scheme. I have been ‘living in’ in hospital ever since then, in the ward until a month or two ago, and then in Sister’s room of Queen Mary Ward, and a very comfortable little room it has been. After being alone a great deal in my room at No. 9 the communal way of living in hospital was cheerful and enjoyable, and we have become real friends, some of necessity, some of inclination!

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Family news has been plentiful also since I wrote last. About January Jim got influenzal meningitis and was in hospital in Exeter. Dad was ill with ‘flu and stayed with Pat while Mum and Alan went down to see him. Jim, after a desperate two or three days during which our lives consisted of telegrams and waiting for telegrams, was pronounced out of danger and recovered completely at record speed. Mum returned to find Daddy very pulled down by ‘flu, and far from well. His chest troubles increased and he got pleurisy and then hypostatic pneumonia with failing heart, on top of an attack of asthma. He became dangerously ill and they phoned for me to come home at once, and bewildered, feeling in an unreal and nightmarish world, I arrived and was met by Alan somewhere around 8 a.m. The week which followed I can’t describe, and there would be little point in doing it. Mum and I took turns in sitting in the bedroom and often my legs and body were shivering so violently I could not keep them still for more than a minute or two. I didn’t take in a word of the book I sat with, and I never even turned the pages. Daddy was cheerful and never complained of pain or anything else though he had bilateral pleurisy part of the time, and had to change his position every five or ten minutes. His attacks of coughing literally exhausted me, and I dreaded the beginning of each one. Mum and I knew several hours before Dr. Alexander told us that he was getting better. We stood and looked at him and whispered excitedly that his cheeks and ears were pinker, and so they were!

Alan left for naval training at Skegness about a week ago, and is enjoying himself immensely: they seem very decent to their men in the Navy, and the contrast between Alan’s converted holiday camp, and Jim’s strenuous drudgery is very great.

Mums is really the heroine of the piece, but there is nothing else one can say about her without getting sentimental.

Goodnight!

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1939 diary Meg

Meg’s Diary 1939

by Margaret Taylor, age 25 years
April to September 1939

Meg is still studying to qualify as a doctor at the London School of Medicine. She gets to perform her first surgical operation.

Everything changes at the outbreak of World War II

(Second edition: updated 20th Sept 2020)

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Sunday April 30th 1939

Bulkeley and I have just spent a wonderful day in the country staying with Miss Ross, to collect foliage for decorating the common room of L.S.M. for a formal dinner. I have just written about it at length in my letter home and as it is a day I want to remember, I am going to reiterate it all here. 

We left hospital soon after 4 pm, taking our pyjamas and toothbrushes according to instructions! Miss Ross drove us out at a furious rate, and although it was showery the bright intervals between the showers were glorious. She lives at Herons Gate, about 20 miles out of London and near Watford and Rickmansworth. The house was a small one not far from the main road, but so secluded that it was difficult to realise that civilisation was anywhere near.

We met Miss Ross’s sister on our arrival, and though we smile at our Miss Ross and think she dresses rather oddly, it was difficult to refrain from laughing outright at her sister. She had a khaki outfit on, tunic and short skirt and the collar of a shirt-like garment strongly resembling pyjama tops appeared at the neck. She had a long thin face with parchmenty skin and very wrinkled like our Miss Ross’s, but she was much stouter, in fact almost barrel-shaped, and her hair was not cut in an Eton-crop, but stood out wavy and stiff all round like a greyish golliwog’s.  Her voice was identical with Miss Ross’s – very deep and strong, in fact we never knew which was speaking when they were both in the room.

Our Miss Ross soon changed into her house clothes, and though they did not seriously rival her sisters they were outstandingly countrified. We wondered whether all Scotswomen at home in their highlands dressed similarly.

Anyway we thanked our stars that we could let all visiting manners fly to the winds, and felt at home immediately.

We were each provided with a pair of strong pruning pliers and taken out within five minutes of our arrival. Miss Ross pointed out the best woods for birches and beeches and directed us as to what to do when we got lost! She then said come back when we wanted to, and they could keep supper for us, and left us standing at the top of the open field behind her house, gazing across at the miles of greenery in front.

The country was really interestingly lovely. We met a gypsy encampment at the end of the lane and they said “Good evening, Miss” as we passed. The pony did not look so polite, but he didn’t do anything. There were whole carpets of bluebells and some clumps of primroses scattered about, and more violets than I have ever seen growing wild. We climbed fences and clambered over gates and through hedges. It started raining pretty hard at one time, but we just couldn’t waste time sheltering, but turned our coat collars up and took no more notice. We cut heaps of birches and beech boughs and as we hadn’t any string it was difficult to carry them, but we only enjoyed carrying them more because of it, and even having to toss the bundles over the gates and hedges before climbing them was great fun. We did not go back till it was nearly dark and as we crossed the field to the back gate of the house several of the cows we passed started following us, and we wondered frantically whether they were merely expecting us to feed them with our hard-won foliage, or whether they didn’t like the look of us and would charge. We certainly covered the last 20 yards at more than normal walking pace and were glad to shut the gate impolitely in their faces as they arrived there about 2 seconds after we did.

Supper was badly cooked by the other Miss Ross but we were ravenous and enjoyed every bit of it. Afterwards we sat by the log fire and listened to the news, and then helped Miss Ross by reading through and checking the references in the latest edition of her textbook, which is in the process of being printed.

Bulkeley had first bath and went to bed fairly early as she was tired and was conserving her strength for finals on Monday.

Later Miss Ross made tea and we all had a cup before retiring. My bedroom was small, and the walls were whitewashed blue. There were two windows, and a veranda in front of one of them. Both looked out onto miles of countryside, and I hadn’t the heart to close the curtains though leaving them open made the room rather light, and the moon was reflected in the panel of glass in the wardrobe.

I slept so soundly that it took me several minutes to remember where I was after Bulkeley had shaken and me awake about 7 a.m. We dressed in about three minutes and set off to collect bluebells to carry back with us. Miss Ross called out to us as we were going that we could take an apple each out of the apple shed at the end of the garden. We accepted the offer with relish, and the apples were heavenly. The wood was still very wet and frosty, and the fields looked so much more inviting in the sunshine that we walked a long way across them before we returned to the woods and the bluebells. Miss Ross came out with one of the Sealyhams, to collect us for breakfast, and after breakfast we tied up the branches in bundles and stowed them away in the car. Then we waved goodbye to Miss Ross’s sister and had a hilarious ‘zooming’ ride back to London and sanity. We are both longing to be asked out there again!

Goodnight!

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Sunday, June 11, 1939

I feel really worn out just now, and am joyfully anticipating 10 days or a fortnight’s holiday at home, to start tomorrow. The main reason has been futile worrying over Mum’s thyroid trouble. About three weeks ago, like a bolt from the blue, came a letter asking advice about which surgeon to consult, as she had been having ‘attacks’ of pain in the neck and some mild pressure symptoms.

This worried me very much indeed, for although I guessed the reason for the symptoms was very probably an oedema with recurrent haemorrhage into it, I just could not get the possibility is malignancy out of my head; and I had heard that Aunt Jessie died of something sounding suspiciously like a malignant thyroid.

Then came the relief of Mr Cooke’s report, and the knowledge, too, that he was such a charming person and an absolutely reliable and able surgeon. I arranged my holiday so that I could go home just before Mums had to go into hospital; but the day before my scheduled departure came a letter from Miss Mollen calling me to an interview with the Scholarships Committee on Monday June 12th –  two days after Mum’s operation.

It was impossible to return for the interview for less than £1, so I have just to make the best of staying up here during the weekend, when I would have been of the most use at home, and when I was longing to be near at hand to hear of her progress. Daddy rang me up last night to say that Mr Cooke was very pleased with Mums, and that she had had paraldehyde pre-op and was sleeping peacefully when he saw her in the afternoon. Podge’s high-pitched little voice chattering away was a real tonic, but to hear from Dad that he had been in to see Mum made it all seem so real that the whole thing stared me straight in the face for the first time, and frightened me a bit. Before that I had not been able to realise fully that it was really Mums who was having the op. we were all planning so busily. Anyway, it is mostly over now, and well over too, thank goodness, so no more worrying. Daddy is sending me a postcard tonight and I am wanting that, for it was too early to say much really last night. Mrs Beaman rang me up this morning  – she turns up trumps every time.

Since my last entry on work, I have done Junior Comb. and I’m now almost finishing Senior Surgery on Mr Norbury’s post. Junior Comb. was good fun though not wildly exciting. Mr Venall is an interesting and likeable old-fashioned type of doctor, with a refreshing amount of common-sense. He was the main attraction on that post, and his outpatients were the pièce de résistance each week. Horton disappointed me bitterly. I had read a small amount of psychological medicine before I went there, and had found it fascinating and stimulating reading. But Horton is a dreary old and most unfriendly place, at least when visited in the winter, and the patients were just as dreary, and appeared ill cared for and like animals rather than people. In fact ‘lunies’, though of great interest in the abstract, I found most uncongenial in the flesh, and my tentative speculations on delving more deeply into that branch of medicine came to a speedy dissolution. Dr. Heald with his electrical therapy and his exasperatingly slow and ambiguous conversation, reminded me of the Middle Ages and reliance on witchcraft and a bit of luck thrown in. He never diagnosed a case while I was with him  – though admittedly he gets all the undiagnosable chronics the hospital owns.

It is, I suppose, good for my soul to have to acknowledge that such an apparent fool is recognised by those well qualified to judge, as a very clever person! Mr Williams, X-ray expert(?) was an unfailing source of entertainment, but supplied no information whatsoever on X-rays. Sister Win was a rather bulky but very luminous star on the horizon throughout the post and her duets with Mr Venall on Tuesdays and Fridays were occasionally magnificent.

And now I am in the third month of Mr Norbury’s post, and am enjoying it as much as any post I have done, and more than any except Casualty or Junior Medicine perhaps. I was made senior, not because I was properly elected by a majority vote but because Westerman, who was elected, had transferred to the Cancer, and the other three seniors were all taking exams. But I certainly have been doing a full senior’s work, and it entails quite a lot of organisation and overseeing.  I have been fully repaid for my troubles though, for the juniors come to me all the time for advice, and obey instructions willingly though their conscientiousness is remarkable for its absence on many occasions. Even at school I could manage to be an authority without ‘bossing’ too much, and it is working just the same here, though perhaps I treat them too much like schoolgirls. It is gratifying when they say how they will miss me when I go on holiday – but I know too well what those compliments are worth to get swollen-headed about it!

Mr. Norbury is a person I shan’t forget, for he embodies most of my ideal qualities of a doctor, and is yet our inimitable Mr. Norbury at the same time. He is like a perky grey-haired little bird, hopping round and chirping joyfully day in and day out.

No patient is merely a ‘case’ for him, and no two ‘appendices’ are exactly alike. Surgery, one feels, is just as thrilling for him today as it was on his first house job, and his humility has not gone with his increase in knowledge and experience. There is nothing which stamps a fine person so surely as their humility (c.f. Mr. Joll !!)

I shall be sorry to miss the next 10-14 days of his post, but I want much more to go home, so go I certainly shall. E.N.T.s is to be the next 3 months’ effort – + pathology and fevers. Exams seem dangerously near, and I am working pretty hard now-a-days, to prevent a hectic scramble just before November. 

I think I’ve written enough for today…

Goodnight!

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Sunday, July 23rd 1939

I feel I want to write a little tonight, just to communicate my first real operation in a theatre – I have done a few ‘minor ops’ in casualty before of course.

On the last Wednesday on the Norbury post Mr Norbury asked me whether I would like to do a small operation. This is a reward he offers his seniors now and again, but not every senior gets it, so it is quite an honour.

Of course I said I should love to, and as it was the end of the post he said I must remind him about it and come back and do it later. I asked Bottomley to remind him and he said I could do a lipoma or something equivalent. This damped me a little, as I had been helping him for an appendix or a hernia, but still I was excited about it, and very qualified for the opportunity. Bottomley wrote specially for a lipoma case from the General List and one came in last week.

It was only a small lipoma of the thigh, but it was unusually deeply situated, and was causing pain in the leg so the patient wanted it removed, though Mr. Norbury when he saw it advised her to keep her leg intact.

When she was anaesthetised Mr. Norbury could not locate the lump, and for a few minutes I thought it was going to be a complete wash-out. But at length he felt it, and made a scratch marking its position. I made an incision where his scratch mark was, about 4 – 5 ins long, and went on through the subcutaneous tissues. He and Bottomley secured the bleeding points, for I had enough to do to just perform the cutting part. I had to go very deeply for the lipoma turned out to be within two adductor muscle sheaths, and I was dreading that every bleeding point as it arose might be the femoral vein or artery which I had slashed! Mr. Norbury told me what plane to dissect on, and after several minutes wandering amongst fatty subcutaneous tissues the upper lobe of the encapsulated lipoma popped out from the muscle sheath, to be greeted with joyful exclamations by Mr. Norbury and a sigh of relief by myself. I then dissected out the lipoma, cutting where directed, and causing Mr. Norbury some anxiety by my determination to cut the muscle fibres rather than the lipoma – goodness knows why – perhaps I wanted to keep the specimen intact, or had vague fears that it might puncture like a cyst! On removal it turned out to be about 2 ins. in diameter, and it was most satisfying after the former doubts, that there had really been something there to remove.

Mr. Norbury left Bottomley to help me sew up while he started on the next op – a fistula-in-ano. I had some difficulty in getting the ligatures to sit over the end of the Spencer Wells and not at their tips – a difficulty I had never anticipated, or noticed other surgeons experience! But it felt very grand to be handed ligatures by the student doing instruments, and putting on the Michel clips fulfilled an ambition I have harboured for ages.

Those who knew that I was going to do an op said how dreadful it would be to have to perform in front of the assembled Norbury post, but actually I was too completely absorbed in the work on hand to even think of the others watching me. I didn’t do it very well, and must have appeared very amateurish to anyone watching, but I don’t think Mr. Norbury was annoyed with me, though I don’t think he could have been very pleased. Anyway I didn’t feel at all nervous, and my hands certainly didn’t tremble or fumble overmuch, so it was not as bad as it might have been. It was very nice of Mr. Norbury to think of letting a student do an op which to him must seem absolutely childish, and it must be very aggravating to keep your hands to yourself when you can do perfectly what someone else is making a great to-do about.

Well, that was what I wanted to say, so

Goodnight! 

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Saturday, Sept. 30th 1939

Not so very long since I wrote last, but things have changed somewhat! The war has been in progress for nearly a month, and we are beginning to lose the initial tenseness and are resigning ourselves to a prolonged period of hostilities and frightfulness. Thank goodness we all got our holidays just before all this began, for otherwise we should have been verging on nervous wrecks I expect – I feel already that I should enjoy another holiday!

Somehow all the prophecies and gossipings about the chances of war , that have been current for months past, did little or nothing to soften the shock of the actual outbreak of war when it came. 

The quiet, determined and fatal tone of Mr. Chamberlain’s speech at 11:15 that Sunday morning we shall all remember for a very long time. Air-raids we have not yet experienced, and I for one am dreading them with heart and soul.They are, I fear, almost inevitable; but the thoughts of the injuries and destruction they cause are too vivid to contemplate.

The most  helpful attitude at present seems to be one that recognises only each day as it comes, and looks no further. Thank goodness we students here have enough to occupy our days, and keep us from mooning. The hospital staff remaining – Dr. Hancock, Miss Barry, Miss Vaux, Miss Ball, Mr. Quist, Mr. Adler, Miss Moore-White – have taught us liberally and we feel that this horrid time of waiting about for air raid casualties has not been wasted.

Arlesey plans have collapsed more or less completely and now they are arranging for us to start posts as usual at R.F.H. next week. Goodness knows how long we shall have undisturbed. At present we volunteers are having all meals free, but next week I suppose we shall have to return to paid rations.

London is changing its old unchangeable face. Great sandbag edifices rise up all over the place, while paint is daubed on kerbs, railings and lamp-posts, and windows are decorated with thick black curtains of paper. The streets are lit only by the moon, and on a moonless night a walk is like Blind Man’s Buff, and crossing a road is done at your imminent peril – as our many casualty cases demonstrate. When peace comes again we shall certainly know how to appreciate it.

What a crazy world!   Goodnight! 

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1940 diary Meg

Meg’s Diary 1940

by Margaret Taylor, age 25 years
June 23rd 1940

There’s only one entry this year, but quite a long one.

Thoughts about war and morality.

A lot of health issues in the family to worry about.

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Sunday, June 23rd, 1940

Nine months or so since I wrote last, but the situation is unchanged as far as the apparent imminence of air raids is concerned. Those we dreaded at the beginning of the war never materialised, for Hitler has been busy in other directions. Now, however, with nearly all Europe in desolation and miserable subjection to him, he is almost certain to start his long anticipated invasion of Great Britain by air, sea or land. We are prepared now and not downhearted, for the series of catastrophes which have so far represented the Allied side of the war have not been due to our failures, but to those fighting with us, and amazing they have been. The evacuation of Dunkirk was so incredible and magnificent that it converted a defeat into a moral victory, and gave us all fresh heart to strive ever harder in the face of disaster.

Now the French have signed the Peace Treaty with Germany, and are negotiating one with the Italians. That which all swore would never be – the separation of England and France, and the capitulation of the French people – has happened. And with this undreamt-of desertion fresh upon us, we are already enumerating the advantages of fighting all together in our own territory, and almost persuading ourselves that perhaps the clouds have all got the proverbial silver lining. If any people ever deserved to win a life or death struggle I think we British are those people. No nation can be completely good or completely bad, and certainly nobody can judge his own people justly, but, all allowances made, I feel more proud of being English and more determined to resist as far as I can Nazi conquest and influences than ever before.

The old question of the unforgivable crime of killing human beings, whatever may be the quarrel with them I have recently given up, as being beyond my power of reasoning at present. Logically, there is nothing under heaven which will absolve a man of killing another, if the standard of values accepted in true civilisation is used as the basis of argument. But in politics, and especially in power politics, the arguments used are certainly not based on the tenets of true civilisation, and to cope with the actions of those following power politics it seems that civilisation must drop back to the lower standard. It is really perhaps that we cannot take a long enough view. Civilised thought and values are based on ultimate right and wrong, and the rewards it brings are immediate only immaterially, in harmony of mind, whilst the material rewards are often long-delayed though just as sure. Jesus only triumphed mentally over the Romans at the time of his death. Then they seemed to have the material victory. Later it became obvious who had really won, for might can never conquer right, only obstruct its development.

At present men cannot be content with the knowledge that however great the forces of degraded blood-spillers and power-graspers may seem, if they maintain their own spirit uncorrupted and free, expressing their individuality fearlessly, the victory of the enemy will be temporary only. Man is a short-lived creature, and can see only glimpses of the infinite age of spiritual things, and to him subjection, even though material only, to evil seems a betrayal of civilisation. Yet a material victory over evil means war, killing, and employment of the very methods which civilisation has condemned.

Truly, it is a tough nut to crack!

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About my personal history there is quite a lot to say, for once again I have reached a ‘jumping off place’  in the pilgrimage. I took London Finals in May, and failed in both parts of B.S. and passed in M.B. I found it a very bitter thing to accept, that I had actually failed Finals. For so long I have worked hard, and told myself I must know enough to be certain of passing, for failure was unthinkable. Yet now I know that there were bits I shirked because they didn’t interest me – and behold they ploughed me straight away! There was some bad luck in it too, and that helped me towards resignation, but even now, after about three weeks, I am only just above pitying myself. One of the most difficult lessons to learn is that whatever label and grade the others give you, whether they look up or look down on you, you are just the same and of just the same value as before. 

If you are honest you are never satisfied with yourself, and it should be this striving to satisfy your own standards for yourself, and not desire for the acclamation of others, that prompts progress and learning.

So now I am at home, reading surgery and gynae in the evenings, and helping Mums in the servantless abode in the mornings. There is really too much for her to do alone, though without me there would be only three people, so I don’t like to skoot off back to London, though I should be attending all O.P.s etc possible.

In October last year No. 9 was sold, and Staynes and I migrated into the hospital to live in Mary Scharlieb under the emergency scheme. I have been ‘living in’ in hospital ever since then, in the ward until a month or two ago, and then in Sister’s room of Queen Mary Ward, and a very comfortable little room it has been. After being alone a great deal in my room at No. 9 the communal way of living in hospital was cheerful and enjoyable, and we have become real friends, some of necessity, some of inclination!

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Family news has been plentiful also since I wrote last. About January Jim got influenzal meningitis and was in hospital in Exeter. Dad was ill with ‘flu and stayed with Pat while Mum and Alan went down to see him. Jim, after a desperate two or three days during which our lives consisted of telegrams and waiting for telegrams, was pronounced out of danger and recovered completely at record speed. Mum returned to find Daddy very pulled down by ‘flu, and far from well. His chest troubles increased and he got pleurisy and then hypostatic pneumonia with failing heart, on top of an attack of asthma. He became dangerously ill and they phoned for me to come home at once, and bewildered, feeling in an unreal and nightmarish world, I arrived and was met by Alan somewhere around 8 a.m. The week which followed I can’t describe, and there would be little point in doing it. Mum and I took turns in sitting in the bedroom and often my legs and body were shivering so violently I could not keep them still for more than a minute or two. I didn’t take in a word of the book I sat with, and I never even turned the pages. Daddy was cheerful and never complained of pain or anything else though he had bilateral pleurisy part of the time, and had to change his position every five or ten minutes. His attacks of coughing literally exhausted me, and I dreaded the beginning of each one. Mum and I knew several hours before Dr. Alexander told us that he was getting better. We stood and looked at him and whispered excitedly that his cheeks and ears were pinker, and so they were!

Alan left for naval training at Skegness about a week ago, and is enjoying himself immensely: they seem very decent to their men in the Navy, and the contrast between Alan’s converted holiday camp, and Jim’s strenuous drudgery is very great.

Mums is really the heroine of the piece, but there is nothing else one can say about her without getting sentimental.

Goodnight!

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1938 Meg Paul blog

Meg’s Diary 1938 is published

The next instalment of Meg’s diary, the diary of a young student doctor studying at London School of Medicine in the year before the war, is now published.

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1936 1937 Meg poem

For Mr Joll

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For Mr Joll

Five thousand incisions of necklace type
Five thousand glands exposed
Five thousand, or more, bits of thyroid removed
And five thousand necks reclosed.

Just think of the innumerable Spencer Wells
Just think of the swabs without end
Just imagine the rows of Michel clips
And the five thousand patients to tend.

May the goitrous patients long flock to A.2.
May their thyroids fall fast in the bowl.
May the thousands increase, Mr Joll, may you reach
(spite of students) the ten thousand goal.

Meg Rugg-Easey 1936

(Mentioned in Meg’s 1937 diary)

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Now working on Meg’s Diaries

All Meg’s poems have been added to the new site now…. I am starting to add the diaries.

So far her first three years are done: 1929, 1930 and 1931.

Read here…. Meg’s Diaries

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1930 diary Meg

Meg’s Diary 1930

by Margaret Taylor, age 15 years
Covers April 17th 1930

to

Saturday, November 25th, 1933

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Thursday, April 17th 1930

I haven’t written in here for quite a long time, in fact I had quite forgotten that this book existed, but I unearthed it this morning as I was looking for a book with something I could draw in. So I thought that I ought to go on with it; therefore this.

It is now almost half past ten, and as ten o’clock is the official putting up time I don’t think I had better write any more tonight; besides ink is not the best thing to use in bed, I had better write before I come to bed tomorrow, I will have lots of time as it will be Good Friday, and so of course there will be no skating at The Glen and all the shops will be shut.

Good night, sleep well!

There is a great deal I would like to write and I expect I will have forgotten it all tomorrow, but it can’t be helped,

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Friday, April 18th (Good Friday) 1930

Well, I have started again all safely. I was half afraid I should forget and not keep it up. Now it is about a quarter past seven, so there is still a quarter of half an hour before supper, and there is nothing to do except to read, and I have done quite enough of that! Nothing of any importance happened this morning, there being no skating, and even if there had been I am not sure that I should have gone as Alan has a cough and must stay indoors, and Lorraine might not be there, and it is not much fun if there is no one you know there.

So I filled up the time drawing, and afterwards I crayoned it, which rather spoilt it I’m afraid ’cause it looked quite nice before! While I was in the middle of this work of art O’Neil, a school-fellow of Alan’s, came to ask him to play in a scratch hockey match on the downs on Wednesday.  He asked me to come too, as some of the other boys were taking their sisters. Connie Becker will be playing too. It will be good fun, especially as I am playing in my usual place of left wing. Alan will be my inner!

This afternoon Jean came round with Jock and we went for a long walk over the Downs. We didn’t stay on the Downs but explored the country on the further side of them, and had a topping time; the only snag was that I arrived home at half past five instead of half past four for tea, and, as Mum said, was jolly lucky to find it still there (plus hot cross buns). I pitched into it (especially the buns) and Mummy at last gave me a gentle hint by passing me my tea that I always have when I have finished eating!

As we were going over the Downs Jean mentioned that she had not been keeping up her Scripture Union reading, and I told her I had forgotten it, too. She said what had reminded her of it was that Flee(?) and Audrey and Lois had all taken their Bibles to camp and read theirs every night, so we both resolved to begin again. I think it is dreadful to pretend you are a Christian and to pray every night and not take the trouble to find out anything about it from the Bible; we are both perfectly ignorant of the outline even of the life of Christ and the prophets and disciples.

Then we went on down a lane we explored yesterday, and looked at a little bird’s nest we had found before, but there were no eggs there and so we thought it must be a last year’s one, for Jean said they begin to lay directly the nest is built. A little further on we saw another bigger nest with a thrush sitting in it, so we could not go near it. Jean taught me the names of all the trees we passed, she seems to know all of them. Jock is a fine dog, although he fights rather. Jean says he is a bully because he fights dogs smaller than himself, but it would be rather difficult for him to find any bigger! I do wish we could have a dog, but Mum says we could not afford to keep one, although we could get one quite cheaply at the Battersea Dog’s Home, where she got Jock, and another dog called Peggy which they had before. Jean has also two cats, but I am not jealous of those like I am of Jock because I think a dog’s worth about ten or twelve cats. What partly makes me jealous is that when we are out together Jock will always stick to Jean and follow her everywhere and not take any notice of me!

 Well, the supper has made it’s entrée and I am going to have a bath tonight if I remember to put on the gas, so

Goodbye for a little while.

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Saturday April 19th, 1930

There is not much to say today. This morning I went to the Glen, skating. Alan did not come owing to his cough, which is not quite well yet. Lorraine and Lo-Lo McArthur were there, and we had a fine time. I expected Yvonne, but she did not appear. This afternoon I nestled up near the fire, and settled down to read the afternoon through, but I soon got tired of the book, although it was a topping one, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain; who is jolly good, though I haven’t read many of his books. I was very glad when Jan arrived (plus the inevitable Jock) and lugged me out to go to Barbara Stratton’s to get a book. She was out, of course. It was rather late when we started, there being only half an hour or so before tea. I was a bit frightened it was farther than I thought, and I didn’t want to be late two days running; so I did the running on the way back, and luckily arrived back at twenty-five to five, and tea was just coming in! It is pouring now – it has been showering all through the day – so I have given up the idea of going to the library that I originally had.

Pat and I have just been having a drill lesson, which are rather few and far between. She started off jolly well, doing one, two and three steps forward march in grand style. Curtsy sitting is not possible for her on her toes, but she manages very well on the whole of her foot. She has mastered the left and right turns, as well as all the arm movements. Up to date she can 1) Read off any letters from hoardings and book titles (capitals). 2) Say her alphabet 3) Count up to sixty or seventy. Not bad!

She will have her fourth birthday on next Friday. Princess Elizabeth will have hers on Monday, so she beats Pat by four days!

I, and Alan, am looking forward to next term, the cricket one, with great enthusiasm, I think it is easily the best game going, and agree with the boy who said he didn’t mind whether he played Rugger or Soccer in the Winter because it was only to fill up the time between the cricket seasons!

There is a girl in my form at school called Marion Green, she is a scholarship girl, though goodness knows how she managed to get a scholarship! She seems to slack most of the term and swot for exams. She is always forgetting to give in her books, and does the wrong work and all that, so I resolved, while in bed, to help her, and give her a leg up in the remembering line, but I never had the courage to offer. Perhaps I will next term, I feel I ought to.  Good-bye

(I haven’t started the Scripture Union reading yet.)

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Sunday, April 20th (Easter Sunday)

I have been looking through this book  and I noticed that I have left out several things of interest (to myself) that happened between the time I left off, and when I began again.

Last October I got leave off from school and went with Dad to the London Exhibition of Inventions. It was fine fun, although we did not do a great deal of business. We stayed at Uncle Harry[1]‘s and went down to the Central Hall every morning, and came back every night, by the Underground. Sometimes I came back alone, as the show did not close ’till ten, and I used to get rather fagged out. We lunched at restaurants and I liked it at first, but I soon longed for own home lunches, and not their fancy meals.

Also I see I was longing to go up to Miss Thomas’s farm. Well, I got my ambition, and its fine! The only thing is that most likely I will be going up again after next term!

I’m afraid I have rather blotched this page, my pen is running a bit too freely.

This morning , it being Easter Sunday, we presented Mum and Dad with a basket full of eggs. They were only penny ones, and there were three dozen of them – one dozen plain, one dozen cream, and one dozen whipped cream.

We tried a whipped cream one after lunch, but it tasted more like marshmallow! I hope the other kinds will be better. Mum and Dad gave each of us a lovely big egg, it will take us quite a time to get through them. I gave up sweets for Lent, and Mum noticed last week that my complexion was much better, it has always been rather spotty. By great thoughtlessness I said perhaps it was giving up sweets, to which Mum heartily agreed. She said it would be well worth while to give them up almost altogether, so there is rather a bad outlook that way for me now.

This afternoon I took Pat out to the Zoo, and we had a fine time. She was jolly interested in a baby monkey that was born a little while ago there, and is a sweet little chap, and very adventurous.  We also visited the chimpanzees and orang-utans, and saw them fed. That reminds me, Dad was at the Zoo the other day, and stopped at the chimps cage to shake hands, as he often does. While he was leaning over the bars to shake hands with one, the other swooped down from above and whisked his hat off. Dad went for the keeper, but it was no use and soon the hat was no more than a few rags.

I have been listening to a piano recital by Soloman, whoever he may be; he played mostly Chopin’s works, and two of someone else’s. It was lovely, and I was jolly sorry that we missed the first part of the recital. It is very funny, but when I really listen to music it seems that it is a story. Each piece is a tale, though sometimes it is very difficult for me to find out what it is. One of them seemed to represent a water pool in the jungle and big animals coming down to drink. Later a tiny little one, it sounded like an antelope, came and the big one chased him away. You could hear quite easily the little one with the big one chasing him, and you could hear him cry out, at least it sounded like it. The that was the end. I don’t expect it was meant to be that at all, but I like to think it was. I wish I could play like Soloman did, it will take years and years to learn, and even then I don’t expect I could. I think it is a shame for girls not to learn music at school, it seems as if a whole side of life was left out, I know it would be if I left it off I’m off to practice.

Good-bye.

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Thursday, April 24th, 1930

I have had one of the most lovely, and wet, days today that I have ever had.

(Please excuse me (this is to myself) for using this awful pen, my other has run out, and I’m too lazy to refill it)

This morning, as usual, I went to the Rink, and nothing happened about that race I won yesterday, so perhaps they aren’t giving any prizes for these hols. Last hols they gave a holiday ticket to the winner, but as there will be no skating next hols they might not give anything. Yesterday Lo-lo McArthur, who is only a beginner, fell down and cracked her ankle under her. She said she had hurt her foot a bit, but it wasn’t bad. She looked a bit pale, and we noticed it at the time, but she kept on saying it wasn’t much. This afternoon I met Lorraine, and she said Lo-lo’s leg is dreadfully swollen, and her mother is afraid she has broken a small bone or something.

I have not been writing for a few days, so I have not said before that both Alan and Dad are in bed. Dad has a touch of malaria, and was very ill all yesterday, having a temperature of 103 degrees at night. Alan was about the same, but both were much better this morning. Poor old Alan has not used his five bob ticket for skating very much, and it expires on Saturday so he will not be able to go any more these hols, he will only just be fit again by the time he has to go back to school.

To get onto the great adventure – we (Jean and I) had arranged to meet at a quarter past two to go fishing for newts for a pond Jean had just made in her garden. Just as we were about to start Jean’s inner tubing of her bike went off pop, so we had to walk. We started about half past two, and got to the Suspension Bridge about 3. We met Lorraine there, and she told us of a pond at Abbot’s Leigh. We followed her instructions and arrived at a farmhouse. There was no pond in view, so we knocked on the farm door and were directed to a large pond where there were no small fish at all, only large ones, and they were no use, we couldn’t catch them, and anyway it said “No fishing, and Offenders will be Prosecuted”. It began to pour about then, so we decided to go home. We took a different path, and on the way we saw a topping little pond in a field. It also had a notice “Trespassers will be prosecuted” but we ventured on and after a long time managed to secure five newts, but four were ladies, so we let two of them go, and kept the gentleman and two ladies.While we were fishing a policeman rode by on his bicycle and saw us.

We were rather scared, but went on fishing and he went on slowly. We draggled home in the wet, singing to ourselves to keep ourselves cheerful, and arrived home about seven, dripping wet. We had been in the pouring rain ever since about four o’clock. Ugh!

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Saturday, May 3rd, 1930

I have not written for quite a time lately. It has not been because there has been nothing to write about – far from that! But I reckoned that if I wrote two pages every day and kept it up for five years or so I would use up three or four books, so I have decided to write about once a week instead.

That hockey match which was arranged for Wednesday took place on Saturday, and also we had another game on the next Thursday. It was jolly good fun. I gathered a few girls together for cricket on Friday and Saturday (today) mornings, which was enjoyed by all. It was good practice so that we should not go back to school utterly unprepared.

I have been going out with Yvonne a lot lately, and think she is very nice. I will keep her as a friend if I can.

I have been to Blaise Woods two or three times lately, and it is easily better than Leigh Woods, but a little further away. It takes about twenty minutes on an bike. Last time I went with Yvonne and Alan we took Pat, and also our lunch. I have never seen Pat eat such a big lunch, no wonder she was too tired to walk when we got home! Yesterday I went to tea with Yvonne and we were left in charge of a little baby of two who lives in the flat below the Stoddards. She was a sweet little thing; and could understand everything you said although she could not speak much. I tried to remember what Pat was like when she was two, but I could not remember very well. It is funny how soon one forgets things. There are one or two instances which I can remember, and the rest of my infancy is a pure blank. For example, I can remember nothing about my life before we lived in Lancashire near Barrow, and the daffodil field there: even that is very vague, yet the one thing which sticks in my memory, and Alan’s, is when the Armistice was signed, and the war was ended. The maid and our nurses came into our bedroom and woke us all up. They turned somersaults on the floor, and I remember distinctly that Nurse did a crooked one and bumped into the wardrobe. But mummy says that all happened before we went to Lancashire. It is awfully funny how everything is forgotten except that one thing. I wonder if I will read this book to remind me of how I used to live when I was fifteen!

After cricket this morning we were talking about dying (I don’t know how the subject got started I’m sure). I said I was not afraid to die, and would not mind doing it tomorrow; and I wouldn’t either. They seem all to be afraid to die somehow. But what I am sure about is that each one of us has to do his or her bit of good before they do die; and I’m going to make mine a good big bit. I think you would meet your friends after death, but as everyone is friends there in my belief it would not really matter if you hadn’t got many. I also think (I may quite possibly change my opinion before I do die) that there are many stages of life, even if they are not on a separate world, and you have to work your way up or down the scale according to your conduct. Whether this world is near the top or the bottom I don’t know, but I should think it is more likely to be the bottom!

Supper has interrupted this muse, I shall have to descend to this earth again, to satisfy the base internal cravings!

Good-bye.

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Monday, August 11th 1930

It really is dreadful how inconsistent I am (what grammar!) I really believed that I would keep up this book regularly and now I have let it slip for more than three months. Shocking.

Now it is holidays, an on Monday next (a week today) we are all due down at Paignton at Auntie Laura’s[2] house for a fortnight’s stay. Alan and I are going to start on Sunday and cycle down, putting up at a wayside place for Sunday night and so making a two day journey of it. Jim, who has set his heart on a motor bike, and who will most likely get it within the week, wants to visit Bournemouth, and a friend of his there, on the way. At least it is not on the way, but he wants to go there and then got staright to Paignton.

I have made a resolution, one of many I’m afraid, to write this diary every Saturday, and also not to forget it.

Jim has now left school for good, and will start his newspaper job early in September if there is still a vacancy for him. I am dreading the thought of leaving school; it was partly that that made me want to be a gym mistress, and now I have dropped that idea because there are so many better people in that job. But, because I love school so, and also because it interests me I now propose to take up history, and possibly go to Oxford or Cambridge if I can only get a scholarship. But they are so hard to get, and if I didn’t I don’t think Mum and Dad could afford to pay the fees as they are so enormous. Perhaps we will have made our fortunes out of one of Dad’s games by the time I leave! 10 o’clock so Good-night.

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Wednesday, August 20th 1930

I am now at Paignton, where we have a fortnight to spend for our summer hols. Alan and I cycled down here, starting at seven o’clock. We could have arrived in one day, but as we had arranged to do it in two we spent the night at a topping little place outside Exeter. We have arranged to go home in one day.

So far the weather has been very showery although the sun makes it quite warm. We have not had any bathing yet, but I hope we soon will. We hope to go mushrooming soon which will be great fun. Alan is awfully keen on fishing, but I hate it unless it is really needed for eating. Alan seems to like it just for the fun, but I don’t see much fun in killing animals if you need not. God made those fish, and most likely took just as much trouble over them as he did over us, so it hardly seems right to end their lives just for the fun of it. That seems an awful lust in many boys, and men I suppose; to kill for the love of killing. Every time it seems to me that a life is wasted because that animal, or any animal, could not have been made and given life just to be killed later. Dad says that it is nature, and so natural, but Nature can be improved, and everything that is natural is not good by any means.

Sometimes I think that it is wrong to kill animals to eat, and that I ought to become a vegetarian, but all animals feed on each other so perhaps it is all right, anyway it is different from killing for the sport.

We have finished supper now and it is still pouring with rain. I hope it will be fine tomorrow, although even if it is I will not be able to bathe as I have a cold and a nasty cough, but I expect they will be better soon and then I will be able to.

Hilda visited us last evening, she hoped to see Pat, but she was in bed. She said she might come again today, but she has not come yet, and as it is now nearly half past eight I don’t expect she will be coming. I like Hilda awfully,and I want to get to know her better than I do now.

Dad and I went down to see Uncle Ned and Auntie Ethel[3] yesterday, and we also saw Jack, but Joan was out, so I could not see her. I should have liked to see her because I have not seen her for about seven or eight years.

There is tons more to write but I cannot go on for ever so –

Good-night!

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Friday, August 22nd 1930 
(Seafield House, Waterside, Paignton.)

We have spent almost the whole day on the beach today. It has been the first really fine day we have had so far. We all went to Granny’s Arm Chair and then over the rocks to Broad Sands. These sands are lovely, and have tons of sands; I think I like them better than the Goodrington Sands because they are more deserted. We originally went with the intention of prawning, but the pools did not seem to have many, and we came home with only four. They turned up at supper, but they were so lifelike that I could not eat one, although I said it was because I did not like them.

We had lunch down there, and came home for tea rather late, so we were made to wait ’till supper, which was fine, being hot meat pie, and plums; a supper well worth missing tea for.

After tea, or rather tea-time, I went to Paignton to get some fruit for Mum and cigs for Dad. Jim sometimes smokes now, he tried a pipe but soon gave it up.

It was in the news today that the Duchess of York has had another baby, another girl; which is rotten luck for her, because if it had been a boy he would have been the third heir to the throne.

I have promised to have a go at the lawn mower so I must go now before it gets dark.

Good night.

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Wednesday, August 27th 1930

We have spent the whole day on the beach, or rather beaches, for there are so many beaches next to each other that we often go from one to the other.

The other day Mrs. Mudge arranged a picnic at Mansands, and we had a lovely time, but there were about seven or eight foreigners who seemed to have invited themselves, and they rather spoilt it. Afterwards, after supper, they all turned up and we all had a game of shove-halfpenny. Before I saw them, and they were in the drawing room, I said that I did not like them, and Auntie Laura agreed that they were an awfully rowdy crew. When we started the game of shove-halfpenny I joined in, with Alan and Dad. They all got dreadfully excited, and yelled whenever anybody did a good or very bad shot. Soon they were shouting when anybody did any kind of shot. The funny thing was that I got excited too, and roared with the best of them; while five minutes ago I had been despising them. I am putting this down to remind myself if I read it again that it is jolly easy to get sort of caught up in a rowdy set of people, and just regard it as jolly good fun, whereas the spectators see how foolish it is and you will find yourself with tons of casual friends, but none who would really stick to you in a hole, or to whom you could absolutely confide. I therefore hope fervently that when I next read this (if I ever do) I will have no need to take heed from this warning.

I have been in my bathing costume for most of the last two days, and my back is as red and sore as it possibly could be, and gives me agonies every time I move my shoulders. My legs are sore too, though not nearly so bad.

The person who is suffering most though from sunburn js Jim. He has been wearing just shorts, with no top, so his back is sore right down to the waist.

After tea I went over to Grannie’s Arm Chair (sometimes called Devil’s Arm Chair) and met Mrs. Mudge and her daughter Nancy. I like Nancy awfully, she is just about my age, and a jolly sporting girl.

Dad and Jim and Reggie have been prawning a good deal lately, and I tried one day, and caught two, but did not eat any. That night I thought about it in bed and decided that I would not do any fishing at all these hols, and promised God I would not, so I can’t now; and I’m jolly glad because although it pleased half of me to chase and catch prawns, the other half was telling me how cruel and wrong it was. I did not promise never to fish again, because possibly I might some time, and it would be absolutely dreadful to break a promise to God, who has made so many wonderful promises to us.

I am awfully tired and sore and need a good night’s rest so:-

Goodnight!

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Wednesday, September 3rd 1930

It has been just a week since I wrote in here last, but what a change that week has been! We are now at home again in Bristol, home at the smokey, cooped-up town of Bristol. Last week we were in a big house in the country with miles of open country all around us, and a lovely big garden full of animals and interesting things. Whew! I want to blow all Bristol right away and just leave us here alone. I do not think I have ever enjoyed a holiday so much, it is just my ideal home at Paignton, and it seems to have made quite a hole inside me to have left it all behind. I expect it is the contrast which makes me feel so strongly. The funny part is that the others were all glad to be home again!

We made a fine party down there,and certainly had some fine fun, but the part I miss most was the life I had a taste of during the last few days. I thought I wold go and see what Noel was like because he was always busy with his pigs, and could not see us much. So I helped him to feed the pigs about three times a day,and we talked together at the top of the garden where the pigs live. The more I saw of Noel the more I liked him, and that is partly why I miss it so much because we liked the same things, and now there is nobody I can talk to in the same way. He is going to have a farm for his own this month, and I asked him to write and tell me about it, but I don’t expect he will, because farmers and people like that never seem to like writing letters.

Well, I fed the pigs, carted the barrow about, mixed the food, helped to cut the lawn and fed the guinea pigs and rabbits, and in short enjoyed myself mucj more like that than going down to the beach and bathing.

I expect that is why the others  do not miss it so much because they did not enter into the life of the place. They do not like Noel so much because they thought he should have come and joined in picnics and that with us, but I know that I would rather have stayed behind with the pigs and done things in the garden. He does not like to go in crowds, but he is awfully jolly all the same, and makes such funny attitudes sometimes. Well, I thought when I came home that gardening was the next best thing so that is now going strong. There! I’ve grumbled enough!

Good-night.

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Sunday, November 23rd 1930

It is jolly funny because when I wrote in here last time, and said I missed Paignton I had no idea that I would ever go there agin, although I had hoped that possibly we should go and spend our next summer hols there. Well about three weeks ago, the beginning of November, was half term, and since I had been working pretty hard (you have to in the Cert.) I had got a bittired, and Dad suddenly mentioned at tea on Friday that it would do me good to have a change, as it was half term. He suggested I should go to London, but I wasn’t keen. Then he thought of Paignton. Goodness! I was almost bowled over. There was I, longing to see Paignton againand yet not dreaming that I should have the chance for ages,a nd then, all in five minutes I had the chance. That was Luck if you like! You canimagine I did not have to think twice about it. But you see that was Friday tea-time and the half-term holiday was over by Tuesday morning, so there was no time to spare. Dad sent a telegram, at about half past six asking if Auntie Laura could put me up. We received a ‘Right-O’ telegram in reply by seven thirty, wich was jolly lucky because telegram offices close at eight. I departed from Bristol at the early hour of 8:41 and arrived at Paignton at about 12:30. Uncle Ned[4] was there to meet me, though I did not expect him. He is awfully kind-hearted, and looked quite distressed when I said I thought that I should bus up to Seafield House alone. Another instance of his kindness was that he bought me a bag of toffees, which I could not refuse although they are not good for me. Anyrate they went soon enough when handed round! Most of my time while I was there was spent either feeding the pigs and poultry, or watching them eat their meals.

Noel and I would mix their food. I got quite expert on food, and could do either the pigs’ or fowls’ without Noel’s help, and we carted it up, at least Noel carted it up, and I carted it back (it was lighter coming back). Then, the terrible task of keeping the sow off while the others were fed, having been accomplished, we stood in the sty and watched them eat, or rather gobble. I could have watched all day, and I know Noel could, but he had tons of other things to do just then because all the things had to be got ready for his new farm, where he will be entering into possession soon. One morning I went with Uncle Bud and Noel to see his farm, or a bit of it. It will be thirty-five (I think) acres, and Noel is going to try to manage it all by himself. I think it will be jolly good if he does. Uncle and Noel are, or were when I was down there, setting up a hut for Noel to live in when he settles down there. I learnt from a letter Reggie wrote to Dad that they are setting up a fowl house.

That reminds me that another occupation was running down hens, so that Noel could catch them and put them in the fowl house, because there was not enough food for them outside in winter time. I remember when we had caught a white cock which Noel was going to sell, there were some brown feathers on it, which he pulled out because it would sell better if it was pure white.

He said that it did not hurt much, and yet the poor thing was squalking every time he pulled, still it was decent of him to try to make me think it did not hurt it. Another thing he did which shows he is not so thoughtless as most boys is that one evening after the tea had been taken to the pigs (it was dark by then, and we had to have a candle) Noel asked me if I was afraid of rats, and when I said No he said that when we had been in the sty he saw a rat just by my feet only he had not told me because he did not know if I was afraid of them (only he said ‘did not like’).

The ground by the houses was an absolute marsh, so I borrowed Mary’s wellingtons and had a fine time splashing about. I wore them when I went up to the farm too because it was raining most of the time I was down there. But I rather like the rain if you are dressed for it, and I loved squelching along those little country lanes with a tearing wind whistling through my hair. I can enjoy it all over again as I write it!

They have a  jolly little whippet called Jill, who had just arrived a few days before I did, and I should have liked to see her race. I feel sure she would have almost flown, she was so light. On Sunday Uncle Ned and family came and we had a regular full house. I felt like Noel, pleased to get out into the quiet of a wet evening and squelch up to the pigs in the pitch dark. I am hoping to get a letter from Noel one day to show he haas not forgotten me, and I am jolly sure it will be ages before I ever forget my visit down there although it only lasted two days.

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Monday, November 24th 1930

I really thought that I had said everything about my stay in Paignton when I stopped last night. But just now when I read it through I saw that I had hardly mentioned Uncle or Auntie or Levitt or Reggie or Mary, only Noel and me, but as we were together (+ pigs) most of the time it’s not surprising.

But when I read this (?) many years hence it would be nice to hear about them, because perhaps I shall not see them all agin for years, perhaps even longer. Auntie Laura is very funny. She is very kind and jolly, but she does not seem to have much of a brain, or be able to tell what is rather ‘not done’ and what is aboveboard, e’g’ she told us all, frankly and innocently, that she always used to eat the best prawns when a lodger gave her his catch to cook!

Uncle Bud, who spends his life among vegetables and odd jobs in the garden, is just a grown up child – all simpleness and kind-heartedness.

Mary, from what I saw of her, spends her free time, luckily she has not much, at balls, parties or the cinema. I pity her because I know how once you start that feeling of ‘gay life’ its jolly hard to stop.

Reggie, who is now about twenty-seven, seems a very handy person to have about. He can make anything you like to mention. It is funny but all sailors seem like that. He is a very nice boy, and rather quiet and reserved, but he can be angry if he wants to.

Levitt looks as if he is twelve at least, but is really nine. He is a very jolly boy, and full of spirits though rather delicate. He is keen on fishing and shooting, to which he goes with Reggie.

Noel needs no description, because I shan’t forget him. His whole life centres around his pigs and fowls. He is so fond of animals that he could stand and watch them all day. So he knows just what they do and seems to almost understand their feelings.

While I was there I saw that awful temptation that seems to come to all boys tried on Noel. There is another boy, or almost man, called Joe Hodder who is friends with Noel but who goes about the town much more. We were down in the basement washing after feeding the pigs, and Joe, who did not know I was down there, called down to Noel to ask him to come down to the town and ‘whet his whistle’. Noel said he would and then remarked to me that ‘those are the kind of people you have got to keep up with’. I said you need not keep up with them, and I hope he gives it up for good. That temptation came to Jim the other day, only this was much worse, because Jim drank much more, and instead of coming down to supper went straight to bed. It worried Mum awfully. But I don’t think he will do that again. Well! Even now I haven’t said about the birds, but I will tomorrow (if I don’t forget).  Goodnight.

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Wednesday, November 26th 1930

I did not forget to write yesterday, but I got to bed so late that I had no time. Even tonight I should have put up and gone to sleep instead of doing this, but I do want to write. But I’m afraid that  I don’t get enough sleep now because prep keeps me going often until nine or half past and then I have to have supper and get to bed, and sometimes finish off prep in bed, and its quite often eleven before I turn off the light. Even then it takes another half hour to get to sleep. That is an awful nuisance. I cannot go to sleep at once however tired I am. Sometimes it is an hour before I get off, and then up again at a quarter to eight means I only get eight hours sleep, and it doesn’t seem enough for I get rotten headaches if I work hard for long.

Anyrate, I was going to tell you about the birds. I started feeding them because there are no pigs or things round here, and if I can’t look after some animals I shall get a perfectly dull uninteresting old fogey!

Last summer I had rigged up a shallow wooden box onto the top of a pole, so as to make a platform, only with sides. I started putting crumbs out, but did not keep it up for long. Now I have started it again, and I find it very good fun watching the birds enjoying their feeds. They are getting used to it quickly, and there have been six birds, including two starlings, on it at the same time. The starlings make it rock so that I think it will fall over any moment. There is a dear little robin which comes quite often, but it is much more shy than any of the others. I have put up two halves of a cocoanut, and the tits look so funny as they hang upside down to peck at them. Sometimes when I hear some bird singing I stop my prep to try and see it, which is very naughty, and only means I have to stay up later to finish, but its jolly hard not to, because some of them sing awfully nicely. The only bird I have seen singing lately is a starling, and they don’t sing very well.

Good-night.

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Sunday, November 30th 1930

Dad’s game Viva-vol (?) is being demonstrated at Harrods, Army and Navy and Gamages this year, and so far has been doing rather well. But two of the demonstrators, Olive Vivian and her husband, have to stop on December 13th to go to a panto, and it will be rather difficult for Dad to find two more people to take their place. So he thought it would be a good idea for Jim and me to go up to London and carry on. Alan could not get off school. By the way I don’t believe that I said before that Jim is at home because he has to learn shorthand before they will take him on at the paper. Dad is going to write a letter for me to take to Miss Phillips (commonly known as Pips) asking her to let me off from school on the 12th of December, instead of the 18th. That would mean missing three days of exams, but as they are rather important in the Certificate form I am going to see if I can start exams three days earlier than the others; that will mean beginning on Wednesday: Oh dear!

If we do go up, and I expect we will, we will either stay with Auntie Isa and Carlo or Uncle Ern, for Dad cannot spare the time to come too. It will be great fun if we do go, and we must see if we can break all records made last year for sales. We will have the best time – Christmas week.

My fate will be decided tomorrow, and I will write what it is then.

(How funny to read this later, when I know what happened ‘tomorrow’! Time is a funny old thing!)

Goodnight.

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Tuesday, December 2nd 1930

 I did not write yesterday, because I did not know whether I would go or not. Miss Phillips had to have ‘time to think it over’. I went to her again this morning and she gave me permission to go (perhaps it was partly because she was feeling ahppy about her birthday, which happens to be today). The only snag is about the exams. Miss Garnet (C.O.Y.) said she could not allow me to start exams until Tuesday next, when all the others begin theirs, but I can make up those I shall miss in the afternoons. It may not be possible to do all of them, but I shall be doing about four exams a day for a week any rate!

Another good piece of news is that I am going to play for the second against the university tomorrow. I am only ‘subbing’ for Mary MacKenzie who has cracked her ankle, but I am jolly lucky to get a chance. This will only be the second time I have played in the second, but I have got my third colours.

The only snag (there is a snag in this too) is that I shall be playing left inner, a position I have played in only once before! I must play up, and see if I cannot get them to book me as a permanent fixture in the second! Not much hope of that awhile yet.

Jim is going on Christmas Day to stay for a day or two with a friend in Devon. I would hate to go away for Christmas personally, it seems such a homely sort of festivity. We will run it rather close though, for we will come back from London on Christmas Eve. Dad has invited Auntie Sylvia and Uncle Futadown for Christmas, and also Uncle Ern. If Uncle Ern can get off it is quite likely he will come down with us on Christmas Eve. If they all come we will have to sleep on the floor or something, but it will be a jolly party.

Good-night.

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Monday, December 15th 1930

I (+ Jim) am now in London. This town is the great capital of England, and it looks like it! There is not one inch of room anywhere. I hate it. It is, as I wrote to Mum, 50% noise, and has given me an everlasting headache. Everybody seems to be in an eternal hurry, and have no time for anything.

This morning we presented ourselves at the Army and Navy, and had great excursions to find the staff cloak rooms. I am not sure yet how to get to the women’s, but I do know that it is hidden away in the bowels of the earth somewhere.

I suppose it would not be so bad when you got used to it, but I should hate to live in London. We really must ring up Putney and enquire how Auntie Edith is after her operation for appendicitis. We must also write to Uncle Ern and see if he will be able to get away to be able to spend Christmas with us at Bristol.

Well, I will tell you the first days sales:-

  • 12 sets Vivavol
  • 1 set Stickles
  • Umpteen balls for Vivavol

I am jolly tired now, and only hope I will not be too stiff in the morning.

(I can’t help wishing that I was at Paignton  rather than London; they are the two extremes of ideal and rotten existence).

Goodnight.

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Tuesday, December 16th 1930

Today’s sales come first:-

  • 7 Vivavols and
  • About six or seven balls.

This is not as good as yesterday, which is a great pity, but rather there were not so many people there today.

I managed to get to the women’s cloak room after asking about six different people; it is an absolute maze down there, and I feel just like Alice in Wonderland when I am wandering about down there. We are slowly getting used to the place and beginning to know it; I suppose we will have just learnt where everything is by the time we go home again. For meals we have to go to the staff canteen. It’s a very funny proceeding having lunch. Outside the canteen is a cashier who gives you tickets 1d, 2d, 3d etc. if you give her the money equivalent. You then line up and say what you want, pay for it by a ticket and dig a spoon, fork and knife from a box, and march away with all this in tow, and hide yourself as far away as possible and eat it. It is not very nice because Jim and I are in whites and all the other assistants wear black, therefore we are rather conspicuous and get stared at – which I hate. I spent exactly 9d  for dinner yesterday and  8d  today, and the food is jolly good. That’s not bad, is it?

The worst part about this is that you get terribly stiff legs because you are standing all the time, I am so tired when I get back here that I only want to sit down and rest my legs. Jim and I had supper alone tonight, and of course the milk boiled over, and the saucepan and kettle both leak terribly. Auntie and Carlo have both gone out to a dance and will not be back until about one o’clock. Auntie was shocked when I told her I did not like going out in the evening. I would a hundred times rather stay at home by the fire, or go for a walk in the country or feed pigs! I think dancing is really stupid, and if somebody from the moon or somewhere came here and saw all the people dancing in great halls, with jazz music making the most foul din, he would most certainly think the people on the Earth were madmen.

There is something in me which hates towns, hates crowds and noise. I sometimes have a terrible yearning to get away into the quiet, the country where everything is fresh and green, and everything there is made by God and not by man.

What a silly little fool I am! But I can’t help it, it is in me and must come out sometime.

Good night.

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Wednesday, December 17th 1930

Today we sold

  • 7 sets and
  • 1 Stickles

It was not as good as we had hoped, but is just as good as the other demonstrators used to do. Tonight we went to a Topical Cinema and enjoyed it quite well. There was one very good film like a Mickey Mouse but everything was done to music. I wrote to Uncle Ern, Mum and Dad, and Jean to get my exam marks, but only posted Mum and Dad’s and Jean’s because Auntie Isa had not enough stamps.

It is twelve o’clock and I’m jolly tired so

Good-night.

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Thursday, December 18th 1930

Today the sales were much better – we sold

  • 12 small and
  • 2 large sets.

I am afraid it was a good day and we will not be able to do it every day.

Jim has gone out to a show with a friend who he met yesterday. He left me at Charing Cross to come home alone. I don’t mind coming home alone but I do mind being treated like a person of no account and told to ‘buzz off home while I go out with a friend’ sort of thing. Jim is rather like that – a bit selfish , but I expect he will get out of it in time.

Goodnight.

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Friday, December 19th 1930

Today we sold six small sets and three big ones. We are running out of stock, and I don’t know what will happen if we do not get any more before Monday. We have only three or four small sets left, and no balls at all.

I am jolly tired tonight and I am going straight to bed now. Jim and Carlo have gone out to a cinema, and Auntie Isa has gone out to a hospital entertainment; so I am alone. Carlo has just sent off a present to ‘his girl’. He wanted me to promise not to tell Auntie. Of course I did so, but I certainly think no better of him for doing that kind of thing. The worst of it is keeping  it secret from his own mother. That is why I do not like going into ‘society’ for you always seem to be caught up into these beginnings of a really bad character.

It rather worries me because we seem to be using such a lot of money. We will have to ask for some more. In fact Jim said so when he wrote home tonight. I only hope that Mum and Dad did not think that what they had given us would be enough for all the time. Anyway we have not been at all extravagant, and another consolation is that we are gaining money for the family all the time.

I am eagerly awaiting my report, but I don’t expect my exam marks will be good because I did the exams in such a rush. Anyrate they will not be like Carlo’s I hope. He failed in all 4 subjects.  But of course being Italian, or practically all Italian it was terribly difficult for him.

I must go to bed.

Goodnight.

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Saturday, December 20th 1930

Today’s sales were not bad considering that we stopped at one o’clock as Staurday is a half-day in London. We cleaned up the whole of our stock of small ones by selling four of them. We also sold two big ones, making a grand total of half a dozen.

One of the large sets was sold to a master of the Clifton College Preparatory School. He gave us his card, so I know. Dad sent us a pound tonight and promised more on Monday, so we are all right as far as money goes. Talking of going, Auntie Isa left today for Colchester. She is going to the Bensusans for Christmas. Carlo is going up later, he is staying here with us until we go on Christmas Eve. Uncle Ern cannot come down to Bristol to us for Christmas so I will have to go down alone on Wednesday evening. I will have to travel jolly late because we do not knock off until 6:30 and it takes three hours to get to Bristol from here.

We are going to Auntie Sylvia’s tomorrow morning and then to Uncle Harry’s for tea and supper. That will be jolly good fun, and save us the money for meals.

Jim and Carlo have gone out to a play or somewhere, but I did not go. I don’t know if it is wrong or rude of me but I don’t like all these shows and town life. I prefer to stay at home and save the money, even if it is such a ‘home’ as we are staying in now.I hope they don’t think me ‘prim and proper’ but I do object to their saying ‘damn’. Carlo says it often and now Jim is copying him. I hate it and don’t see why they can’t say something else instead. I’ve got a headache. Goodnight.

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Monday, December 22nd 1930

Yesterday we went first to Uncle Ern’s and took him out to lunch. He needed it, poor old uncle! Then we went on to Uncle futa’s and then had tea and supper with Uncle Harry. Auntie Edith, who has just had an operation for appendicitis is getting steadily better and improving wonderfully.

Today we did not get any more stock until 4 o’clock and in consequence the sales were poor – two small and three big sets.

Jim has gone to a show with that school friend of his, and so I am popping off to bed in a minute. Carlo went to Colchester at 5 today, so we are alone in the ‘palace’ now; or will be when Jim gets back!

I am jolly tired, I always am now-a-days!     Goodnight.

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Saturday, December 27th 1930

I am back in Bristol now, thank goodness. I came back with Jim, who changed his plans at the last minute. Christmas is practically over now, alas. We all have had a very jolly time, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Jim left on Boxing Day at 8 o’clock in the morning, and is not back yet. He will most likely come back tomorrow. It is jolly funny but Jim said he would prefer to spend Christmas in London rather than coming home. I can’t understand that, I think that of all things Christmas is a family festivity. He seems rather like that I am afraid – out for a good time, and not caring what happens as long as he gets it.

Alan and I had a jolly good match of hockey on the Downs, and will be getting another on Monday, and again on Friday.

Will write again very soon, it’s now 10:30 p.m.

Good night.

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Sunday, December 28th 1930

Christmas is over now, except for a few lingering sweets and ginger wine, and presents of course!

We have had a record lot of Christmas cards this year I believe, and they look very festive all arranged on the drwing room mantlepiece. All the Taylors in Paignton sent cards, which was jolly nice and shows they had not forgotten us. Noel sent one, and I sent him a letter before I knew he had sent us a card. I wrote it in London, and posted it just before we left Paddington. I hope he will write to me some day, but I know he hates writing letters. It would help me to remember what he is like and what Paignton is like, though there is small likelihood of my forgetting either.

Tea-time.        Good-afternoon.

Sunday, December 28th 1930 (continued)

I have been reading a jolly good book of Jeffery Farnol’s, my favourite author. He has been my favourite for about four years now. He writes a great deal about the beauty of Kent and Surrey and the wonderful country land there. He is a pure simple-hearted writer, and is absolutely clean and open-hearted in his writings. His heroines are simple pure and innocent and his heroes clean straightforward mannish men. The whole atmosphere of his books, if fantastic, is pure beauty and goodness.

Anyrate in the one I am reading which Mum and Dad gave me for Christmas and which is called ‘The Quest of Youth’, it has a short passage which struck me as expressing my views about the town and country to a nicety. It is a coincidence that I have just returned from London.

She: Ay, but when we reach London, how then?

He: Plague me not with thought of teeming, roaring Babylon. We are in Arcady, God’s free gift to man. We walk with angels about us, spirits o’ the wilderness, sprites o’ the trees and rippling brooks. The birds are our choristers. Thus we, content with these solitudes and each other, should be happy.

When I was in London I said that it was crowded with no room anywhere, and now old J.F. Calls it ‘teeming’ and I also said it was 50% noise and old J.F. calls it ‘roaring’. Again, the next day I wrote that the city was made by Man, but the country by God, and dear old J.F. goes and calls the country ‘God’s free gift to man’. I am awfully glad somebody agrees with me. I only wish Noel was here, I’m sure he would understand and agree too.

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[1]    Uncle Harry. Brother of Lilian (Mum’s mother) who lived in Putney

[2]    Auntie Laura. Wife of Uncle Bud, who was brother of Mum’s father Leslie. Children were Reggie, Noel, Mary, Levitt and Little Ned.

[3]    Uncle Ned and Auntie Ethel. Mum’s father’s (Leslie’s) brother and his wife. Lived in Paignton?

[4]    Uncle Ned – brother of Mum’s father Leslie. Wife Ethel, children Jack and Joan.

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Categories
1929 diary Meg

Meg’s Diary 1929

PRIVATE
DIARY

Margaret Taylor, 12 Osborne Rd, Clifton, Bristol
Age 14 years
Begun Friday, July 20th 1929
Finished Saturday, November 25th, 1933

Friday, July 26th, 1929.

This new book was bought for me by Dad, he had said before that he would buy the book if I would write the diary.

There is only one more exam left now – geometry. It will need a lot of revision but I will have all the week-end to do it in.

I have one of the dolls that are given to anybody who will undertake to dress them. They are for the club children. There is lots of time as they need not be given in ’till the beginning of next term.

The third lost their match against The Colts which was truly awful. I made a duck, but retrieved my honour by taking three wickets. I don’t know for how many ’cause Vere King took the books home to work over.

Good-night.

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Saturday, July 27th 1929

There is no time really to write tonight, it has just struck eleven. We have been listening to a revue on the wireless. It was very good – especially Mabel Constanduros, if that is how she spells her name.

I must not spend any more time now, for me have all arranged to go to the baths Kingsdown are open on Sundays, before breakfast tomorrow. Oh dear I wish I hadn’t said I would go, but I expect I will enjoy it when I get there.

Good-night.

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Wednesday, July 31st 1929

We broke up yesterday, so, of course, it has been pelting off and on all day. Jim is not coming back for about a week because he has gone to camp with the O.T.C, at Tidworth where all the other public schools are camping together, there are thousands there. Jim is lucky, he won’t have much hard work to do as he is now a Lance-corporal.

I will buck up and get into bed and then get on.

Now I am ready again. Yesterday Suzanne Oliver came to tea, and we went to watch a tennis tournament in which she was playing the next day (today). We discovered she was playing that day after tea so she dashed home, changed, had tea with me, and was back again in time. She with Cherry Peter beat their opponents, both High School girls 6-2, 6-2 So they will be in the next round. I did quite well in the exams. Mary was by far the best – she had (out of the ten exams) eight firsts (over 70) and two seconds (over 50). I came next with six firsts, and four seconds. There was nobody else near us, I think. So I am quite sure of my remove next term. The form-mistresses are Miss Davidson and Miss Thomas. I don’t know Miss Davidson very well, she does look shapy though. I am longing to go into Miss Thomas’ form, she is really fine, the best mistress in the school.

Examination Results

History Grammar Literature Geography French Latin ScienceII II II II I I IAlgebra & Arith Geometry ScriptureI I I
Exam results

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Monday, August 5th Bank Holiday 1929

I have been waiting until something really happened before I wrote here again, so now here you are! It began, I think, on the day that Ashman (a dreadful prig) came to take Alan for an afternoon on the river at Saltford. When he came back he was full of it, how lovely it was, and we ought to go.

He was so awfully keen on it we said we would go, on Saturday. Well Saturday looked very cloudy and rainy and so we put it off, Alan was mad about it.

After all it turned out quite a decent day, which made him worse. The next day we did set out although it did look cloudy again. Mum and I took our macs, and Pat’s, but Dad and Alan said they did not think it would rain. When we were nearly there, on our bikes, it began to fairly pelt, and we were forced to shelter because the men (if Alan can be included in ‘men’) where without macs. It looked as if it had come to stay, and after waiting, it must have been quite an hour, Dad said he would rummage round and see if anybody would look after our bikes while we bussed home. At last he managed it, some very posh people, with a fine garage, offered help, and Dad promised to call and collect them next day if it were fine. We arrived home very bedraggled and weary, and now Saltford is another name for the baths.

Today was quite fine, and so we decided we would have another go at the river while we were there. So we bagged the best part of the day by packing out tea, and leaving about half-past-eleven.

We collected the cycles on the way, and then went down to the river. It was absolutely fine, and no crowd at all, even though it was a Bank Holiday. We rested by a bank and had lunch, without anyone passing, and we weren’t quick. The scenery was beautiful, and there wasn’t much current. I rowed for most of the time, chiefly one oar, but for a short time with two. It is more than twice as tiring with two than with one.

My wrist is getting so tired I will have to stop, ‘though there is lots more I wanted to say. Never mind, tell it another time.

Good-night

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Saturday August 10th 1929

I have ever so many things to write about that I had better start right at the beginning of the day and go onwards.

I am afraid there is nothing exciting, but everything is important (to me, now).

Firstly we (Dad, Alan and I) went to the open air baths before breakfast. It was lovely and warm. I stayed in much longer than either of the others.

Secondly I went with Mum (and of course, Pat) down to Bobby’s to see their new winter, or rather autumn, hats. There was not one small enough to fit Mums; not the right colour, so she is leaving it for a few days, as they will be having a lot more. I bought one, red, a lovely one, and I like it more than any other one I have had. Then we came back to Clifton and we bought a pair of nice light brown shoes, strap, for me again.

Thirdly Dad went with me to see The Cricket match, Gloucestershire versus Northants, at the College. They are very even, and I don’t know which will win. They have only just started, this being the first day.

Fourthly (and lastly, I believe) I saw a book of Jefferey Farnol’s* ‘Black Bartlemys Treasure’ in a stationary shop selling for 9d, as a surplus library book. I bought it, and so have realised a dream I have had for a long time, to own one of Jefferey Farnol’s books. He is easily my favourite author and has been for three or four years.

Ian may come next. There is no third.

Good-night

*John Jeffery Farnol (10 February 1878 – 9 August 1952), was an English author, known for his many romantic novels, some formulaic and set in the English Regency period, and swashbucklers.

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Thursday, August 15th 1929

Dad and Alan came home today. Oh, I don’t think I even told you they went away, I’ll tell you (that’s me) now.

Dad went up to London to demonstrate the game to the buyers of the big stores, Barkers, Gamages, Selfridges, Harrods, and others, and he took Alan, as he is the most proficient, up to demonstrate with him. Harrods and Selfridges are most keen, and say it should go well at Christmas. The Kum-Bak people have offered Dad to manufacture them, and give him so much on each one they sell, and also a minimum so they will not be able to stop selling them. We don’t know whether to accept or refuse, but I should say accept.

Good-night

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Monday, August 19th 1929

We (children) went to the pictures this evening. We saw the first talkie performed (of rather had) at the Triangle. I had never seen or heard one before, neither had Jim. Alan did when he was in London with Dad. It was ever so good, especially the plot. The talk was rather gramophoney, and not always clear. Alan said the one in London was much better. We all have headaches now through listening to it for so long.

A man (in the talkie) made a bet to speak only the truth for twenty-four hours, and he got in a dreadful mess by the end of it*.

I am awfully tired so-

Good-night

*Nothing But the Truth (1929) is a sound comedy film starring Richard Dix. The film was remade as Nothing But the Truth (1941) starring Bob Hope and Paulette Goddard.

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Sunday, September 8th, 1929

We are at the farm now – minus Dad, who had to go to London on business (about the game), a day or two after we arrived, and will only come back on Wednesday evening – we have to go on Friday.

The old car we hired, a Standard, was so hard to drive that Mum could not do it, so Dad took it back to Bristol with him, and is going to return in it to drive us back.

The life here is absolutely different from our life at Bristol, and we will feel quite queer getting back to it, I expect.

Every morning we go for a walk with Pat, and try to make her go to sleep, or else she is crabby later on. Every afternoon we walk down to Seaton beach and take our tea with us. We usually bathe once before tea, and once after.

When we have anything to buy we get it at the store at Seaton, or if we are not able to get it there, we (usually Alan and I) walk to Looe, about 3 or 4 miles, and all hills and valleys.

There are only candles to take to bed. At supper we have an Aladdin lamp, which is very fragile and we have to be very careful with it. Every night she (Mrs Perrys) tells us the the mantle costs eighteen pence, and the burner (as she calls the wick) two shillings; and if we play Dad’s game, or my skittles, she carefully changes the table-cloth to an old holey one.

On wet days, and sometimes fine ones she turns the mats upside down, so we shall not spoil them – that’s what Mrs Perrys is like!

It was my birthday about a week ago, and I had ten shillings from Mum & Dad, and a fine table skittles game from the boys. Everyone remembered me, and that was fine.

We are none of us longing to go home to the old life, and we think this is the nicest holiday we have had, excepting France.

No more time now – my candle is getting low!

Flying officer Waghorn won the Sneider Trophy* for England against Italy for twice in succession. The average speed was 328 m.p.h   HURRAH!

Good-night

*Flight Lieutenant Richard Dick Waghorn AFC (1904–1931) was an English aviator, a pilot with the Royal Air Force who flew the winning aircraft in the 1929 Schneider Trophy seaplane race

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Poems copied

Hooray! I have now copied all Mum’s poems from the old site (39 of them), and they are now ready to access here.

Mum’s old poem book
Categories
Meg poem

The Sapper’s Lament

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The Sapper’s Lament

I’m complaining of my head and eyes
  and also of my chest;
I never get a minute’s sleep; I can’t march
   with the rest
Because my feet have flattened out, and
   since my bunions came
(After my wife had turns last year) I’ve
   never been the same.
My mother suffers from her nerves, she
   says she had fits when
She was a kid. My father’s dead – he
   died when I was ten
(Though ’twasn’t that that killed him). I
   left school at Standard III
And mighty glad to leave I was, and ran
   away to sea.
But when I got the chance to quit I took
  a job on land
For sea life is a rough life and there’s
   some jobs I can’t stand.
(I told you of my eyes and feet and
   how I cough at night
Till it feels as if my head’ll bust?) My
   back’s never been right
Since an accident I met with when
   a lorry knocked me down –
They kept me weeks in hospital, and they
   baked my whole back brown
But it made no difference to the pain,
   [and so] I made them pay

Full compensation – I can’t bend or lift
   things to this day.
But when they called me up I came and
   tried to do my share,
Was it my fault about my head and
   chest and feet? It’s not fair
To label me a shirker when I go sick.
   I know you
Would like a little medicine if you
   suffered like I do.
They put me down as A1 when I joined –
   they didn’t care
How much I coughed (though I coughed a lot)
   and if I had been near
To having one foot in the grave ‘twould still
   have been the same,
And now I’m on a draft you know and
   seeing that I’m lame
And my back’s bad and my chest weak
   I thought that you’ld agree
My category needs altering, it should be
   C – or E.

Margaret Taylor