The Diaries of Nella Last Page 2
In late August 1939, when the international crisis seemed very likely to lead to another terrible war, Nella and other volunteer ‘Observers’ had been invited by Mass-Observation (M-O) to start keeping a diary, and she responded enthusiastically, although she had doubts about her writing skills. Her self-doubts, we now know, were unwarranted.
Thursday, 31 August. The weather is still so oppressive – real crisis weather – and makes people jumpy. Downtown this morning no one seemed to be talking of anything but food and I saw as many prams parked outside Woolworths, Liptons and Marks and Spencers as on a busy Friday afternoon. Inside it was the food counters in Woolworths and M & S that were the busiest. I heard the news at 1 o’clock and felt as if the worst had happened in spite of the assurance that evacuation was not to be considered ‘inevitable’. I felt that if I stayed in I’d worry so went down earlier to the WVS meeting. I got a real surprise for the big room was filled with eager women who settled down to swab making or evacuation or evacuation supplies. Our ‘Head’ [Mrs Waite] is a darling ‘young’ woman of 72 who had charge of Hospital Supplies in last war. She told us a more central room had been taken and ‘for the first’ [of September] would be open two afternoons a week. Four machines were to be installed and we were to make in addition to swabs etc. pyjamas and all Hospital Supplies. It was odd to me that there was so little talk of the big issues – just a planning of how household affairs could be arranged to enable as much time as was needed to be given. When coming home I encountered the usual ‘Hitler beaten, and we are doing this to bluff him’ and I wondered if it was faith – with a capital F – or stubbornness which made those of us who thought ‘something will happen at the last minute’ cling to their disbelief in the worst happening. When I was a small child I remember a prophecy my dad heard – that little Prince Edward would never be crowned king and that in 1940 a world war would start that would end things. I’m no more ‘scared cat’ than the average but I have a cold feeling in my tummy when I think the first came true. Feel so tired I cannot keep awake but my eyes won’t stay shut. Wonder how the people who live on the ‘edge of things’ keep their sanity. Know I’ll have to work hard to keep from thinking. Wish I liked meat and stout and had a good appetite to keep up. Will try and drink more milk. Wonder if I should give my faithful old dog and my funny little comedian cat ‘the gift of sleep’. Perhaps it’s as well my husband insists on the light out for the night.
Friday, 1 September. I feel tonight like a person who, walking safely on the sea sands, suddenly finds his feet sinking in a quicksand. Odd how I should have believed so firmly in my astrological friend when he assured me that there would be NO WAR. Today the town was full of women carrying huge rolls of brown paper from the printers to black out. I knew my younger boy had to go in a fortnight but now when it looks as if he will have to go any time and at such a time I realise his going. He is such a cocky bright eyed lad, so full of jokes and such a ‘know all’, I know he would be offended if he knew I kept seeing the little funny boy who was so difficult to rear. I feel I’d rather go and serve six months in the Army than let him go!!!!
I’m so tired I can hardly see for I’ve been shopping – had to do tomorrow’s shopping as the bus service is going to be seriously curtailed as the buses are to go to help take evacuated children into the more remote Lake villages. Then I’ve been machining dozens of tailors’ samples of about 2 × 4 inches into evacuation blankets and then tonight there has been the problem of the blackout. Ours is a modern house with huge windows rounded at one end. We took the usual weekly groceries for an aunt living about 12 miles away and found her busy getting things ready in case they brought her any children whom no one could put up. She would ‘really not like more than four as winter is coming on and washing and drying is such a problem’ – and she is 75!! When I got undressed and into bed I thought the process should have been reversed for all today I’ve had the feeling that it was a dream that would pass.
Saturday, 2 September. I decided after today’s rush and work I am not the crock I thought! I’m sure the thoughts of the housewives struggling with paper, drawing pins, dark blankets etc. would be quite sufficient to cook Hitler brown on both sides! Paper jumped from 3d or 4d a sheet to 9d. My next door neighbour, who had been most careful to lay in an extra supply of bottled beer and whiskey, left getting dark out materials too late and then could not get any. Frantic SOS all round got enough bits and pieces to manage but she naturally had to wait till we had all finished. An Air Warden friend called and told me of what might easily have developed into an ugly situation. The market, library and all shops not blacked out closed at sundown. The others drew down blinds and tied paper on light they could not do without. An Italian chocolate and ice cream shop had all lights as usual and a crowd gathered muttering. The proprietor took no notice and police were sent for who dispersed the crowd and the light. I could not understand his attitude at all for he and his brothers were from here and have always talked ‘British’. It seems though that he has lately had his wireless tuned in continually to Italy and quotes Mussolini freely. My elder boy who is home from Manchester for the weekend says he has noticed a growing feeling against Jews, particularly foreign Jews. I hate the shut in feeling of closed windows or paper curtained over ones, wonder what it must feel like down a coal mine or in a submarine. The Air Wardens seemed to think we might hear of something ‘big’ tonight but now it is tomorrow as my boys used to call after 12 o’clock and we are still wondering. My cat seems to feel the tension for he is a real nuisance and follows me round so closely I have tripped over him several times. Last night he hid until I’d settled off and then jumped quietly on the bed and settled on my feet – not a trick of his at all!
Sunday, 3 September. A violent thunderstorm has cleared the air and it’s cool now. It’s been so close and heavy for over a week – just as it is before a storm breaks. I’m having a morning in bed to rest but don’t feel like resting. The boys say there is an important announcement coming over at 10 o’clock so have decided to get up.
Bedtime. Well, we know the worst. Whether it was a kind of incredulous stubbornness or a faith in my old astrological friend who was right in the last crisis when he said ‘no war’, I never thought it would come. Looking back I think it was akin to a belief in a fairy’s wand which was going to be waved. I’m a self-reliant kind of person but today I’ve longed for a close woman friend – for the first time in my life. When I heard Mr Chamberlain’s voice so slow and solemn I seemed to see Southsea Prom the July before the last crisis. The Fleet came in to Portsmouth from Weymouth and there was hundreds of extra ratings walking up and down. There was all ‘sameness’ about them that was not due to their clothes alone and it puzzled me till I found out. It was the look on their faces – a slightly brooding, far-away look. They all had it, even the jolly looking boys, and I wanted to rush up and ask them what they could see that I could not – and now I know.
The wind got up and brought rain but on the Walney shore men and boys worked filling sand bags. I could tell by the dazed looks on many faces that ‘something’ would have turned up to prevent war. The boys brought a friend in and insisted on me joining in a game but I could not keep it up. I’ve tried deep breathing, relaxing, knitting and more aspirins than I can remember but all I can see are those boys with their looks of ‘beyond’. My younger boy will go in just over a week. His friend, who has no mother and is like another son, will go soon – he is 26 – and my elder boy is at Sunlight House in Manchester, a landmark. As Tax Inspector he is at present in a reserved occupation.
Tuesday, 5 September. Tonight I had my first glimpse of a blackout and the strangeness appalled me. A tag I’ve heard somewhere, ‘The city of Dreadful Night’, came into my mind and I wondered however the bus and lorry drivers would manage. I don’t think there is much need for the wireless to advise people to stay indoors – I’d need a dog to lead me. Heard today that a big new Handicraft Centre is commandeered for a hospital. I wondered why we were no
t starting making shells etc. as in last war. It’s a good thing that my husband likes his bed and insists I go up when he does. I feel so over strung tonight I ‘could fly’ and know if left alone would have gone on sewing – silly to knock oneself up so early. Best get into the jog trot that stays the course.
Thursday, 7 September. Today Ruth, my ‘morning girl’, and I were a bit dumpish. We can generally find a bright side to talk or laugh over but this morning all was quiet. Suddenly I heard laughter and she said ‘Well, God love it!’ I went to where she was in the clothes closet in hall and found Murphy my cat sitting snug on a rug under the dinner wagon. ‘He has found his air raid shelter like a Christian’, Ruth declared. Bless my little cat and his funny ways. He seems to ‘work for his laughs’ like a seasoned trouper and he scores a point in his cat-mind if he makes me laugh, I’m sure!
We took a large room for WVS and find we could do with one twice as big! No one was actually turned away. Tailors’ pieces or wool for blankets were given to those who could not sit down but those of us who were sitting down worked under such cramped conditions that our output of swabs and pneumonia jackets was lessened and we all had bad heads. I’ve often felt ashamed of my sex but never so proud as the way the ‘right’ women have rolled in. No ‘butterflies’ who want particular jobs, no catty or what is worse bitchy women, and when an old woman who it seems had had some authority in the last war got peevish at being ‘one of the crowd’, she hushed and blushed at the way her complaints were received. I get the oddments any tradesmen give us to look over and advise best things to make for I have clever fingers.
Saturday, 9 September. I went into the Maypole and jokingly said to the girls ‘What – got stuff on the shelves yet? Seems to me you girls are not trying!’ It was a feeble kind of joke and I was startled at the way they laughed and gathered round for a ‘crack’ – there was no other customer. They asked ‘How long the war would last’ and I said ‘Just a day at a time and the first seven years were the worst’. The manager and counter man joined up to join in the laugh and he said ‘Well, it’s a treat to find someone who can find something to joke about these days’. With two sons and a brother and the knowledge that my husband’s men (four for a start and two later) [might be conscripted], which will mean there will be little they can do as shopfitters etc, I don’t know I’ve got much [to laugh about] but it gave me an idea. I’ve always been able to joke and see the funny side up till now and I’ll keep on if I crack my face doing it. If my nonsense can raise a smile I’ll think it worth the effort and perhaps it will take the picture of those naval boys out of my mind. It’s all right when I’m working and have to keep my mind on my work but if I relax they pass before me. Gave myself a treat today. I hate stitching pieces of cloth together for hospital blankets – am not a good routine worker. I like to design or plan and see others do the drudgery!!
Sunday, 17 September. Decided as petrol was still unrationed to go and take a last look at Morecambe – a favourite Sunday run. It was a lovely day and many were like ourselves – only there for a short time. Coming back we were hailed by a girl of about 22 and a boy of 8 or 9. Barrow people, they had missed a connection. With them a little way off was another woman, a cripple well known to us. A Jewish family reared in the town, she had something to do with her when small and her bones never hardened. She walks with the greatest difficulty and is in a metal frame from the waist down. Our car is a Morris 8 and she about filled the back – she is very broad and fat. We could have sent the boy on a friendly motor cyclist’s pillion but the look of wild terror on the boy’s face made us pack the two in the tiny space left, the boy sitting on the girl’s knee. He smiled but said little and we women talked about WVS and ARP† and got very interested in each other’s talk. I turned round once to ask the little boy to come and sit on my knee for a change but he only smiled and said he was ‘quite alright’. His English was a little broken and I said ‘Is Eric a foreigner?’ for he was a fair, blue-eyed, pink and white type. I learned he was a German Jew from Barrow who had made a long journey across Germany and to England in the company of other refugee children, and his parents and brother had come later on last train and boat allowed to leave Germany. After over an hour’s drive we got to Barrow and when the car stopped no one offered to get out! Miss Wolf the cripple could not without help and Eric, white-faced, was trying to get to his feet. We found that the iron of Miss Wolf’s ‘frame’ had pressed to the bone in Eric’s little thin thigh and calf and he had stuck it with a smile, said it was ‘quite alright’ – a phrase he uses a lot. Miss Wolf said he must have gone through terrible things on his journey for he never complained of any inconvenience and was puzzled at the way people ‘dared’ to protest at things. One of the oddest things was his hero worship of policemen – went out of his way to walk past them and if they looked at him pleasantly or smiled! – well, Eric was happy. When Jews were spoken to by ‘Nordia’ and came into the shop and talked in the ordinary way he behaved so oddly that the Wolfs feared they had taken a mental child. He has been six months or so with them now and settled to our ways but somehow that nice ordinary little boy brought home to me what cruelty and oppression really meant in Germany.
During the rest of 1939 and through the winter of 1940 Nella wrote of all sorts of matters, including her volunteer work at the WVS centre, which involved various activities, notably organising raffles to raise money, working for Central Hospital Supply Service and providing ‘comforts’ and other goods for the Sailors’ Home. (Nella was keen on seamen: ‘my heart’, she wrote on 2 November 1940, ‘is and always will be with the men who sail the little ships and go for dangerous voyages to sweep mines’.) She got much satisfaction from this volunteering – ‘I felt such a thrill to think I too belonged to WVS’, she remarked on 30 October 1940, after hearing on the radio of the organisation’s work. The WVS in Barrow had around 100 members in 1940, and Nella normally worked at its centre, which was actually rooms attached to Christ Church, two days a week. She also wrote during these months about the beginning of Cliff’s military service; she commented on the blackout (householders who allowed any light to show might be fined), the arrival of evacuees in the countryside from south Lancashire and the severe weather of January–February 1940; she described day trips to the nearby Lake District, many of which included visits to her much-admired Aunt Sarah in Spark Bridge; and she touched on matters related to the nearby sea. From time to time she reminisced, usually about family – her beloved maternal grandmother, a farmer near Greenodd and a Quaker, was always remembered fondly – and she sometimes reflected on the horrors of warfare, which were still, for most Britons, more anticipated than actual. This was not, though, a time when she produced her most vivid writing.
These months included what came to be known as the ‘phoney war’ of October 1939 through early April 1940. Most of Britain’s military conflicts during these months were on the seas. Otherwise, there was little loss of life. Civilians – and most soldiers – faced no real threat. Most consumer goods were still readily available. Rationing was minimal, and it only began at the start of 1940. As early as 30 September 1939 Nella was noticing how little interest there was in war news – ‘Perhaps it’s because all is so “quiet on the Western Front”.’ ‘War seems to be so far away’, she wrote on 24 February 1940. It certainly lacked a sense of day-to-day immediacy, at least in a seriously negative way – Barrow’s economy, after all, was booming. One entry in her diary that was war-related comes from early spring, with the launch of the aircraft carrier Indomitable.
Tuesday, 26 March, 1940. When Ruth came she said launch was at 11.30 so I had to hurry and do my few odds and ends of washing I’d put in the water and prepared and left lunch and Arthur [who was visiting from Manchester] and I went off. It was only ten minutes run to Walney and we got last bit of parking place between a big chara† and a Rolls, and I know we only got it because our car, being small, could just squeeze in. There were crowds already there but I knew by yesterday’s turn of
the tide that we had a while to wait. Planes droned or roared overhead in the thick clouds which had gathered and air wardens pacing about made me have a sick feeling at the effects a German bomber would have on the dense packed crowd. There were thousands by 1.30 and the last of the ten tugs had been manoeuvred into place. Across Walney Channel the open end of aircraft carrier poked rather cautiously from stocks and we noticed men beginning to run about as if in answer to orders. A faint cheer which strengthened into a roar, and she began to slide down to the hoot of the tugs. Arthur and I were standing on car seats and our heads through the sunshine roof so we had a grandstand view. She gathered speed and smoothly slipped into waiting tide without a splash – like a smooth drawer being pushed out of table or chest. I’ll never forget the cheers and ‘God blesses’ from all round, where greasy oily shipyard workers had stood crushed in between fur-clad women, soldiers, sailors and ‘high ups’ in Yard.* When the aircraft carrier had got right into the water she turned with the pull of the tide and it was as if she turned in answer to cheers to show her full length – a wonderful piece of work – and the look of exaltation on some of the work-grimed faces of the men around as ship took water so proudly, and so sure, was a sight to see.