22 April 1940
Sitting in the adjutant's office and looking out of the window to where the sun was shining and aeroplanes landing on the green new grass I thought suddenly, my life is contented now: I have an interesting new job (I'm working for the new Station Intelligence Officer who's from Yorkshire and stocky and going bald, with a lot of humour and at the moment a bad cold. He treats you as if you had as much intelligence as himself); I have a reasonably nice young man, Eric, and enough variety to keep away boredom from my leisure hours. Never in my life have my days been so round and snug and this is a war, a clash of civilisation. It is odd.
25 April 1940
Last night the WAAFs gave a dance. I had my hair done the night before and it was looking extremely nice. Everyone had been remarking on it, the boys in the Orderly Room teasing me about it. Just before I left the house, Boompsie called from the bathroom to say the tap had burst again, but as Becket, the house NCO, said she would get a plumber, I thought no more about it.
I danced with a lot of airmen, none very exciting, and at about 11.30 I met Boompsie and a drunk young Army officer: they said they were going on to a beer party when the dance ended and would I come. I said all right and we all of us went round looking for beer to buy and take away. Then one of the WAAF sergeants said she had heard about our planning and was coming along to our house to see we were in bed. I went to tell Geoffrey, the Army officer, this and explain it would be stupid to go. He said all right, come out with me tomorrow night, and kissed me in the hall in front of our senior sergeant; we were very drunk. He took my telephone number and said he's phone. Apparently he had made likewise promises to Boompsie and others (there's a dance up at his place and he was sent to collect a few WAAFs to go, preferably, I think, of the prostitute tendency).
Back in my billet no plumber had come, the kitchen was flooded, Becket had missed the dance and spent the evening bailing water and was very very mad. Lots of men with mud-encrusted boots had worn paths across our bedroom. I got into bed with two aspirins, lied to the disappearing sergeant about Boompsie and was awakened by her at 3.30 returning from the Army officer and a battle for her maidenhead. I swore at her with a language I never realised I knew, and woke again at seven to see water over our floor, the pipes having burst in the night. Becket and I spent the morning cleaning it up, a filthy job, and by 11.30 when we were finally finished we lay like two limp dirty dolls on our respective beds.
28 April 1940
On Friday I went with Eric to see Gone With the Wind, having food first at the Queens Bar where we laughed and he teased and was rude to me: a far pleasanter state of affairs. The film was a good copy of the book: I know the book so well I could tell every line of every dialogue. The best parts were Scarlett returning to her ruined Tara against utmost odds – misery, poverty, starvation – and her rigid will to succeed, to rebuild. I lost interest in the beautiful silk-wrapped well-fed woman at the end of the film, beyond a sense of stupid waste as she progressed unhindered in her killing of Rhett's love. Coming out we had supper and going down to my train, Eric kissed me: he didn't interest me at all.
7 May 1940
I went reluctantly with three other WAAFs and a lot of airmen in a large coal lorry over to Uxbridge to go to the dentist. The Air Force is really wonderful: even dental treatment is given us free. It's a comforting feeling to be fed and clothed and kept healthy by an impersonal higher being – it leaves so little to worry about. No wonder the Services are happy go lucky.
I have never been to such a good dentist who took endless trouble and never once hurt me. I had three injections for stopping the pain and have to go tomorrow to have one out.
The journey back was fun: it was a hot day so we rolled up the battered tarpaulin and the wind caught in it like a sail almost lifting us from the road. The airmen laughed and talked and the van rattled us about and everyone in the street stopped to smile at us. In the evening I cut the grass and cleaned the window – it's house inspection tomorrow.
9 May 1940
I began to be afraid in the morning. I began to think he couldn't possibly take out a whole hard tooth without hurting me. By lunchtime, as I walked down to the waiting dentist lorry, past a lorry full of cheering WAAFs going to play hockey, I felt very self-sorry. This time I rode with Pat Rollandson in front with the driver.
In the waiting room I found an article on ‘Why Be Afraid’ and drained it of its inadequate comfort. An orderly called, ‘ACW Bawden’ and I walked to the chair. He stuck needles in my tooth and said, indifferently of course, that it wouldn't hurt me. I was glad he wasn't sympathetic: I was horribly unreasonably afraid. The agony was wondering when it would hurt. I said, ‘I will be brave, I do so want to be brave,’ and one tear fell out of the side of my eye but nobody took any notice of it. Suddenly two hands came out behind my head and held it fast, I screwed up my eyes, his pincers were on my tooth and he was right! It didn't hurt. My faith in him returned, I wondered with interest how long it would take to come out. He had to get another pair of pincers and pulled and pulled, and the orderly gripped my head and at last, without a twinge, I felt it slipping out. He made me put my head between my knees to fill the cavity with blood. I have to go back next week but I don't mind. Next time I'll be really properly brave.
That evening Boompsie and I went to Golders Green to see Ivor Novello's empty, faintly amusing Full House. I am writing this later, bored and on guardroom duty. Hearty Annie has just come in to say goodbye to us, I wonder what officer horror they've found for us next.
It's even later now and I'm back in my billet from the Sergeants Mess. They's had a party and had a lot of food left over, so Priscilla Carpenter and I were asked in to eat it up (my appetite is famous) and it was heavenly – gherkins and cheese and crisps and prawns and olives and beer, yummy yum.
11 May 1940
These last two days!
Boompsie's wake-up call: ‘Joan!’, and Broadcast Control's: ‘Collect no. 5 equipment’,22
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