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Well, today, March Fourth, I live. I still live. Last night we had two bad raids. The first came at eight-thirty and went on until ten p.m. The second came at four thirty this morning, and lasted until a quarter to six. Our gunfire was terrific. I have not heard yet what damage was done. Nothing in this immediate vicinity, though when Ted returned from the Home Guard he said one of their officers had come in, in an extremely nervous state, and said bombs had fallen in Collier Row. However, when the radio man came this morning, about a half and hour ago, he said, no, not Collier Row last night, but nearer to Fairlop and Warley, the airdromes, well, we'll know later. Whilst the racket is going on I get very sick, and retch constantly. I can't help it, and I can't stop it. This morning I feel sore in the ribs, as though somebody had kicked me. If a bombardment went on for twelve or eighteen hours, I think I should expire, not from a direct hit, but from my one bodily mechanism, which will not behave properly, and which I can't control, no matter how emphatically my will commands it. Sheer animal fear, over which the soul has no control, yes, sure it can kill you. This blasted war! When, oh when, will it finish? If there is anything in this world stupider than war I have never heard of it. Men deliberately destroying mankind, men deliberately destroying the entire world, could there possibly be anything more insane? Well, I pray like mad. God be merciful to me, a sinner. Deliver us from evil. Oh deliver us from evil.
Posted July 6, 2012
Having a special interest in the British homefront during WWII, I have eagerly devoured the three volumes of her wartime diaries so far, as well as the biography published by her great granddaughter. Although the books can be informative, the information about the war is peripheral. Unfortunately, she was such an unhappy woman that her observations about the war and its effects are far overshadowed by her complaints about her husband (whose religious fanaticism and highly opinionated and ovebearing temperament must have been hard to bear), her daughter-in-law, and her sons. Unlike Nella Last, for example, and despite her constant whining about being bored and wasting her talents, Ruby never participated in any sort of voluntary work; it is hard to figure out why. Did she consider herself too old? Did she think her unpleasant husband would object? Was she just uninterested? In any event, this book is worthwhile for people interested in WWII, and I certainly am eager to read the fourth volume, which will be about 1944-45.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.