5.9.39

Have not been able to keep up the diary owing to travelling to & fro, dislocation caused by the war etc. The weather has been mainly hot & still. On the night of 2.9.39 a tremendous thunderstorm which went on almost continuously all night.

On returning to Wallington after 10 days absence find weeds are terrible. Turnips good & some carrots have now reached a very large size. Runner beans fairly good. The last lot of peas did not come to much. A number of marrows. One pumpkin about the size of a billiard ball. Apples on the grenadier almost ripe. Damsons & bullaces ripe. All the winter vegetables have taken all right. Early potatoes rather poor, only about 5-6 potatoes to a plant, but the later ones look as if they would be good. Onions fair. Lettuces have all gone to seed. Flowers in nursery beds (wallflowers 2 kinds, sweet williams & carnations) doing all right. Hollyhocks and marigolds almost over. Roses (not ramblers) blooming again. Larkspurs quite good. Bergamot over, & phloxes almost over. Dahlias full out. Some michaelmas daisies out. Grass has grown very tall in 10 days.

It seems that since 24.8.39 (ie. 12 days) the hens have laid only 85[1] eggs, mostly big ones. All the older hens are moulting. Goats have been a week on grass only owing to Clarke’s failing to deliver grain last week but in good condition & still giving a reasonable amount of milk.

[1] Orwell originally wrote ‘69’. Peter Davison

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5 Responses to 5.9.39

  1. Max says:

    Hitler starts a war, that awful Churchill is allowed into the cabinet, everyone going around in gasmasks, trains and buses not running on time, and now the last straw – Clarke’s fail to deliver grain the goats are forced to eat grass! What is the world coming to? Those people at Clarkes people will obviously have to face a war trial for this.

    The only thing that can see us through, the only thing those demented Hitlers and Clarkes failed take into account when they made their wicked plans was the British secret weapon – the English gardener. Manky old lettuces, poor spuds and pumpkins the size of billiard balls – those greedy foreigners will never survive our deadly English cuisine. Let ’em have it, Eric!

  2. The solitary, emaciated and forlorn pumpkin smiled gratefully when the Blair’s returned—a herd of goats had been giving him the eyeball.

    George knows we’ve been anxiously awaiting the next War Diary entry and explains: Traveling to & fro. Dislocated. There’s a war going on, you see.

  3. Meanwhile, in Toledo OH, the folks are putting on their work clothes and Lithuania is conquered in a mistranslated war.

  4. Martin says:

    “Roes (not ramblers) blooming again.”

    Is that a genuine Orwellian spelling mistake?

  5. @Martin – our mistake, apologies!

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