Chilbury Manor remains terribly quiet for now. Kitty has been excruciatingly apologetic and really quite sweet. Daddy has been exceptionally absent and has thrown himself wholeheartedly into defending Chilbury from the Nazis. He has the Chilbury Defense Volunteers meet every other day to exert his authority. We’re incredibly relieved he’s found another focus for his energies.
Mama ordered me to rest as soon as I got home from work, realizing at last that she can leave baby Lawrence with Nanny and he’ll be just fine. After dinner, Kitty and Silvie decided to bring the gramophone into my bedroom to cheer us all up. We listened to the records Prim lent to Kitty before the bomb. She tried to give them back to Prim’s sisters when they came to collect her belongings—what was left of them. But they insisted that we keep them and enjoy them as much as we could in honor of Prim.
It was a cozy little evening, the four of us sitting around the player flipping through the records—there must be over forty of them, many of them from America. Mama brought up some tea and I had some biscuits from work, so we had a small party.
“This one is my favorite.” Kitty took a record out of its cover. “Prim told me it was one of her favorites, too, so I hope she’s looking down on us now, listening to her music.”
“What is it?” Mama asked.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” she chimed, putting it on and lifting the needle.
The notes began, after a little crackling. It was a band playing a fast little American number, quite amusing. Kitty and Silvie have clearly been listening to it, as they knew all the words.
“Keep young and beautiful,” they sang, strutting around the room. Kitty scooped up a small towel, pretending it was a feather boa.
It was highly entertaining, and we fell about laughing. Then I found “Blue Moon,” so we put that on. It was sung by some sisters from America. We joined in, with Kitty singing a harmony, such a magical song.
Mama chose an older one called “Putting on the Ritz.”
“It reminds me of when Daddy and I went to dances. Sometimes people would do the Charleston. I always wanted to have a go,” she said shyly.
Kitty and Silvie got up and did a few dance steps, back and forth, pulling Mama up to join in. Silvie was rather good, but Kitty was so pathetic that I felt obliged to get up and show them how to do it properly. Mama, for once, didn’t tell me to get back into bed.
“Let’s do this next.” Kitty put on an English favorite that we all knew called “Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major.” We sang along, sitting in a line on the bed, linking arms and swaying from side to side, until Kitty swayed too far and fell off, collapsing with laughter on the floor.
“We should put on a show!” Kitty said, her little face lighting up. “We should learn all the words and put on a show!”
“Why don’t you write the words out, and maybe we can try and sing along another time,” I said, hoping Mama wouldn’t be a bore and say it was too much for me.
But she said, “What a lovely idea. Perhaps we’ll ask some of the ladies from the choir to come along, too.”
“Hurrah!” Kitty cheered, and Silvie clapped her hands, jumping in her seat.
“It could be our new resurrection,” I said. “The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir becomes a singing show!”
I’ll keep you informed about our show, and if it ever comes into fruition. I’m sure with Kitty at the helm it’ll be difficult to put her off.
Much love,
Venetia
Tuesday, 13th August, 1940
Hitler has clearly resolved to make a decisive air attack on England, as there’s been a frenzy of fighter formations hurtling across our skies the past few days. The Nazis have been targeting military places, and we’re petrified they may hit Litchfield Park or Parnham Airfield.
When I arrived home this afternoon, Carrington was there waiting for me, his slim form perched neatly on the whitewashed bench on the front veranda appreciating the orangey glow of the late afternoon. He was wearing his army uniform but had taken off his hat, holding it in his hand and enjoying the warmth on his face, closing his eyes against the golden sun.
He got up when he saw me, and hurried over to give me a hand with my bicycle.
“How lovely to see you, Carrington,” I said, cheered to see his warm smile. “Is your leg doing any better?”
“Yes, it’s all right. They say I’ll never be able to run properly again, but these days I feel lucky to still be alive.”
“Come and have a cup of tea,” I said, leading him inside. “How is work at Litchfield Park?”
He followed me in, and we went and sat in the front room. “They’ve put me in intelligence, which is fascinating stuff. I’m hoping they might move me to London.”
I made some tea and brought it in, sitting down opposite him and waiting to hear if he had any news for me.