February 12th, Saturday
Away over the hills to see my sick girl today and found her a bit better. Her young husband was at home not being at the mines today. How pathetic the whole case is, this young couple married only 18 months with their own little house which he bought and what a future for I cannot think she will live.
It is a quaint place, Popes Hill, dotted all over with homesteads, little old looking houses each with its orchard and garden and I went on my way to the “Shop”, an old fashioned place where you can buy anything and everything kept by a typical village shopkeeper. The whole atmosphere up there feels utterly primitive and old world and remote and I loved the wander.
Feb 14th, Monday
St Valentine’s Day, the birds’ wedding day.
“I wonder if the sap is stirring yet
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling, one by one.
Sing, Robin, Sing!
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.”
So sang Christina Rossetti. She need have been in no doubt had she been here today. The crocus fires were indeed alight and all the birds were married and upon the highest branches of the cedar tree I heard the first blackbird ventriloquising, his long drawn out liquid notes floating through the still air. I had been in Gloucester and it was market day. All along the road we passed cart after cart containing young calves and bundles of Miff and Muffs. The Glos market is one of the largest in the West of England and the whole town was full.
Again we were in G today, this time to a Cotteswold Field Meeting. The subjects were glass making and botany, both too technical for words. The first was unintelligible terms and the second a list of latin names given by old Riddledale. He has no monday names, he only knows the sunday ones.
Feb 16th, Wed
Coming home yesterday I said to Poggy how I hoped I shouldn’t have to go to G again for a long time when to my disgust a large piece of stopping came out of a tooth and I must go again tomorrow. Today I couldn’t because I had people to Bridge.
Off I went to G and had a temp filling put in. As it turned out it was indeed temp as it promptly fell out as soon as I got back! I intended coming home in time to take the Mothers Meeting but missed the bus so was hung up till 2 and was so fed up on my return that I took two chairs, cushions etc and lay out in the sun till tea time.
My drawing room is full of hyacinths, daffs, azalias, violet, polyanthus and it’s really lovely The scent is delicious. Poggy went off to tea and dinner with the VHs so I spent an evening alone. I fed the chickens, washed the Separator, had tea, washed up, trimmed a hat, had supper (a boiled egg in the kitchen!), played the piano and wrote letters.
Feb 19th, Saturday
Poggy had a letter form Mary (his sister) thanking for birthday wishes. She is 69 and spends nearly all her time in bed now, hardly ever leaves it in fact. What a life.
Letters from India give a most uncomfortable view of things out there, propaganda being brought to their very doors. It is a strange country now, with a Native at Lt Governor and Jews in all the high places, with Reading as Viceroy. Blackwood (magazine) had a most awfully depressing article out this month, really frantic, and if even half is true its more than enough. (You can read a letter from her brother in the next panel)
And below, a poem stuck into the Feb 12th entry. It clearly resonated with Wynne!