Diary of a Wartime Affair Read online

  When Doreen joined the Inland Revenue E had been working there for several years and was married to Kathleen (referred to in the diary as K), a ballet teacher. They lived in Kingston-upon-Thames and had no children.

  E’s intellectual interests and temperament were very different from Doreen’s. His main interests were in mathematics, science and philosophy while hers were in history, literature, drama and travel. They both enjoyed music and shared a strong sense of intellectual enquiry, a hatred of hypocrisy or dishonesty and an open-mindedness about politics and social progress. Their emotional attachment developed slowly and posed a great dilemma for them both, but particularly for Doreen, as becomes clear as her diary unfolds. Her honesty in facing this dilemma, the joy but also the depression that at times engulfed her, and the eventual resolution of her situation are told with startling frankness.

  E and K with her parents

  1934

  Doreen joined the Inland Revenue in 1927, when she was twenty-one years old. Initially she worked in an office in Croydon which was quite close to her home in Riddlesdown, but at the end of 1930 she was transferred to an office in Paddington, where she was to share a room with E. There she would find herself discussing Jude the Obscure, E’s childhood and school days and the philosophy lectures by C. E. M. Joad that they went to together, as well as tax case dilemmas.

  According to the diary, which she started writing intermittently in 1931, it was not until 1933 that a romantic element became insistent in their relationship, with E declaring to her that ‘she had the most fascinating mind he had come across’, and they started going for picnic lunches in Kensington Gardens, where they read plays and books together. In time this intellectual meeting of minds led to sexual encounters, probably starting in October 1933, but from the start both E and Doreen were smitten with guilt about E’s wife, Kathleen. This was to continue as a backdrop to their developing deep love, giving it a bitter-sweet quality that is clearly apparent in the diary entries that follow.

  The diary starts with a short account of one of the numerous walks Doreen took with E in countryside around London that was easily reached by train.

  EASTER TUESDAY, 3 APRIL

  This is a quick note of a secret day. Met E at Victoria at 10.12. Hastily changed my stockings and put on walking socks and cloaked my case of library books there before tubing to Euston for King’s Langley. I was hardly expecting to see him and he came panting from a hurried change at Clapham Junction. A slow puffing train and a carriage to ourselves to King’s Langley, but we just talked.

  The Grand Union Canal, King's Langley

  Walked ten and a half miles along the canal without touching a road. Rather disappointing at first, though interesting in a sordid way – an Ovaltine factory and hundreds of chickens for eggs, 2 or 3 huge paper factories – but gradually growing hills – innumerable locks, barges with brightly painted points, shining brass, each with a bicycle. Sat by a lock for lunch and beheld the complete reward for any walk – a kingfisher, first reddish-orange front and long bill, then a flash of blue-green back in the sun – iridescent, startling – too lovely to be true, but 3 times we saw it.

  MONDAY 30 APRIL

  I have reached the stage now of quite definitely getting pleasure out of physical contact with E. Apart from some satisfaction derived from the fact that it gives him pleasure I am still a little afraid and I still shudder now and then but I am much closer to him. If there was any prospect of having a child in the future I should be almost happy. He is marvellously patient considering the strength of his desire. It is this that still frightens me. I can see it in his eyes, growing as he looks at me. His hair is very fine and thick altho’, owing to its fineness, it doesn’t bush out much. He has queer hazel-grey eyes flecked with brown. At lunchtime we sat on the hearth rug after F E Shaw (FES)* had gone till I nearly missed the 5.50 train.

  TUESDAY 1 MAY

  To the Rep with E for A Doll’s House. He said I was hard and cruel. In the 2nd Act I loosened my brassière. Heavens, but I have too much feeling, yet I dread it – a foreboding. But he is so sweet – ‘I would rather die than give you up’ – ‘Is it not sweet to feel my hand on your cheek?’ He loves the shape of my face – so queer! I love his dependence, his helplessness – a childish clinging.

  SATURDAY 12 MAY

  I slept badly last night after the AIT† dinner.

  Tea, pie, orange and then changed quickly upstairs with E’s assistance and hastened, very hot, to Victoria. Train to Merstham, walked up on to the hills, took off my vest in a copse and we sat on a tree trunk in a clump of beeches looking at bluebells growing up the shady side of a hollow. After 20 minutes we climbed higher and eventually sat in a field under an ash tree till 5.30. E was sweet, very gentle and patient. I was happy and yet sad. We go perfectly together – that makes it worse. I said, ‘Everyone starts like this and yet look at most of them.’ He said, ‘No, it is generally just physical satisfaction that the man wants and economic independence and society position that a woman wants. We are different!’ I told him, ‘I do want a boy with your queer grey eyes and hair standing on end and my digestion,’ and, E added, ‘your laughing eyes’.

  E with his dog

  MONDAY 14 MAY

  Sunny but a gusty cold wind. It clouded over this afternoon and at dinner a heavy shower fell, to be followed by a magnificent rainbow – high, complete and brilliant. As the rain stopped a blackbird whistled joyously (at the prospect of worms I suppose).

  At lunch E produced a map and said it must be a real hike or K* would want to come and I felt awful – we both do. To deceive her seems worse to me than the fact. He thought she would suffer more, tho’ was gloomy all the afternoon. We talked and talked from 4.30 to 5.45. She is no worse off because he is happier – he is nicer to her than before – and it seems cruel not to give him what small happiness I can. He said, ‘We’ll cancel it, then?’

  They didn’t cancel and instead spent the Whitsun weekend, 19–21 May, from Saturday until Monday evening walking in the Cotswolds.

  WEDNESDAY 23 MAY

  I am still bemused by the happiness of last weekend. A lovely afterglow, as it were, lingers and warms my eyes as I look at him in such different surroundings in the office. We have no regrets and not a moment’s remorse.

  THURSDAY 24 MAY

  We are still much in love. I kept having warm rushes of love as I looked at his hair. I must be more sensible and do more work. Couldn’t go to Sixteen with him as my aunts Alice and Gladys* were coming. Mac† was severe but pleasant.

  SUNDAY 27 MAY

  The family are at lunch and I am sitting down in our bedroom to make a record of today. The sun is shining in on me and making my face burn and my mind feels stiff and cannot achieve any nimbleness with words. They keep slipping away just out of reach.

  Last night my sister, Margot, and I went to see The Voysey Inheritance. I took my rucksack with a woolly coat and a thermos of tea. The play was well acted and interesting. At 10.35 Margot insisted on going, to give me time to have coffee and an egg before catching the 11.05 to Waterloo Junction. Felt rather guilty leaving her in the train to go home.

  Charing Cross was buzzing with hikers off on a special train to Battle – very long with a Pullman restaurant car. I found a corner in the front coach opposite two middle-aged female ornithologists with shooting sticks. I despaired of seeing E at Surbiton as there were crowds at Clapham, Wimbledon and Surbiton. However, he got in. Trees looked beautiful against the sky as their branches swayed in the breeze, blotting out the stars. The moon was golden and almost full, but was not high.

  The wind was fresh but not so cold as I expected. E said it would be much colder in the morning. I didn’t feel at all nervous till I saw Clandon church standing up black and sinister against the moonlit sky. We heard no nightingales till we left the road and took the footpath to Newlands Corner. We sat down to listen but they were rather far off – we could hear the songs distinctly but rather faintly. We walked on down the r
oad from Newlands Corner. The wind was less cold and the view looked eerie. The hills showed up dark in the moonlight with light mist between. It looked quite uninhabited and dead – like the north pole – completely remote and frozen. Down in the valley we heard an owl hoot, very near. The church clock in Albury struck 1.30 and we took a steep narrow road south to Black Heath. It had very high banks so that the moon could not shine into it. At times it was completely black dark, like a tunnel. I was frightened – couldn’t see anything – could just feel E’s hand, warm and friendly, but I kept drifting away. He grew remote and might have been a stranger. It was like a dream with an air of unreality. I was relieved to get out into the moonlight again and see his face.

  On the top of Black Heath we rested and watched the moon sink, getting more orange and fatter. The wind had dropped and we gave up hope of hearing any more nightingales when suddenly two began to sing, while far away we heard a cock crow. We were rather cold but were close and finally we slept for half an hour. When I awoke the sky was light behind and the stars had faded. We were quaking and cramped with cold. We drank my tea (which had gone tepid and rather rank) and ate sandwiches. At 4.30 we started walking again. A white mist rose and fell, shrank and spread among the trees and the air was damp and chill. The sky was streaked with pale pink but there was a good deal of cloud. The path was beautiful – sandy, with gorse, broom and bluebells and pines. The bracken was about 6 inches high, pale green and very curly. At first we heard little but incessant cuckoos and cocks but gradually more and more birds woke up and sang till the air was full of their songs and the whirr of their wings. They flew slowly and happily and seemed confident that they were safe. Rabbits were frisking everywhere – would suddenly sit still, examine us and scamper away. Here and there we left dark green footprints on the silvery grey-green of the dewy grass. Everything was still and looked quite newly made in the grey-blue light.

  We reached Shere about 7.35 and it was beginning to grow warm, altho’ a fresh breeze had sprung up as the sun increased in strength. We climbed up through the beeches on the path to Horsley. At the top we lay down to rest in the sun and fell asleep. When we woke it was 8.45. A lovely path nearly all the way to Horsley, twisting through beeches with clear pale green leaves against the deep blue of the sky, or letting the sunshine through thin larches, a sober but fluffy green in the bright light; pools of bluebells standing in the new green grass, and everywhere birds. We reached Horsley station at 10.05 and found a shop for coffee with a notice Open. The proprietor and his wife were surprised to see us, tho’, and we interrupted their breakfast when we ordered coffee. Got home about 11.50 so hungry I could hardly wait till dinner was ready. Apart from two aching little toes and eyes slightly strained I wasn’t very tired but I slept for an hour and a half this afternoon. The sun has dropped out of sight now and the family will be home in a few minutes. Another day is done. May my memory remain fresh and unblurred.

  Shere Memorial Cross

  SATURDAY 2 JUNE

  An unsatisfactory day. I worked quite hard. E irritated me slightly. He had a day’s leave yesterday – he took Elsie* to Chelsea Flower Show. He wouldn’t have gone except for her. Then at 12.15 he said, ‘Come upstairs.’ I scarcely let him touch me. He said, ‘You’re lucky, aren’t you – always to have to be stirred up. It’s not sour grapes, it’s just that you don’t want any grapes.’ I felt quite cool and level-headed and detached and remote. Partly pique, I suppose, but mainly the effect of The Country Wife on Thursday night. It takes very little even now to disgust me and make me feel that the physical side of sex is degrading. I felt sorry in the bus – he looked so miserable and yet the hot look in his eyes made me recoil. He said, ‘I’m sorry you’re dismal – I shan’t see you till Monday – a weekend is a long time – you know how long it can be.’

  MONDAY 4 JUNE

  Dismal, miserable day! I was snappy and cold to E all the morning – wouldn’t lunch with him in the office – said I could buy a new hat but really had no intention of doing so. Felt quite forlorn. The magic had quite gone – Whitsun seemed incredible. Lunched at Lyons, still miserable, couldn’t read, even. Decided to try and get over this. He was looking for the ‘plumed troop’ passage in Othello when I got back. I found it and said I was sorry I’d been bad-tempered in the morning. He said he was. We were better after that. He was gloomy – ‘a sense of utter failure’. Before I went to the library he kissed me suddenly – passionately.

  THURSDAY 7 JUNE

  After the Derby yesterday a day’s work – rather restful, even assessing! At lunchtime we went to A Man of Aran – magnificent photography. I’ve never seen a film in which one lost oneself so. The shark hunt was revolting. The man was fine and the woman beautiful (reminded me of Epstein’s Madonna but with some gaiety), the son attractive. The finest part was the storm – towering black cliffs, waves tossing to the top and a boat with 3 men. After seeing it who could say the universe is friendly? Yet after they had reached the land (tho’ the boat was lost), serenity and calm victory over sea and sky.

  E had to see a Colonel in the afternoon who wouldn’t divulge his history to anyone else. He resented my presence till E told him I was an Inspector. He looked at me in horror and said, ‘My God!’ but later, rather softened, he said, ‘You seem young for so responsible a position.’

  During the interval since the last entry Doreen spent two weeks on holiday with her family in Greece.

  MONDAY 25 JUNE

  Sultry, damp and thundery. First day in my own room at the office. Rather depressed. Picnic with E in Kensington Gardens interrupted by (1) a shower (2) a squirrel which was too tame. He said, ‘I was more dismal on Sat than all through the fortnight you were away. It seemed so awful to lose you after three quarters of an hour.’ What is different about you is that when you are away from a person you forget his irritations till you see him again, then you say, ‘Oh, yes, of course’ – but you are nicer than I thought each time I see you again.

  THURSDAY 28 JUNE

  A day of sudden downpours, thunder claps, massed clouds with hot sunshine in the intervals making the ground steam. Wore my new coat and wide-brimmed hat but had to wear my mac to lunch in the Park. Halfway through we had to hurry to the new cafeteria where we had coffee. A wild and unexpected sweetness about the whole day: as we stood under the umbrella under a chestnut which was almost thick enough to keep out the heavy rain; as we sat drinking coffee and E said my diary this year was different – ‘You seem to “ingest” things more, they affect you more deeply – it is impossible to get too near you’; as we squelched over the wet grass – ‘All sorts of clothes suit you well’ – he meant the hat.

  Quite elated altogether. I have had marvellous flashes of joy today.

  SATURDAY 30 JUNE – SUNDAY 1 JULY

  A midnight walk. I was doubtful about the weather when I arranged with E in the morning but it was perfect – bright moonlight, warm. We had coffee in Croydon and got to Merstham at 12.30. I called him Billy for the first time – he quoted Browning and adapted Coleridge to ‘Your flashing eyes, your floating hair’ – not a walk, but a ‘flight to heaven’s gate’. We walked to a hayfield facing north where we watched the dawn and listened to the first faint chorus of the larks. The morning star rose low in the east and looked too large and bright to be real. A heavy dew, but not cold – scent of wild roses and elder blossom. We walked from 4.30 – Upper Caterham, Lower Caterham, Tillingdown and Marden Park. I felt bad – shaky, and couldn’t eat much breakfast. Slept for one and a half hours. The mist had cleared and the sun was very strong when I awoke at 7.45. Felt better. We stayed there by the beeches just above Godstone and loved. Then to Godstone for lunch. I was so happy I felt it could not possibly last – our joy was so precarious. Up White Hill we had a long discussion about Kathleen and the attitude of the office and the family. It was very hot and we had too many clothes so we lay down by the ash tree again to cool. We wanted to love but there were too many people out for Sunday afternoon walks.
/>   MONDAY 9 JULY

  I was rather dismal this morning. I think it was the effort of going to see Roy and Marjorie* yesterday. It seems such plain sailing for them – a nice little house, furnished in quite good taste – complete with fish eaters and tea cloths. Yet look at Roy – the complete materialist – ‘stew the gooseberries in the oven while the joint is cooking and so save gas!’ Perhaps this isn’t fair to them – sour grapes perhaps.

  Reading T E Lawrence’s letters – extraordinarily interesting – comforting too. There is something so akin about him. He had such misery and ecstasy; he didn’t shrink from doing what he had to do in the face of everyone – strong, even in hurting people.

  I had gusts of intense love for E today – when he kissed me this evening we both bruised our lips.