大象传媒

The following extracts are reproduced, with permission from the publisher, from 鈥淢y Darling Diary: A Wartime Journal 鈥� Vienna 1937-39, Falmouth 1939-44鈥� by Ingrid Jacoby, published by United Writers, Penzance, Cornwall, 1998.

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27th March 1941
I have a sprained ankle and stayed home from school today. I spent the day tidying drawers and things, and reading Lorna Doone, which is a beautiful love story. It must be wonderful to be loved like that, as Lorna is by John Ridd.

We only very rarely get letters from Mummy now. They are sent via the Red Cross or Uncle Erwin P. in Zurich. Our relationship has to be concealed and she signs her letters Emmy and calls Daddy Waltherl. It sounds very strange. She tells us all about our friends and relations who are still in Vienna, which makes me feel very homesick, and she asks us to pray that we may soon be united, which I do every night. I have not had a letter from Ruth for ages and pray for her too, because Portsmouth gets far worse air-raids than Falmouth. If I never hear from her again it will mean I have lost the best friend I ever had.

5th April 1941
Last night was a dreadful night. Poor Miss Davis had a terrible accident. I don't know what time it was when I was woken by a scream. So were the others. We ran downstairs, several of us with torches, and there stood Miss Davis in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. We didn't know what had happened and why she was standing there without moving. "Quick, come and help me!鈥� she cried Then we saw that the wire hook from an old gong which hangs in the hall was caught in her eye. There was blood on her face One move and - oh, I can't even bear to think about it Lieselotte rushed to hold her, and Miss Kitty fetched the-oil lamp which I held for her while she tried in vain to remove the hook. Then Barbara was sent to fetch Dr Johnson who lives about twenty minutes walk away. Hours seemed to pass while we waited The children went back to bed and Lieselotte and I took it in turns to hold Miss Davis, who was very brave. We also had to prevent Timothy the dog from jumping at her. Miss Kitty finally managed to shut him into the kitchen without being bitten. Apparently Miss D. had come downstairs in the night because she had forgotten to get the children's things ready for the trench in case there was an air-raid and had caught her eye on the hook in the dark. This old gong was used by the nuns when St. Joseph鈥檚 was a convent. The doctor came at last and removed the hook, and now Miss Davis' eye is bandaged but her sight is saved. The gong, of course, has been taken away. Today Lieselotte is taking Miss D. to the doctor's.

Mv father arrived yesterday and we fetched him from the station It's the first time I've seen him in civilian clothes since we lived in Vienna. He has been invalided out of the army on account of his sciatica. Now he has to look for work which is not easy as an alien. Poor Daddy, what a lot of troubles he has in this troubled and not-worth-living-in world. I'm sure if it wasn鈥檛 for Lieselotte and me and our mother he would follow in the footsteps of his father (my grandfather in Czechoslovakia) and commit suicide.

13th May 1941
Today I have something unbelievable and terrible to tell you. Last night we had a dreadful blitz. Bombs were falling for ages and quite close to us, the noise was terrifying and we shivered and trembled in the trench. One bomb fell on the Moor again. The bombs were meant for the docks but missed mostly. I was quite tired when I arrived at school the next morning. As soon as I opened the door of my classroom several girls rushed up to me and said: "Melvyn Ralph is dead!" She and all her family were killed in last night's raid.

I simply couldn't believe it. I still don't. I thought about her the whole day. I kept looking at her empty place. How often I had wished that Melvyn wasn't in my form, but not like this. What should be one's proper feelings when one's enemy is killed? I
hardly know what mine are. They are all topsy-turvy. Much as I hated her when she was alive, I would like to see her back at her desk today with all my heart. Several of us are going to buy flowers for Melvyn's funeral with Miss Wright, our form mistress, but only Miss Wright will go to the funeral.

23rd June 1941
Yesterday, Sunday, we were having breakfast in the garden shed when Uncle Jack who had been to early Mass, came up the path excitedly waving a newspaper. "Wonderful news!" he cried. "The Germans have attacked Russia!" I couldn't see at first why this should be good news but Uncle Jack explained that now England
had another ally and the war would be over in a year. That certainly is good news.

26th November 1941
We've had a lot of air-raids again lately and last night was the worst. It was Tuesday evening and I was at the Art School. About ten minutes into the lesson the siren went. Then we heard the roar of aeroplanes and a minute later - bombs. It was awful. We knew they were falling quite close by because of the terrific row. It happened that Denzil was in a bad mood, and although we were all scared stiff he still didn't speak to me or to anybody else. Then he suddenly announced that he was going home to see if his sister was all right, and another student, a boy called Wilfred, aged about sixteen, whom I first met at the church canteen and who once chased me on his bicycle, said he was also going home. Denzil then asked me if I was coming too. I was in such a stew about the bombs that I at once said "Yes." So the three of us left
the Art School together, Denzil opening the door and Wilfred standing politely aside to let me pass. Outside there was bright moonlight and it was very cold. We walked quickly, talking of nothing but the bombs, of course. We met two soldiers whom
Denzil knew and they walked with us. When we reached Denzil's house he went inside to see his sister, while Wilfred and I waited outside and the soldiers departed. Then Denzil joined us again and we walked to St. Joseph's. As we approached, there were piles of debris everywhere. Nearer still, there was a huge crater ahead of us and Kimberley Place - the street where St. Joseph's is - was closed! Now I was really terrified. Luckily I remembered that Lieselotte was at her night school - but what if a bomb had dropped on St. Joseph's? The police wouldn't let us through at first Denzil had a short argument with a policeman.

"This young lady lives here, and we are seeing her home鈥�, he explained. So then we were allowed through. We stumbled over goodness knows what - broken glass and other bits of buildings - Denzil and Wilfred holding my arm on either side of me. I m
sure I would have fallen without their support. Thank goodness - St Joseph's was all right except for some broken windows and a hole in the roof, and the garden shed was littered with debris. Apparently the Catholic church opposite had been hit. Wilfred
said goodnight and went home, but Denzil came in with me - thank goodness everyone was OK.

It was a terrible night - but also an exciting one! I saw searchlights in the sky long after I'd gone to bed.

2nd March 1942
If ever I have grieved, I cannot understand why now. I grieved about such small things which matter so little in life. Today I had some very sad news. I have been through three miserable years, been unhappier than most English girls or boys of my age have probably ever been. I don't say that during these three years I have known no happiness. I have, generally speaking, come across only kind people apart form Mr and Mrs Robins. I have spent many happy hours at parties or walking with friends and
having fun with boys. I don't complain of continuous unhappiness but all this doesn't change the fact that my situation during those years has been sad and miserable and all the little pleasures merely diversions. But today, when the terrible news arrived, I
felt all joy had vanished from my life forever and that I would never be able to recover my sense of humour. When I came home from school at dinner time I found a card from my Uncle in Switzerland, informing us that my mother, my darling mother,
has been - sent to Poland.

We have feared and feared it. I have dreaded it. Now it has happened. While I was reading the words my face grew very hot and my heart seemed to stand still. Millions of terrible thoughts rushed through my mind which I have not enough paper to write
down. I threw myself on my bed and then seemed to turn to stone - but the first word of sympathy from kind Miss Davis made me burst into tears. I had wanted to avoid crying because my mother doesn't like me to be sad, but it was unavoidable. I have so much here to make me happy, but what has she got now? I have always loved life and quite little things have helped to make it happy, and she loves life too but what can make her happy now? When I was about six years old our maid once said to me: "It is always good people who suffer and are unhappy, but they'll be happy in heaven. Bad people are happy on earth but they'll go to hell." Poor comfort, but was she right? If so, that evil Hitler, those wicked Nazis, will one day get their deserts. They are not human - though what are they then?

I cannot bear to see people around me carry on as though nothing had happened. My mind is occupied with only one thought: my mother in Poland. I didn't go to school this afternoon and Miss Kitty took me to Flushing on the ferry. She bought me an ice-cream and told me jokes, but nothing pleased me and I couldn't laugh. I can only console my sister. Oh, if only I could do something to help my poor mother, and my grandmother too. If only I could let them know that we are all well and happy! If
only it was in my power! If only ... if only ... it had all never happened.

We are all human beings, and yet some human beings' only object is to bring misery on others. WHY?

I must stop now. Everything comes to an end, and so does unhappiness. Some day perhaps I will read these pages and I will say: "I am too happy to remember how that felt."

14th July 1942
We have fire fighting lessons at school. I attended my first one last Wednesday. We learnt to use a stirrup pump. Our next fire-fighting lesson is at The Quarry, in a smoke hut. I'm not looking forward to it.

On Thursday my father returned from his business trip, bringing with him a mannequin called Jane Marston. She is staying here for a bit. Lieselotte and I went to Truro with them on Sunday and were treated to tea at the Royal Hotel. Next week my
father goes to Plymouth.

Connie and I have only seen Ben and his friends once since the last occasion I mentioned - and they ignored us! I hate that sort of thing. Anyway, they are not my type.

28th September 1942
I believe I have forgotten what it is to have a mother. When I had her I couldn't imagine life without her. Now that I haven't seen her for over three years and heard nothing for over one year, I've almost forgotten what motherly love is. I've learnt to do without it. The fact is I don't know whether she is dead or alive. Oh, to see her again! If only I could!

15th November 1942
Lieselotte and I went to a special Victory Service in Church today. All the church bells were ringing because the Germans are at last being thrown back in Russia. People are getting more optimistic now about an end to the war. Last Sunday there was a Peace Service on the seafront. Connie and I were there on our bikes. I spend most Sunday evenings at St. Joseph's, or go there for tea.

In moments of happiness I forget everything, EVERYTHING: my mother, the war, my lost home, my future, my impossible father. As I did when Audrey asked me to tea. As I did on the 23rd of January 1941. And happiness it must have been, to make me forget all these troubles.

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