Journal Entries
August 10, 1940
Mother and I went to see Father. He died this morning. The nurse unwrapped the upper part of the sheet that covered him and as she did so I saw that someone had put two white carnations on his breast. Mother knelt by the bed. I stood behind her. The nurse left the room. As I looked at him I was fascinated by the utter perfection I saw. He was like a magnificent piece of sculpture, remote, perfect, complete.
All the rest of the day I have been rushing about from doctor, to Town Hall, to undertaker.
Evening, when I got home, I made, from memory, a drawing of Father as I had seen him this morning. It was a thing that needed to be done. He had many times asked me to make a drawing of him with the beard he had grown during his long illness. But he looked so ill then that I never had the courage to do it.
Marion arrived with Julian yesterday. He is now nearly a year old and very attractive.
August 15, 1940
In the nude of Celia I have been trying to give the sense of beauty she gives to me when I look at her. A beauty of form, line, colour, proportion.
But there is another beauty that has little to do with these qualities. It is a beauty of the mind, of the mood. An aura, as it were, that is infinitely more subtle and wonderful. Such a beauty I saw yesterday when I looked at my mother as the last of the family were leaving after the funeral. Here was an expression of faith so perfect and so different from anything I had realized before.
August 17, 1940
There have been several air raid warnings since they came back and we then make a rush for the nearest shelter, me carrying Julian who doesn't like it at all. They are going back to the country tomorrow. The worst of it is I am on duty half the time.
August 18, 1940
Took Marion and Julian to Waterloo Station. Piles of luggage. Sirens as we were in the taxi. Spent a long time in the shelter at the station; Julian on the whole behaved very well. They missed the train and we waited hours for the next one.
Letters to Marion
18 August, 1940
Saturday night
Dearest Mog I picked this up and expect you will be wanting it, so I am sending it off quickly.
I do hope you did not have too trying a journey. There was another warning here about a quarter to six. I am terribly sorry things could not have turned out better whilst you were here and that you could not have stayed. But all the same it was wonderful to have you here in spite of everything and I love you both,
Clifford
PS
I will send off the parcel on Tuesday - and some money.
21st August 1940
Wednesday
Dearest,
Thanks for your letter, and for the one with the cheque. The Peter Jones account came this morning and I have readdressed it to you. Let me know exactly how much we owe them I will send them some money when I hear from you again.
I do understand how you feel about wanting to come home and I hope things may look a little clearer by the end of September and that the risk will then not be too great. I often wish you were here and I hate to think you are unhappy although I do not blame you for being so.
How sick I am of the high-sounding newspaper articles and wireless speeches - all that "standing on a pinnacle of history" stuff and "the pride we will feel when victory is ours". When it is, if there is any right thinking and honesty left, we should only feel sadness, and we should be ashamed that such a thing was ever allowed to happen again, and we should set about destroying the forces that let it happen. For those same forces are still with us and will be with us when the war is over. We have to win first, but that is only the first stage of clearing up the mess.
The weather is perfect and as the crossing sweeper said to me this morning - it's too good for a war. There is more wisdom in that than he knows.
I am sometimes so exasperated by the utter stupidity of things that I feel it would serve us all right if the whole world just went off with one big bang - and finish.
Do you remember when we saw the Battle of the Marne at the New Theatre* and the part where Victory said France had won; but the Spirit of France, I think she was called, did not shout for joy. She said - How cold it is - and she was sad.
* Presumably, this is a reference to a play that was performed at the theatre in St Martin's Lane, London, which is now known as the Noël Coward Theatre.
Well they behave as they did in 1918 and forget the causes and merrily throw their hats in the air, and catching them again, set about bolstering up their previous cutthroat capitalist system that will reward them, in due course, with yet another war for justice, liberty and culture!
It would be comforting to have faith that this will not happen again but only the artists have any sense in the world and there are nor enough of them.
I am glad everything arrived safely and I hope you will get the broken bits replaced properly.
I have been working all last week and this - slowly - but still working.
Love to you and Julian and will write again on Saturday,
Clifford
22 August, 1940
Chelsea, Thursday,
Dearest,
I was very glad to get your card this morning, although I had phoned Stanley yesterday and heard that you had arrived. It must have been a really dreadful journey for you and I only wish I could have been there to help you.
I am sending off the clothes today with your brandy done up in the middle of them, safely, I hope. Last night was quiet, only one warning, but no doubt things will break out again soon.
The cashier at the bank was telling me he was in the raid at Malden* the other day. He said there were about two hundred hit. It was pretty bad whilst it lasted.
* "On 16th August 1940 at just after 5.20pm, New Malden, Surrey was subjected to a 30 minute bombing raid." Maldens & Coombe Heritage Society
Here is another 30 shillings and will you let me know this week if you want another 30 shillings or a pound at the end of this week. But you can have the 30 shillings if you need it. So do tell me.
I am looking forward to hearing from you again. I won't write anymore now as I must get the parcel done up and posted; also shopping and I want to work this afternoon.
Love to you both. Do your best to be cheerful because everything is going to be all right.
Clifford
Chelsea, Thursday (added to the letter, later the same day - Editor)
Dearest Mog,
I found your letter here this morning. I can imagine what a horrible journey you must have had and in spite of everything you must have been very glad when it was over. I hope you feel that the week here was worth it. I do, although we had so little time together. It was lovely to have you both here and we will all get on fine when we are able to settle down properly together.
I found Celia here waiting here when I got back on Sunday so I started painting. My work seems to me the only sensible and natural thing in a crazy world, and I painted well. There was a warning at a quarter to six and we spent half an hour in a shelter with Mrs de Groot. Then it was all clear again and I just went back and went on where I had left off.
Leo was here on Thursday and very sorry to have missed seeing you and Julian. I am glad the bit of harness arrived and I hope the parcel and the money reach you safely. They should have done so by the time you get this.
I still can't get enough sleep but as soon as I start to paint it all leaves me and I enjoy myself and what I do seems to be coming very well.
You must please not worry about me or think that my job is particularly dangerous. There are many more dangerous ones in this racket. Also, I know that I will come through all this and go on painting for years and years and years. And things will come right again for you too and you will have lots and lots of happy times with me. So do your best to see it out. I do know how hard it is for you: more difficult than it is for me, in many ways, but I think it was best for you to go back with Pearl.
The Germans got pretty close last week. Mother saw the planes from Putney and stories are going around of the damage done at Malden, Wimbledon and places round about. Civilians got it in the neck very thoroughly and one factory, I am told, just disappeared.
Things have been fairly quiet since Sunday, only two or three yellow warnings per night but one cannot expect it to stop like that and it will, no doubt, break out again at any moment.
I see this morning that Germany has refused to guarantee the immunity of boats with passengers going to America, so it looks as if that trips is off for you, at least for the time being. I am not sorry for I hated the idea of you going so far away.
I am now involved in the business of seeing how much money there will be for mother to live on. Not a great deal as far as I can see, and there seems very little chance of the paper continuing to give her anything now father is dead. However, we will see. Unfortunately, the war is such a perfect excuse for meanness. They actually halved his pension some three months ago and that a few days after they had been told that he could not possibly live. I suppose I am telling you all this because it is on my mind, but don't talk about it.
I still have two more weeks of Castillo's lectures* and I will be glad when they are over. They are extremely good but badly planned and lacking in construction. After a long day I find it difficult to keep awake during them, much less to concentrate. Yesterday we did over an hour's drill with our gasmasks on. We had to run over a mile in the damned things. Gas or no gas I reckon one would suffocate after moving about in them for any length of time. I could not get enough air no matter how I breathed. Long or short breaths, it made no difference.
Love to you both. Let me know when the christening is.
Clifford
*Dr Richard Castillo. Originally from Malta, where he qualified in 1913, Dr Castillo came to Britain in 1923 where he lived and worked as a GP in Chelsea for many years until he was murdered whilst out attending a call in Battersea in 1961. He is mentioned a number of times in Clifford's journal.
24 August, 1940
Saturday
Dearest Mog,
I was glad to get your last letter and to hear that you are getting over the beastly journey. There was a raid over North London, somewhere on Thursday night*. I was at the studio and slept all through it. Woke up about a quarter to four just as the last of the all clear siren was sounding. So I went to sleep again. There was another this morning about ten minutes before we were due to go off duty so we all had to stand by for another hour. We were not called out, however. I will write more next week.
* Probably a reference to the German bomb which fell on Harrow at 03:30 hours on 22nd August 1940.
Here is the money. I will have to let the pound I promised you I would send to Peter Jones wait for a little longer. Last week used up all my available money, but I expect to get straight in a week or so.
All my love to you and Julian,
Clifford
25 August, 1940
Hortensia Road, Sunday
Dearest Mog,
Now I have time to write you a longer letter than the one I sent you yesterday. I expect that you will have seen in the paper that we had three warnings on Saturday and that they have really attacked London at last. I had not gone to bed when the last alarm sounded - about 11.30 although there had been planes and firing some time before that. I went over to the King's Road shelter but got sick of it and stuck around in the front garden smoking. There was a big fire towards London and the Chelsea fire engine went out. Things had quietened down about 1.30 and the night was one of the loveliest I have ever seen. The moon was bright and yellow and there were lots of shiny stars. The sky a dark vivid blue, rich and luminous, but cold in colour, whilst the buildings were warm and velvety. A colour in which I would have used a lot of red, maybe brown - burnt sienna. I went to bed and slept till six. They say there was a lot more noise about 3am but I slept through it.
It has been perfectly quiet here today and I have been reading a biography of Belmonte the bullfighter - a magnificent book. But secretly I have been miserable because I could not be at home painting, for I know I would have painted beautifully.
As it was, I had to be dragged away to make a silly drawing on the blackboard in our duty room to celebrate the birth of an 11lb baby to the wife of one of the men. A stork figures very prominently in the composition and on such stupidity my artistic reputation in the stretcher party is now firmly established.
Blitz
CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1939 - 1942 P6
including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
Bill, whom I saw last night, had a book he had been lucky enough to buy for a shilling. It has perfectly amazing lithographs, reproductions and drawings by Daumier, Garvarni and others about that period. One in particular by Garvarni was just a ravaged woman of about sixty, unmistakably an old whore. Indeed, the caption tells one so, but the drawing tells it better than words. She is full face and you can see that she has just finished speaking to you. He has actually drawn the mouth as it has completed a sentence; the eyes too, the whole being of the creature in fact. Underneath is written -"I had my box at the Opera." I have a feeling that Bill is going to love that book one of these days.
Such drawings seem to me to nothing short of marvellous.
The way things have been this last week makes me fear that carrying on a painting for a number of sittings is going to become, very soon, almost impossible. It is maddening because I know I was beginning to get somewhere, for I was feeling master of a technique that left me free to express what I felt. And a technique should be like that. Simple, operating of its own accord, naturally, as one breathes. You should not have to fight the mechanism. I think the struggles should take place in yourself and the canvas should not be turned into a battlefield. I believe the fine things come inevitably and easily as far as the putting of them on the canvas is concerned. Then it should all grow naturally and beautifully because the struggle has already taken place, the battle already been won, in your head; before even the palette has been set or the canvas stretched. Of course, in the first years you load and dig and scrape. Don't I know it! I have a great love for some of those things I did then and even think they are good, in spite of what I have previously said. So much for theories. Ultimately, I suppose nothing matters if you get down what you want. It's a rum business and you can't say much more than that, in spite of the delight and the speculating on the perfect way of doing it.
This letter has now got thoroughly out of hand. I did not intend to give you a lecture on painting, yet that is what I have done. I guess I am too self-centred but I don't think I will change now and I am pretty sure that you understand me pretty well anyway.
I hear it was Cheapside and parts of the City that caught it last night. There would not have been many people there on a Saturday at that time.
I hope that you have had a quiet week - or as quiet as can be expected. I heard from Emily Paulo. She has been ill and is now in Birmingham. Bill Thompson is in the A.F.S there*. A change from clowning. She says they are having a bad time there. In the shelters every day. Only to be expected in such a place I suppose.
* Emily Paulo is the circus performer who was famous for her act with her Performing Ponies and a long-time member of Paulo's Circus (which has now been in existence for over 200 years). Bill Thompson was a well-known clown who worked for Paulo's and several other circuses. Clifford painted several pictures of him as well as a least one of Emily.
I will post this in the morning. I am going to sleep now, I hope, I am tired. Didn't get much last night.
Love to you both. Goodnight dearest,
Clifford
PS
It was about 10.30 and I had just addressed the envelope when the sirens went. I put my head outside the door and there are guns, and flares are dropping out of the sky. We all get ready and sit waiting in the corridor. Most of the lights have been turned out and it is almost dark. Men are talking, singing and whistling. I doze right off for about three minutes. Now it is getting on for midnight and the all clear has just gone and I am hoping I will really get some sleep. It's all I am interested in right now.
Next instalment, 1am
Again, the word sleep. Nearly off and then bloody sirens again. Wild dash across to the depot from St. Marks. More waiting only everyone is quieter this time. This alarm only lasts about twenty minutes. Now the quest for sleep once more. Hope I'll be lucky.
Journal Entries
August 27, 1940
Lecture, First Aid. Stopped by sirens a t 9.30. 'All clear', I heard afterwards, did not go until 4 a.m. Took some people to Paulton's square shelter. Pretty full. Several young men and girls talking German; struck me as amusing. Got bored with the shelter after half an hour. Went out and walked to Cadogan Club*. Guns and searchlights. Had a pale ale. Fell asleep in spite of the racket that is inseparable from the place at that time of night. Usual drunks and quarrelsome lesbians. Walked home about midnight. Dark and cloudy. Searchlights wandering about the sky and finding nothing. Distant sound of planes overhead. Now and again, guns, far off. Got into bed and went to sleep almost at once. Woke up at six and dozed until seven. Got up then, still tired.
* It is unclear whether the Cadogan Club was in the Cadogan Arms, 298 Kings Road, Chelsea, an historic pub which was built in 1838, or if it was a members' club situated somewhere nearby. The "usual" presence of "quarrelsome lesbians" suggests it may have been what would then have been referred to as a "bohemian establishment" - e.g. a queer-friendly place where unconventional people congregated.
August 28, 1940
Five minutes from midnight. I have just got back to the studio. The sky was a mass of searchlights but the stars were brighter than the beams. There is the sound of planes. They are very close. I am here surrounded by my own things and they seem more real to me than the sound of the planes.
Letters to Marion
28 August, 1940
Chelsea, Wednesday
My dearest,
I found your letters here this morning.
Please do not worry about me. There is no need. I never felt more secure. I only suffer from two things - boredom and lack of sleep and the boredom does not last so long. As for the other it cannot be helped. We had to stand by last night from 9.20 until 1.30am.
Barnes is the nearest they have got to Chelsea*. I saw mother this morning and she is keeping going very well. The people in the next flat take her down to the shelter in the basement and they have comfortable chairs and something to eat.
* This may be a reference to a German bomb that had fallen on Hampton a few days earlier. Hampton is a few miles west of Barnes. Barnes itself does not appear to have been bombed until October 1940. However, some records relating to the Borough of Barnes appear to have been lost when it merged with the Borough of Richmond.
As things have turned out it seems best that you got away when you did, although you seem to be getting more than your share. But to be in a town is obviously more dangerous. I cannot help feeling that; but wish I could be with you. If anything starts falling near you, you must remember to lie flat on the ground. I tell you this as I want you to take care of yourself and Julian for my sake. Yet I am sure that nothing can happen to either of you, or myself. It is not our fate. Things will doubtless get worse until the Winter when maybe conditions will quieten them down a bit, and in the Spring let's hope we start the offensive. All the same it's an unholy mess and I am feeling there is little satisfaction in being able to say: "I knew just what was going to happen."
Write again soon. I hope you got my last letter. All my love to you both,
Clifford
Journal Entry
August 29, 1940
On arriving here at the depot, I am told that two bombs fell near Tite Street last night*. I had slept, although one of them had exploded.
* September 7th 1940 is the usual date given for the commencement of the London Blitz, however, the first German bombing of London actually occurred on the night of August 24th. This was apparently an accidental attack caused by Luftwaffe bombers on a mission to bomb military targets outside London drifting off course and dropping their bombs on central London instead, with deadly results.
More details HERE
Churchill believed the attack to be deliberate at the time and ordered the RAF to retaliate by bombing Berlin, which they did the very next night and again on August 28th/29th, and a third time on September 1st. Whether the August 24th bombing was accidental or not it is evident that several other German bombs hit London in the intervening days before September 7th. It should also be noted that the Liverpool Blitz began on the night of August 28th.
Glad Marion and Julian are not here, although they are only comparatively safe even in the country. I feel sure nothing can happen to them. Just as I know I am going to live a long time. There is so much I have to do.
Letters to Marion
30 August, 1940
Chelsea
Friday
Dearest Mog,
I hope everything is all right with you. Last night was the first quiet one we have had for almost the last two weeks. I feel better for it. Bombs fell in Burton Court and Royal Avenue on Wednesday night. One exploded, the others did not. I slept all the time. It happened to be my night off. In the morning I found the little round table had fallen over; also, the lamp on the piano. Even that had failed to wake me! I believe I could sleep through anything, within reason.
I sent Julian a horse and cart for his birthday. Hamleys packed it for me, so will you let me know if it arrives quite safely and unbroken - otherwise they will replace it. I am sorry I cannot be with you and him for his first birthday because I love you both. But there will be lots more times.
Because you love me you must not worry, for I know there is no need. We are all coming through this and I will make things fine. I know I can do that too; and you must help me, as you always have. It won't help if you worry. I know it is difficult and may be more difficult before it is over, but you will do it, won't you?
Give Julian a kiss from me and tell him, although he cannot understand yet, that I will make him very happy one day. And I send you thousands of kisses.
Your Clifford
PS
I got a drawing by Simeon Solomon from Ted. Swapped two of my sketches. I am very pleased with it.
31 August & 1 September, 1940
Saturday evening
Dearest Mog,
Your letter came this morning, just before I left.
The sirens went as I got into the King's Road. We are now in the fourth raid of the day, and it is seven o'clock. We have been standing by nearly all the time since 8.45 this morning; loaded up like pack horses, or so it seems after the first hours. About half an hour ago we saw a dozen or so planes. There have been a few bombs a long way off. On the whole, so far, it is dull. Just a bang now and again and a drone of planes that are so high one can hardly ever see them. Last night the raid went on until 4 am and there were three daylight ones before that. So we are having a busy time. We have not been called out yet, only hour after hour of standing by ready to go out - if we are wanted. The other time bomb in Burton Court went off this afternoon and shook things up a bit.
I hope the christening went off well. It's a shame I could not have been there. Not so much for that but because I wish I could see you. Whilst things are like this, I fear all leave is impossible and we can only hope that it gets quieter in a month or so, as it probably will.
I saw mother yesterday and had to spend most of the time in the shelter with her as there were two warnings whilst I was there. Before I left, I carried the divan and mattress down there because she cannot stay for hours on end in a chair. A good thing I did take it as it turned out. My work has stopped this week, I have been too utterly tired but I will adapt myself pretty soon.
You might like to see this letter*. It's a good idea but under present conditions I fear a good many people would be afraid to sit. One cannot dive in and out of shelters and paint too. It will, however, be a good chance for the RAs who only want a photo and one sitting. Send the letter back when you write.
* This reference is to an enclosed letter which has been lost or mislaid.
7.30pm. All clear has just gone but I fear we will be up most of the night. I have my first aid exam next week. One lecture had to be abandoned entirely because the sirens went just as it was about to start; and two others had to stop half way through for the same reason.
Your letter made me very happy because it told me that you do understand me. I still believe that the true reality is not either the horror or the stupidity which surrounds us now. It is so obvious that it consists pf something quite different. Infinitely grand. I know what it is.
It's a mercy that nothing worse happened to Sybil's place. Selfishly I am rather worried about my pictures there. I would hate anything to happen to the one of you that we did at the Minerva, or the little one of Mère Catherine. A bomb fell in Winchester Avenue this week. Winnie told me as I had phoned her to tell her that you had had to go back to Dorset. My picture of Montparnasse fell off the wall and the glass was smashed. The picture was not hurt though. I should not really worry about such unimportant things, but I am not on the highest plane yet and I cannot help loving the sight and feel of what I have made.
Look after yourself and don't forget what I told you about not worrying. Put your faith in my instinct.
Love to you both,
Clifford
PS
Sunday morning
I was right about last night. We were able to lie down, dressed, at 4am this morning - otherwise standing around waiting around since first thing Saturday. It was a little more exciting about 2am. Nearly forty searchlights were focused on a German and we could see our shells bursting all round it. But it is not really thrilling to watch, yet although the time seems to pass amazingly quickly.
I have been thinking it might be best after all if you send your cheque on to me when it comes and I will send you 2 pounds 3 shillings each week. The only difficulty is that I will have to send you 30 shillings for one or two weeks and then make up the proper amount before the end of each month.
Don't do this if you would sooner not, only I am thinking of the times the cheque is a week or so late and it might be difficult for you and if I send you money when yours is late you will have to pay me back because I shall want it for the rent. Do you see what I mean? I only want to make it easier for you.
The money I should have had from Rugby has not turned up and I am wondering if he has been bombed or something. I have written to try and find out. I have hopes of selling the portrait of Francine but since these daily and nightly raids business has been pretty bad with them.
Write soon, Again lots of love to you both.
Clifford.
Celia Franca, Nude. 1940, oil painting by Clifford Hal. (No colour photo currently available).