Journal Entries
September 12, 1940
Private View of portraits at the Town Hall in connection with Chelsea's Spitfire Fund. A poor show on the whole. One or two good ones including an Ethel Walker. Dugdale weak and Mason most disappointing. I am very badly hung yet I honestly believe mine of Celia is one of the best there.
Slept at Putney. Would not sleep in the shelter but insisted on sleeping upstairs. Felt it would be better for my nerves. A terrific barrage most of the night. I heard some of it before I went off to sleep and it was still going on when I woke at 4 a.m. Had slept seven hours though. I feel lots better for it.
The barrage has cheered everyone enormously and seems to have been effective in other ways too. Lewis has just enquired if I am writing up my first aid notes.
September 13, 1940
A German plane was brought down the other day at Hornsey. As it fell the airmen bailed out. Some policemen were sent to capture them as they landed but the crowd got there first. They were torn to pieces.
These evenings one sees women with babies and small children going to the public shelters, carrying blankets, pillows, and sometimes dragging a mattress. All this some time before the sirens have sounded. They are doing this in Berlin too, and the population there no doubt feel very much the same about our airmen as we feel about theirs.
The nightly Anti-Aircraft barrage continues.
September 15, 1940
All last week I had been wondering how I would feel when we were actually called out. Although the week had been a bad one it just happened that we were the only squad not in action. However, last evening we did go.
When it came, I was almost surprised to find myself as cool as ice. We piled into the car and set off up the King's Road, down Tadema Road and so along Cheyne Walk to Beaufort Street where the incident had taken place. The Lots Road Power Station was almost hidden by clouds of dense grey smoke drifting slowly, heavily, across the river. We passed a fire engine already at work. Others, bells ringing, dashed past us. Outside Whistler's house an oil bomb had struck the roadway and we skidded wildly. Stopped at Beaufort Street. Only three casualties, not really serious. They were dealt with and we waited for a car to take them away.
A deep bank of dove-grey cloud hung low beyond the Battersea side of the river. Above it the sky was clear and an almost full moon, pale yellow, was poised there. The factory buildings were lilac, grey and green. A note of red on a barge. The harmony foreboding, cold, perfect.
Soon we were away up Beaufort Street to report at the Post in Cheyne Row. A swift glimpse of a woman clinging to the railings with one hand. She points up at the sky with the other. Her hair is wild, peroxide yellow. Face livid. Dark eyes, brightly painted mouth wide open as she screams and screams. Two policemen and a few onlookers are trying to quieten her.
At the top of the street we are turned back. The King's road has been hit again. Chunks of plate glass. Dust, smoke. Road impassable. Back down Beaufort Street and along the Embankment.
In Cheyne Row a haze of smoke and choking dust. Mobile unit rescue and stretcher parties are still there. The Catholic Church of the Holy Redeemer has been hit. The bomb had fallen through into the crypt in which people were sheltering. Many dead. The interior of the church is burning. The casualties are being carried out, covered with blankets.
Before dark the fire in the church and the one near the power station have both been put out.
From Riley Street nearly as far as Sloane Square hardly a shop window is intact. I walk on broken glass.
Sunday morning: went out to look at the damage. The back of the Gaumont Palace is down and Upper Manor Street is blocked. There is a bomb crater at the top of the road. Another in Sydney Street almost in front of St Luke's. The Polytechnic, Oakley Street, Sutton Buildings, Upper Cheyne Row: all were hit.
It is strange to walk home wondering if I will find the studio still standing. Going upstairs I slip on broken glass. Yet inside everything is just as I left it, and in the kitchen only the lower half of the window is broken.
Two more raids this morning. The planes are right overhead and we hear one coming down. It seems in the direction of Hyde Park.
King's House Studios has been burnt out. I used to have a studio there once. I remember a party I gave, was it in 1929, and someone brought Sunita, Epstein's model. She was beautiful, like a tigress. She told everyone's fortune. I have forgotten mine. She said she was going back to India and would die soon after, as indeed she did.
Our poor Chelsea is beginning to look like a battlefield.
One of Castillo's children has been dug out of the remains of his Bramerton street house. Still alive, after four days!
Letter to Marion
15 September, 1940
Chelsea, Sunday
My dearest Mog,
I got your letter dated Friday last. I wrote you twice last week and also on Friday and sent you £2, registered. I can only think that my letters have not reached you. The posts are naturally disorganized as some of the sorting offices have been bombed. I am perfectly safe and feeling very well. Have faith as I have. Nothing is going to happen to me\and we are all going to be together again. Just look after yourself and Julian, that is all you have to do. I will be all right. I am not afraid.
Chelsea has had its share this last week or so but everyone is standing up to it well and since the intensive night barrage by our AA guns there is more confidence and the raids have not been so severe. Mobile guns go round the streets and we have a torpedo boat on the river with anti-aircraft guns on it. There is only one pane of glass gone in the kitchen.
I know it is a terribly worrying time for you, but it would be a thousand times worse if you were here now with our baby. All my love to you both. I will write again soon and I only hope the letter reaches you.
Clifford
PS
I was very amused to hear the results of the intelligence tests. Of course he came through well. Young as he is, teach him to love beautiful things. Nothing else matters.
Journal Entry
September 18, 1940
Everyone is settling down to a life of raids day and night. Since our nightly barrage began people have more confidence.
London is suffering an immense amount of damage. Bond Street last night.
About this time a year ago I was painting every day.
There is no real excitement in raids, bombs, fights in the air, guns and shell bursts. The last two weeks have taught me that. A fine painting, a symphony, a beautiful woman, all these move me far more deeply. There is courage, self-sacrifice, devotion; but since when were these qualities dependent on a state of war?
If this drags on for two or three years it seems possible that the peace terms will be dictated by Russia - backed with biggest and strongest air force in Europe.
I am writing this in the control room at St Marks First Aid Post where I have been sent to act as messenger. The telephone system went out of action yesterday.
Letter to Marion
18 September, 1940
Chelsea, Thursday
Dearest Mog,
I do hope you have at last got all the letters I wrote you recently, also the telegram in answer to yours. I am rather worried as to whether you have got the last two lots of money although, of course, I registered it both times.
The post is hopelessly out of order at present so when you do not hear from me for some days you must understand that it is not because I have not written to you, but simply the post office delay. This is hardly to be wondered at although everything is going on reasonably well, considering the constant stoppages caused by raid alarms. We usually get half a dozen or more each day and the nights are one long raid.
It's a lousy time and on the whole it tends to become merely boring. Stupidity always did bore me. Now and again I get a kick out of it, but it's a pretty poor sort of kick at best.
The sleep problem does not worry me greatly. I have got used to it and it takes a hell of a lot of noise to wake me these days. Also I can sleep at any odd time, in any place, for five or ten minutes. The result is I am perfectly well and spending far too much on food!
I hope things are quieter with you at nights now they seem to be concentrating most of their energy on London.
Let me know at once when your money from me turns up. All my love to you and Julian.
Clifford
Later PS
Your letter written last Monday has just arrived. I am sorry you read about Castello. I had purposely not told you as I knew it would make you worry. However, now you know, I was in the studio with Bill when it happened. We heard it whizz right overhead. It all happened with fatal suddenness. Two more fell just after, from the same plane. One on the flats next to the Six Bells and whole paving stones were flung all over the bowling green. Chelsea has been having a bad time but the last few nights have been a little less severe. I still know I am going to be all right. The studio is safe and I have only lost one pane of glass.
Lots of love and have faith like I told you I have.
Clifford
A note from Bill (W S Meadmore) to Marion was found enclosed in the same envelope as the letter above; it reads:
My Dear Marion,
Cliff' is just finishing a letter to you and I thought I would write a quick note. I've been meaning to send you a letter but the last 10 days have been hectic. I've been to and from Sevenoaks twice and it is most difficult these days to settle and write letters - blasted sirens all the time - 8 warnings yesterday.
Well we're all alive -very much so - the Devil continues to look after his own. All my family are at Sevenoaks and I'm going down again tomorrow for a few days. It's almost quiet here although we did just miss a bomb by seconds or yards the other afternoon when we were all in the car - rubble hit car. Of course, this happened after the all clear. Our friends shall live +, unfortunately, also our enemies, but I hope for the best.
You went at the right moment. No fun in London now, even difficult to even see one's friends. It's now about 6 and in an hour's time I shall make a wild rush for home. No joke being out when the barrage is on. Got caught in the tube the other night and nearly wept. Horrifying down there - people sleeping, playing cards, reading, eating, making love, everywhere - down the stairs and on the platforms to within a yard of the trains. Every tube station in London the same, stretching out to the suburbs - even at Hampstead.
Dr said today I should have another 2 month's rest. Rest, these days! But I'm convinced the attack is at the peak and we're over the worst. But nearly every street is a heartbreak. No, this ain't a real letter. I'll send you one in a few days - so this needs no reply, but thought you might like a few lines from me as Cliff was writing. He's well, very well - but neither he or I like celibacy - we never did. You'll see us in monk's robes when you come back.
Love to my God Child. I'm worried about him. Please see he learns the Commandments.
Bill
PS
I've had to be discrete in this letter because I knew C would want to read it through. He has. So you must read between the lines.
Journal Entry
September 19, 1940
St Marks' Chapel was set alight early this morning and the roof pretty badly damaged, Another bomb very near us. More hits on the Kings Road and all around.
It is now afternoon - 2 o'clock. So far, a quiet day. Only one warning and that did not last more than half an hour. Two time bombs have gone off. Otherwise, quiet.
Letter to Marion
20 September, 1940
Dearest Mog,
I wrote you on Thursday last week, after receiving your letter, and enclosed a note from Bill. It's very difficult keeping in touch these days and letters seem to take nearly a week. You did not say if you got my others and was the one with the money the one with a pencil note on a telegram form? And did the previous lot of money arrive? I do not seem to know.
It is a shame you had to spend so long away from me before all this daily and nightly raiding started, but then it might have commenced sooner than it did. All things considered I think we did the best thing and if you could see London now you would be glad that you did not take the risk of keeping Julian here for any length of time. You were really very lucky to get back when you did the last time. You left just about the right moment.
I find I get used to the way things are. I believe one can get used to almost anything, being in prison even, although that would be simple compared with life at present. The most worrying thing is to be cut off from work. Painting has become impossible and I only make a few pencil sketches, now and again, pour faire le main. They are not particularly good, for to tell you the truth I see practically nothing that moves me in war subjects. The most beautiful thing I have seen lately is the dawn behind Putney Bridge. I go and look at every morning I am there and it is very lovely. I often want to put it down but of course there is never any time.
Anyway, I will have a lot to do when this stupid war is over.
My only outlet these last few weeks has been to keep a diary. That is something that one can pick up and put down again like knitting; and at least it is putting my brain to some use. I think it is interesting in parts and you will probably enjoy reading it when you come home again.
Once more, do try to stop worrying about me. I am coming through this and you are going to see what a good painter I will be. That is all settled.
Love to you both,
Clifford
Blitz
CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1939 - 1942 P8
including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
Journal Entry
September 21, 1940
Volunteered for an extra job today. Sent to Smith Street, twenty of us, to clear mattresses and beds from the Working Men's hostel. Opposite this building there was a huge crater in the road and the fronts of two houses had been blown in. The hostel was grim and dirty and had an air of deep misery. The beds and bedding had to be carried downstairs, loaded into vans and taken to houses in Elm Park Gardens. These houses have been taken over by the Borough Council to accommodate homeless people from the East End.
We loaded the first van with mattresses and pillows. They were filthy. When we took the iron bedsteads apart the sockets at either end into which the wire mattress fitted were alive with bugs. A hurried message to the Town Hall and it was decided to scrap the lot. Strange no one from there had taken the trouble to look at the beds first. Called for clean overalls. Thorough search, bath and change. Found one bug. He had crawled into my note book and got squashed. No others, fortunately.
Lunch and then three hours' work filling the houses in Elm Park Gardens with new mattresses and blankets.
Evening, Putney. Before going into the cellar for the night we stood on the towing path. I stayed there for some time after the others had gone inside. Unseen planes above following the river on their way to attack London. Brilliant flashes of bursting shells. Someone is playing the piano in the pub on the corner and I hear the sounds of the final chorus before chucking out time. A lovely night. Such colour. So lovely it is really impossible to think of anything - only take the night to myself and remember it.
Letter to Marion
22 September, 1940
Chelsea, Sunday
My dearest Mog,
Yesterday I had two letters from you. One dated the 16th and the other the 18th. You know I would be really worried if you left Julian and came here. It is not as if I could be with you all the time. As things are, although I do miss you greatly I feel you are comparatively safe, which means a lot.
I will say that I have been afraid once or twice, but it has only lasted a few seconds. Only yesterday I overheard the corporal telling someone - "I've got a lot, like rocks. Why there's Cliff and Lewis calmly talking about music and pictures while the bleedin' bombs are falling."
It is a matter of how one looks at reality and I am fortunate that there is someone here who can see things that way too. I can assure you that not once since this started, have I been so afraid as I was during the time preceding my illness some three, or was it four, years ago. You helped me then and you have helped me since then and you must do so now by believing that I will still be safe when this is all over. And not worrying yourself to pieces. That does not help either of us.
As far as Chelsea is concerned this last week has not been so severe although other parts of London have suffered badly. I have never admired the English as I admire them now. They are a dull lot with queer ways of enjoying themselves and life is really too short to get to know them properly, but they have got something that cannot be beaten. It is the poor I think most of. The wealthier ones still show an inability to cooperate fully. Although the masses here are going to win this war very many of them are alive to the way in which they have and are being exploited and they realize the stupidity that brought us all to this pass.
As the socialists have always maintained, socialism must be International before it can get anywhere, and with human nature, poor as well as rich people, can it ever come about? Perhaps it can hundreds of years hence, anyway, it is worth trying. Sometimes I think the whole thing does not matter one way or the other and retire into my own world of thoughts and sensations in which I and those I love count alone.
Mother is amazingly well and I still go to Putney every other night. I wish I could see Julian now for I am sure he must be interesting and it is a pity that I have to miss watching his progress.
Chelsea is not the wreck you imagine. A number of houses have been entirely demolished and there are huge bomb craters in the roads which, however, are quickly filled up again. The back of the Gaumont Cinema has been knocked down. No one was in it at the time and I am sorry the whole ugly building did not go. There have been a number of fires but they have very quickly been put out and naturally one sees smashed windows everywhere. Sloane Square vicinity has been hit several times but Peter Jones still stands.
I have not seen the damage in the West End yet. I am going tomorrow, partly because I want to find out if anything has happened to my pictures at Legers.
I hope everyone at East Meon is well. I had a letter from Lena a couple of weeks ago. I replied to it. Also heard from Stanley yesterday. He seems well although the office next to his in the City has been struck and burned.
All my love to you both. Write soon.
Clifford
PS
Did a bit of overtime on Saturday
Journal Entries
September 23, 1940
Putney. Watched the nightly display from the Embankment. Usual heavy gunfire, flashes, sounds of planes - the now familiar paraphernalia.
Three soldiers walk by. Overheard as they passed -
'I tell you I am no good at snooker. Play you billiards any time.'
September 25, 1940
Went to Bond Street this morning. Leger Gallery unharmed so far - one of the few that has escaped. Road sweepers shovelling up piles of broken glass. Still cleaning it up when I went back in the afternoon for my pictures. Bond Street and round about utterly desolate. Made me feel miserable. No well-dressed women, only the whores, and there are not many of them. They are as smart as ever.
Went up Shaftesbury Avenue on my way to private view of A.I.A. exhibition at Suffolk gallery. Very mixed show. This should have been opened by J. B. Priestley. He failed to appear and John Rothenstein made an adequate speech instead.
In Shaftesbury Avenue the Queen's Theatre on the corner opposite Jeanette's flat was practically gutted. Went in to see how Jeanette* was getting on. She produced a bottle of Italian vermouth.
*Jeanette was a prostitute who used to pose free of charge for Clifford in the mornings (afternoons and evenings were for 'work'). She made a very good living, especially during the war, banking around £200 per week at a time when it was perfectly possible to live on £500 per year.
'I come home this morning from the basement of the Tuscan Hotel and who do I find in my bed? The ceiling!'
The place was in a mess, littered with fallen plaster and broken glass, and poor Jeanette looking dirty and very like the women who used to sit in the narrow streets above the Vieux Port in Marseille.
The fat pink eiderdown whitened with fallen plaster, the bright orange cushions and artificial flowers on the mantelpiece, and the photos of film stars and naked women - all produced an effect in the grey afternoon light that was truly ghastly.
Went back to Bond Street. Gieves* completely burnt out. Some buildings in Albemarle Street, Savile Row and Bruton Street demolished. Top of Burlington Arcade and the archway over the entrance to the Royal Academy Schools also down. The high wall between the back of the Arcade and the side of Burlington House is partly down. The rest of it looked as if some giant had playfully twisted it out of shape. The line of it is wavy against the sky.
* 'On 16 September 1940, at 10.06pm, a high explosive bomb struck Gieves Ltd (traditional mercers, tailors and gentlemen's outfitters since 1785), at 21 Old Bond Street W1. The local coal gas main was also smashed open and ignited. Fire began to spread within the building.' Source: WestEndWar org
Last night a bad one in Chelsea. Roof of St Luke's Church, Sydney Street, on fire. Fire in the public lavatory. The builder's yard almost next door to my studio gutted. Other fires in Chelsea Square. Very few casualties, but a hell of a lot of damage. Corner of Glebe Place has been hit.
Central London and the West End suffered most. I shall never get over the senselessness of the whole business. Regent Street also damaged. Did not see Oxford Street but I hear it is the worst of the lot.
I shall never get over the utter surrealness of the whole business.
September 26, 1940
Clearing furniture from bombed houses opposite our Depot, in the King's Road.
A piano, its keyboard gone and the lower portion of the case missing. Tables, chairs and cupboards, split and charred. Soiled, still damp rags that had been curtains, bedding or clothes. All the pitiful remnants of a home; carefully loaded in a van, taken across the road to Hudson's Depository, unloaded and packed away.
After tea went the room Lewis has use of in St Marks College. He played Chopin and Elspet, his pupil,who is wasting a glorious voice now she is at the First Aid Post, sang German Lieder - very, very beautifully. Lewis in a good mood and finished with Chopin's Revolutionary Study. Magnificent. It made us all happy and ready for the sirens and the rather nasty night that followed soon after.
'Jeanette nude', 1936, by Clifford Hall. No colour photograph currently available.
'Dug out', Chelsea', 1940, by Clifford Hall. Imperial War Museum Collection.
'Marion wearing a Green Scarf' by Clifford Hall.