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- Thursday March 15, 1945
We had a dreadful night of bombs, which is not to be wondered at, and an alert for Doodles about five-thirty a.m. I did not come downstairs, I felt too tired to get up. Anyhow the bomb passed over and we were all right. Since then we have heard rockets dropping every half hour or so, not in this immediate neighborhood but I don’t know where. Anyhow they were sufficiently near to bang the doors and rattle the windows. On every news period the B.B.C reports the ten-ton bombs dropped in Germany. The reader seems to gloat about it. I feel ashamed for him. If we must wage war like this we shouldn’t boast about it. I am in an awful state today anyhow. I feel ill, and I wonder whether I may no be mentally ill also. The first is, I can’t stand marriage any longer. I just can’t stand it. In the night Ted loved me. At the very moment he turned me on my back a rocket crashed and shook the bed; but that didn’t make any difference to Ted, not a whit. All of this floods me with revulsion. I loathe the whole business and I loathe the man. Loathe him. This shouldn’t be written I know. If I didn’t spit out my venom in these pages I should go mad. Violently raving mad.
- Monday March 26, 1945
We had another bad night with rockets and doodlebugs. However, the war news is good. Montgomery’s Army is across the lower Rhine on a twenty-five to thirty mile front and to a depth of over seven miles. General Patton’s Third Army has made several crossings of the Rhine between Cobbling and Boppard. Churchill has crossed the Rhine, with Montgomery, and visited the troops in the newly won areas on the eastern bank. He also took a ride on the river. He’s seventy, yet acts like this, so Ted says, “What a boy!” To me he seems to enjoy the war, and I have a very disagreeable feeling about such sportiness.
- Tuesday March 27, 1945
Advances were reported last night in all the Rhine bridgeheads. The Canadians have cleared the town of Rees. The American first army in the Remagen sector yesterday advanced twenty-two miles through the German lines. General Patton’s tanks have entered the suburbs of Frankfurt. Lloyd-George has died. So has our neighbor Mr. Fitch. Lloyd-George was eighty-two, Mr. Fitch was eighty-four.


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