- AFTER THE WAR
- Running the House by Ruby Side Thompson (1884-1970)
- Bringing back My Grandfather: John H. Thompson; Son Of Ruby Alice Side Thompson
- For Genealogy Lovers: THE THOMPSON FAMILY (A Search into History) Compiled by Edward Thompson (1879-1970)
- Letters to and From Esther Pissaro (wife of Lucien...
- CopyRight Statement
- World War ll London Blitz: Buy On Smashwords
I am the great-granddaughter of Ruby Side Thompson.Recently I started re-reading the World War ll journals and felt that they were such an important part of a history that will soon be forgotten if not published and shared with the world. These diary excerpts are not the entirety of what is published in print and kindle.Ruby grew up during a time when education was just beginning to be encouraged for both upper and middle class women. During the late 1890's Ruby explored many radical political ideas of London, England. She met many famous people including the writers George Bernard Shaw and William Butler Yeats.5.0 out of 5 stars A choice pick, not to be overlooked, November 6, 2011 By Midwest Book Review (Oregon, WI USA)
World War ll London Blitz:12-1-42 to 12-25-42 Everything extraordinarily quiet. Surprising news, Darlan has been assassinated in Algiers. So much the better.
December 1, 1942
Artie married this morning, to Hilda Mary Kane, of Glasgow. Nuptial mass was at nine o’clock, Father Bishop officiating. Mr. and Mrs. Pullan were our only friends there though ,of course, many people at the mass. The Pullan's returned to the house with us for breakfast.
Later Ted took Artie and Hilda to London, for a real meal, and some sightseeing for Hilda. He engaged a room for them first at The Imperial Hotel, at Euston, handy for their train, and in the early evening said goodbye to them in Piccadilly Circus. Hilda is a nice girl. Both Ted and I like her very much. Ted gave Artie a parting gift of ten pounds. I thought it very nice of him.
December 2, 1942
I am going to Hammersmith after lunch and shall stay over. Mother is to be cremated tomorrow. The ceremony is at Barnes Crematorium at twelve thirty p.m.
December 16, 1942
I am going To Hammersmith again today. I am sorting through Mother’s jewelry with Joan. Her will left me her opal and diamond ring and her brooch, she left a god bracelet to Monica, a gold locket and chain to Karina, Dad’s watch and chain and rings and pins to the boys, Son and Eric, but all the remainder falls to Joan. I have offered to buy most of the earrings, and the keepers, also two gold brooches and a gold necklace. Joan may or may not part with them, we shall see, any how she has agreed to have them valued. It is certain she would never wear any of the pieces I have asked for, so perhaps she may part with them for cash. For cash! Mother’s will leaves in cash two hundred pounds to each of the six of us, plus an insurance policy worth about one hundred and sixteen pounds to Gladys, war savings certificates worth about two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds to Aileen, and with the exception of a few pieces of specified furniture to Gladys and Aileen, all the rest of her home unreservedly to Joan. To Annie is left twenty pounds, free of tax. To me, her clothes! To her son, she left Grandpa’s portrait in oil’s. Finally after payment of above legacies, the cash residue of her estate is to be equally divided between her two granddaughters, Monica and Karina. Why? My boys got nothing. Aileen, Gladys, and Joan came out the best, myself and Eric the worst.
December 20, 1942
It is three weeks tonight since Mother died. Only three weeks, but it seems very much longer. Number six without her is ghastly awful. All her warmth and vividness has left it. Joan cannot diffuse the atmosphere of a home as mother created it. Mother was too often a difficult woman, but she was a wonderful woman, and now she has gone and she has left an awful blankness behind her. I am astonished at how much I am missing her. I did not know I cared for her so deeply, in spite of everything. She was indeed a unique person, one of the great vital ones and without her the place is dead indeed. I am sad, and I cannot pull out of this sadness. The death of my mother; now I know what that means.
December 25, 1942 - Christmas Day
Everything extraordinarily quiet. Surprising news, Darlan has been assassinated in Algiers. So much the better.