Читать книгу Sand In My Shoes: Coming of Age in the Second World War: A WAAF’s Diary - Joan Rice - Страница 49

Coming back here in the Tube last night I thought, ‘This can't be real, I'm dreaming a nightmare, people can't be as ugly as that row opposite me.’ They had faces like drag-coloured plasticine pulled by grubby fingers into grotesque imitations of human faces. I could hardly bear looking at their ugliness. Then other people came in and made it more endurable: a young soldier with a face like a cheerful Walt Disney dwarf, a red-cheeked baby with a head circled with small ginger curls and a woman with a pale face, hollow cheeks and a long lovely mouth.

On Saturday at home it was sunny and I walked over to Esher to change my library book. Weekends are almost the only time I get for reading now. In the weekdays I'm busy living. Books show you so much though. This weekend I had a good haul: A Life of Christ, Lewis Golding's The Jewish Problem and seven plays of 1939, including an excellent one by Lillian Hellman, The Little Foxes, and Terence Rattigan's very thin and very empty After the Dance.

Eric has a week's leave this week. I am seeing Walt Disney's Pinocchio and two plays with him. He suggested that we went to see Cousin Muriel: I don't think he likes serious plays very much but he thinks I do.