Part 184: Saturday, 19th February 1966, 9.12 pm.

Susannah has had laryngitis – a barking cough and complete listlessness, a pathetic change from her usual full-of-bean-ish self – Maxie has had a “fluey cold” and E. has flu. Dr Covington ordered her to bed this afternoon. I hope she’ll feel fit by Monday morning as I want to keep my no-absence (apart from Jewish festivals) record unblemished. I know I make a fetish of this, but well…

Half-term on Thursday and Friday. Nothing done, except draft exams. Ever since Pirates [of Penzance, school production] was over have felt cold-y myself, weak on pins.

Had pious resolutions of making long, introspective entry & reading some edifying work, but will probably watch TV., many of the programmes on which are certainly no worse than the muck I read.

Shirley Williams said she was conscious of fact one had only one life to live, so if one had a coronary at fifty (she’s 35), it was just too bad. What boot it to repeat – it is slipping underneath my feet, and I can’t do anything about it. Tages Arbeit, Abends Gäste,
Saure Wochen, frohe Feste – yes, but Goethe didn’t have to pacify the kids, wash up, do shopping or contend with far-from-captive audiences of school kids. And if Tages Arbeit, Abends Gäste, when time for study, to write letters (was this part of G’s “Arbeit” ?) and do voluntary (municipal shool/church) work?

If I could only sleep soundly – 7 ¼ hrs. should be enough – bed at 12.30, up at 7.45, if the intervening 7 ¼ hrs. were hours of sleep (after all, I am lucky in not having to leave home before 8.30 a.m.).[unclear Hebrew words]pretty shocking; still after all these years והנה יש לי אישה ושלושה ילדים נחמדים [And here I have a wife and three lovely children]. What do you make of all that H-L [Baudelaire’s hypocrite lecteur]?

Part 183: Monday, 14th February 1966, 21.30 hrs.

Six weeks since last entry. All six weeks nearer to grave. No – cowards do NOT die many times before their death; we all die once only. Philip & Susannah celebrated thier respective birthdays. The kids are in fine fettle. Susannah: I like mine daddy and mine Mummy.

Am just recovering from an abortive cold. Went to hear Frank Davis Sunday before last. He was good: entertaining, thoughtful, had done his homework – not a pompous platitudiniser, as I thought he might be. He himself apologised for the “dissipated air” which he attributed to, or followed on, he said, a meal at his favourite kosher restaurant.

I had to leave early and put myself to bed with whisky and aspros and did in fact hit the hay (ugh!) early every working night last week.

Sam surviving, il vaque à ses affaires, but I ought to get used to the idea that he may go any day. Every time I see a reference to “the remaining killers: cancer, heart disease, bronchitis” it gives me a khlip.

My own heart must be extraordinarily tough to survive some of my classes. It’s a vicious circle. I suppose if I were really on top of my job, had eight hours solid, refreshing sleep every night, could make every lesson interesting, they’d be no disciplinary problems. Ach – I can’t reproduce the sound I’m making – why waste time? Have had a haircut; now for bath (E. is at laundrette), perhaps read.

Maisie (Lily’s sister) is to be married to one David Wray. Sam was the shadchan [matchmaker].She is fiftyish….Sam says he did it because Lily used to weep on Friday nights: poor Maisie. They are to be married March 27th.

Pirates of Penzance [school production] over, T.G. (purely a conventional expression of relief, H.L., [Baudelaire’s hypocrite lecteur] implying no theological commitment whatsoever). About 5-6 Saturdays from 7-10, one Saturday from 2-10, and one from 7-11. However, we discharged our obligations – c’est tout.

Part 177: Monday, 22nd November 1965, 9.18p.m.

Awoke yesterday with tummy pains. Worked away, continuing from Saturday evening, at translation of Insurance documents from Hebrew. Easy stuff, but more than 4,000 English words written, I imagine. However, £10-16-0, which is not to be sneezed at. Edith reminds me to mention that Susannah has just come down, adorable in dressing gown, with plaintive cries of “Mummy”. Mummy sewing, Daddy writing, Susannah watching, the boys sleeping.

Angst overnight, dread at facing classes, but feeling of euphoria now, induced perhaps by lilting Pirates of Penzance tune, perhaps by feeling that one has got into swing of week – the being in the cold water is not so bad as the thought of plunging into the cold water.

In spite of capitalised injuction on p.87 caned Rigotti, Hanson & Judd to-day, one on each hand. A pity about Rigotii. A tall, overgrown boy, captain of basketball team, scout, a “principal” in “Pirates” (I’m in the chorus) and he works as well as anyone can do in his class, but perhaps the showdown will have done good. I gave him one, asked him if he wanted more, he said that would be enough. Poor Hanson, a nice little kid, drew his hand away at first, there was such venom in my expression and allure generally. NO, H.L., [Baudelaire’s hypocrite lecteur], NO repeat NO sexual or excretory overtones. Yes, I did have bullying tendencies (I think it fair to say, slight) as a boy, but I dread giving the cane now at least as much, if not more, than the kids receiving it.