Never during my lifetime have I viewed a New Year with more unrelieved gloomy prospects than 1940. I have never been much of a one to look into the future, and although I always at these times wonder whether each successive New Year’s Day is the last I shall see, I have never before felt so sure that it may really be the last. If I see New Year’s Day 1941, still in the place I am now, I shall regard it as no less than a miracle. As for myself, were it not for the war, I should be considerably prosperous. I have about £200 in cash, £90 in superannuation fund, books etc. worth at least another £50. Taking everything into account I may be worth £400, with a steady job. The joke is that within 6 months it is not improbable that I shall have lost my job, and be coughing my life out in some remote barracks, while my £200 rusts in the Bank.
Hull is still away ill. The Museum is dreadfully cold, as we are unable to get enough coke. The weather is very bad.
Announcements today of a new Royal Proclamation calling up men from 21-27 inclusive. Grim forebodings.