Beautiful morning. Cycled in. Still a few cuckoos calling, and the swallows are sweeping about. Great clouds of mist rising out of the Vale of Dedham.
Very busy day. No time for lunch. Went down to Mersea with Joanna, and had two sausage rolls on the way. How ill and sick I feel in cars. Went to Peldon “Rose” to arrange tea for the Committee next week, then to Abbot’s Hall, up to Layer Breton, and on to Fingringhoe. Saw the little grey [pony] standing in the yard at Layer Wick. The Land Girls look browner and more gipsy like than ever.
From there we went to Mrs. Furneaux’s at Fingringhoe Hall, where I saw a Canadian A.A. gun unlimber and set up on the track at the back of the Hall. Then on to Batteswick, where was the beautiful Miss Cole, browner than ever.
Office until 5.45, and then tea at the Regal. In the papers tonight nothing but military disasters. The Premier is in
again. One article describes “mass produced” houses which are to be made after the war, a most attractive prospect. There is a good deal of “after-the-war” stuff in the press now, I suppose to encourage the people. It would be interesting to know what proportion of people now living will take part in any “after-the-war” developments. (I hear that Nichols of Lawford Hall, Ambassador to the Czechs, thinks the war may end this year). America
Bought some strawberries.