Monday
Cold. Lovely day, with great sheets of cloud hurrying across the sky from the North East. Had to go down to Mersea this morning to fix up lodgings for the thatchers and a new ganger. Went in Capt. Folkard’s car with Nott. Had to go to see Cecil Baldwin, who wants to quit his job as he is becoming a nervous wreck. Stood in the cold at Mortimer’s Farm and argued with him. I believe he will stay. The land there looked well. Saw one of the trolleys built by Bruce last Spring come into the yard.
Then to the Hall Barn. Everybody there at loggerheads. Mechanic, tractor drivers, Mrs. Johnson, all in a muddle, all hating one another.
To Lawford at 6.30, but did not feel up to work so spent the evening reading. Read Daphne du Maurier’s “Rebecca” from beginning to end. Looked through Osbert Lancaster’s “Home Sweet Home”. Brilliant satire.
Bright moonlight. Planes flying at exercise. Cold.
As we came back from Mersea this morning we found two of the swans from Bourne Pond, one old and one young, lying stunned and helpless at the bottom of Broom Hill, having flown into the telephone wires. With the help of a soldier I put them into Deane’s field. Had we not happened along they would be there yet, as nobody was doing anything to help them. When I got them on the grass the other old bird came waddling up and muzzled them affectionately.
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