Dull day, the sun just breaking through about 1 o’clock. The siren sounded as I was going down towards Bourne Mill to feed Bob, and a plane flew over, going south, quick and low. Bill Watts was coming up the hill, and said “That’s him! That’s the German” and I believe it was. Not a gun fired, and the plane sailed away unharmed, no doubt to come back and attack us another day.
Poulter has been in a very bad temper all this last week, and for three or four days there has been no heat at Holly Trees. I have complained frequently to the Town Clerk’s Office, but nothing whatever is done.
Sadler, Deputy Executive Officer, and Wall, Finance Officer, came down this afternoon to address the staff, mostly on efficiency, or rather lack of it. I am sick and tired of these infernal talks, which only result in irritation and loss of tempers. There is ever increasing bureaucratic control, exercised by people who have no understanding whatever of country folks.
When the clouds had all cleared, there was a lovely golden sunset. Are not trees more beautiful when they stand naked in winter than when fully clothed in summer? The view from the Holly Trees windows was very lovely, the bare tree branches making exquisite patterns against a golden haze.