19th December 1942

Low clouds sweeping over, but not rain.  Several enemy attacks yesterday, according to the morning papers, but all on the South Coast.  Went home to lunch.  Mother was a little annoyed, and said “Ah well, you won't have me here to work for you much longer.”  To my surprise Father went rather red, said “Ohhh! Dammit” in that furiously angry way he has, and left the room, refusing to eat the rest of the meal.  Mother got out her handkerchief and sniffed into it a bit, and said “Really, I can't speak now without him going off like that.”  I made no reference to the scene with Father, and he soon cooled down.  His annoyance arose solely at the idea of losing Mother – he will not consider such a thing to be possible.  

This afternoon got a quarter ton of straw and 2 and a half cwt of hay to Bourne Mill.  Had to pay 33/9 for the straw, that is £6-15-0 a ton, although it is only £3-10-0 on the farms.  Many farmers are unable to sell straw, and don't know what to do with the amount they have.  Littered almost the whole yard on the road side.

Writing all evening, with a warm fire, and rain pattering on the roof.

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