Another lovely day. Very busy. Walling, new chief clerk, anxious to learn the ropes of this office. I think he will be useful, but too early to say yet. Home to tea. My dear Father’s birthday, 71 years old. Took him quarter pound tobacco, which now costs 9/6. He had had a letter from his brother Will, to say all are well in the North, but are growing very old. What a pity all the old people cannot get together again for a few years.
Beautiful evening, with the noise of planes, very high, over the town.
Back at 7.30. Mrs. Symonds, Joy’s mother, there. About 9 o’clock, a few planes began to move about, apparently British, but I suddenly heard one dive, ending in a dull thump which shook the house. I thought at first it was bombs, but I believe it was a plane crashing. Soon after several more began to dive and rise over the farm, searchlights trying to pick them up.
Wire’s copy of Morant is still missing, and no steps have been taken to trace it. Poulter is positive that it was not sent to
London with the other books by mistake, so I suppose it is either in the Castle or at ’s house in Elmstead. Hull