This evening cycled out slowly. No sign of Robin at Springgate. Sat on the bank by John de Bois Hill in the cool of the evening and read a book. Watched the trains go by, and a flock of white pigeons swooped overhead. A breakdown train went through, towards
Colchester, carrying a great crane. Not a sound of an aeroplane anywhere. Near the ‘Wooden Fender’ I saw Everitt’s timber-jib, with two horses tandem, carrying a great tree-trunk, while the light van came behind. Just round the corner was the pony-cart of the Ardleigh carrier.
Children playing outside the settlement houses, among tethered goats, and the sound of a tractor in the distance. Fine, soft evening.