Still fog. This has been a wonderful week. Wish it could be foggy until the end of the war. Absolute chaos at the office all morning, crowds of people in and out. Police rang up about the ex-Land Army girl who has set up a brothel, to ask if we would pay her fare to
Oxford? I said - Certainly not - try the Women's Land Army Secretary.
This afternoon got rations and went down to see Culley at
but he was away. Soldiers and boys
fishing in the Mill Pool at Middle Mill.
Called at Springgate Ardleigh. Old Bob looked rather thin, but active. Went to
paid for my bread at Eleys, and went to see Sisson about Harvey’s Farm. He phoned the builder, Tricher, who agreed to help, if we would let him have a few loads of tiles and slates. Mrs. Sisson told me about Professor Ermian’s plan to make Flatford Mill into a cultural centre. An excellent idea.
Back to Higham. Wireless was dead, and in a few minutes I heard sirens. Then there was distant gunfire, but the alarm lasted only a few minutes. No planes near here. Settled down for a pleasant weekend.