High clouds, and cleared rapidly towards afternoon. Had to go back after lunch to do special memorandum to Writtle. Had tea up town and called at home. Mother told me old Mr. Rose, next door, was dying. About half past 5 the doctor called, stayed a few minutes, and left. Just as I went out at 6 the blinds next door came down one by one. Mother said “Oh look, the poor old man’s gone. Only yesterday I went in and he spoke to me.” I cycled away leaving my old folks on one side of a brick wall and a corpse and an old sorrowing woman on the other. When they go to bed tonight they will not be more than 10 feet from the dead man.
Glorious red sunset, sheets of cold crimson flame, and thick fog coming up from the sea, so thick by 8 that the moon was invisible. Great hopes of a quiet night. At tea, heard a girl who came in say she was down from London for the day and that there were bombs at Brockley on Thursday and at St Pancras last night. Cannot make up my mind whether to do duty this weekend or not. I must see Dr Rowland, but have not yet had nerve to go.
Did three stupid things today – left kitchen light on, burnt wireless cabinet, burnt saucepan and wasted paraffin. Quite hot tonight.