Another brilliant sunny morning, though cold. Got up rather late, and did not get in until after the District Officer had arrived, which always annoys me.
Suffolk side of the river, great mounds of sugar beet, like long barrows, are accumulating by the roadsides, and in every field
horses and tumbrils come silently through the mist with fresh loads. As I went by Langham, Thunderbolt planes were
The majority of the letters written to myself and Father during the last 10 days say in effect “We are sorry to learn of your Mother’s death – but how lucky she is to be dead!”
Went back to Higham early to have tea there. Heavy shower of rain as I cycled through
Stratford. All the English radio stations faded at 6.30,
so I listened instead to Calais, where the news
in English was giving bloodthirsty threats of what is going to happen to us in
return for these dreadful raids on Berlin.