Fine clear dawn, still cold. Wind veered to N.E. No sign of any more rain, and yesterday’s shower barely enough to lay the dust. Twelve ‘planes came over from the north, in formation, flying low towards the coast. Continually thinking about Mary Hulbert’s cottage near the border. Feel a frightful sense of impending doom.
Supper in town tonight, then went to Lt. Rivers with some papers for Stuart Rose. Walked and rode back towards Woodside, trying to stay out as late as possible. Brilliant stars, and a good many planes about. Signal lights flashing in Suffolk, so that I wondered if there was a raid on, but no gunfire.