Bitterly cold morning, and still a clear, cloudless sky. Wind more westerly, and very strong. Did not leave until 9, as I had to go to Sheepen first. Mr Craig was to meet me there, but he did not turn up. Made a few notes on the repairs necessary to make the one remaining shed at the farm serviceable. Everything else has gone. Nothing remains of the big cowhouse except the concrete floor and the drain, looking exactly like Roman foundations. A gang of land girls nearby were cutting down a hedge and burning the brushings.
Managed to prevent the War Agricultural Committee from selling one of the old horses from East Mersea in the open market. Persuaded Frank Warren to have the old chap killed on the farm.
Went home to tea. Miss Payne had managed to get kippers, most delightful. This evening to Boxted to the Roses’. Very pleasant evening, chatter, and listening to the radio. Left at 9.30, and back to Dedham under the shining moon, a few planes about, and dull gunfire to the south.
While at Boxted, saw recent copies of “Time & Tide”, the “New Statesman”, and the “Spectator”. Harold Nicolson writes a most outspoken article against the Government’s wicked policy of bombing, quite the best I have seen on this subject.