15th August 1944

Yet another quiet night.  Up early in the cool dawn, the sun casting long shadows of the traved wheat across the stubbles.   

This afternoon an alarm at 2.30, in brilliant sunshine.  Nothing happened.  From the back window of the office could see an old cripple sat in a wheeled chair under the shade of a tree, quite unmoved and unmoving.  ‘All-clear’ came in 10 minutes.

There was another alarm about 6, while I was having tea in the café.  Felt very nervous against the plate glass window, but two prostitutes at the next table were quite uninterested, and only ceased their chattering when one dashed out to greet an American officer.  They both went up to her flat on the other side of the street.  She had been impatiently waiting for him, and I heard her say to the other girl “Surely he can't be flying all day.”   

Went home.  Father said he had rheumatics, and was walking slowly and with difficulty.  The parson’s little boy from across the road came running in, and the old man suddenly became brisk and active, walking across the room as if he were 10 years younger.  He took the child on his knee and pointed to me, saying “That’s my little boy, that is.”  I was once, dear Father, 30 years and more ago.  But what am I now?

Had to leave at 7 to get to the Observer Post, and to leave a message at Lt. Rivers. 

Post at 9, but all quiet.  Rumours spreading that all the ‘divers’ have been used up, but the 9 o’clock news quite depressing, and no sign of the “general collapse” so confidently predicted.

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