Wakened several times during the night by aircraft. Woke again at 8, and listened to the soldiers next door, calling on short wave radio – “Able, George, Baker, Victor, Fox, Zebra, can you hear me? Over.”
Wrote to the Biggams today, a poor letter. Felt very “homesick” as I posted it down the village street, and saw the address “16 Glengyle Terrace” slide into the letter box. Within 48 hours or less that letter will be 400 miles away.
A lovely day, the birds singing everywhere. Felt rather weak and sick, so stayed in this afternoon and read some of Carlyle’s “French Revolution”. Soon after 4, as the sun sank in a golden mist, a great mass of bombers came over. Stood and watched them and then went into tea in the warm cosy room, while they went on across the sea to bring death to some poor devils who were still alive and well as we ate new bread and apricot jam.
This morning I suddenly heard a shrill shrieking whistle, high in the blue sky. There was nothing in sight but I wondered if this is the sound of a rocket which had already passed over.
It came over foggy this evening. Situation must be serious indeed to send them out in this weather. Gen. Eisenhower is now talking about shortage of ammunition, when about a week ago the press announced the closing of some munition works as the present stock of shells would last ten years, fired day and night.