Thursday
Foggy, wet and rather warm. Miss Bentley said “What a horrid morning!” Said “Yes”, but thought “no, Miss B, you are
quite wrong. It is a lovely morning, and
I wish every morning and every evening would be like this for years to come.”
Cleared up late, and the sun came
out. Almond trees in bloom, and the
hedges beginning to show green tips.
Saw Molly Blomfield at Scheregate
today, looking most dreadfully ill.
Had supper at Boxted and Miss Bentley gave me an orange, the first I have had for some time. Ate it dipped in sugar. After supper went along to the Roses at Little Rivers to hear
the radio. At Boxted Cross saw a coal-black
sheep with twin lambs, also coal-black.
The Roses told me that they were having a lot of trouble about young
Pickard, as the authorities won’t allow him to come to live in the Defence
Area. There is as yet no sign of him
losing his appalling American accent.
Bed at midnight. The moon peeping through clouds, and a few
‘planes about tonight.
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