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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