It has been a nice day in a gloomy month, a fair amount of sunshine and a good breeze. My clothes all dry and most of them folded. It is nice to get them dried so easily in the week in winter time. Rene came after tea, Mr. A gets up again. It is only a matter of crossing the threshold into the sitting room so does not need much exertion. She came home a few minutes Sunday afternoon too. I have put almond paste on Ron’s cake and decorated it with a paper latch key cut from a card as I could get no other, and icing sugar flowers bought from Halls. The al. paste is substitute and ordinary sugar but tastes quite nice and I know the cake is good.
We got Ron’s case on Fri, had to have a brown one as they could not get a blue one, £1.1 and is very strong and well made. Hope nothing prevents him getting home for his birthday on Weds. He has grown up this year away from home and is much improved in many ways, tho’ he was never much trouble to us before. He is not shy now and very self reliant and broader minded as is to be expected with mixing with so many fresh people.
I bought a new hat, Tam, on Fri 7/11. It is not particularly charming but I disliked it less than the rest, and I go out so little that it does not matter a great deal as long as I have one and I was tired of the green one Jessie gave me and couldn’t wear my blue felt with my green coat. I am still rather “chesty”. Rene is asking Dr. to send me another bottle of medicine when he calls on Mr. A again.
The war seems to be going in our favour in Libya, it is very encouraging but I think a lot of the soldiers have thought the war would end without them going abroad. I am afraid a lot of them will have to go now. The whole division is moving from here. Frank Adams and George [Cutts] have not been any more, expect they will be going away this week perhaps not abroad yet. I must write to Sybil. Ron thinks he will almost certainly have to take another course in ins. rep [instrument repair], if he does he will not be sent abroad at present.
The end of another book.
November 24 1941
So ends another book of words,
And little walks of daily life
Are written here in calm and rest,
Tho’ round us surges war and strife.
Let not its tumult reach our shores
We daily pray, but what are we?
That we should be more favoured than
The other peoples of the world
Who strive upon their own loved soil
To conquer evil fighting hordes.
Have you read an introduction to May Hill & family (includes photographs) and explored ‘The Casualties Were Small’?
