Thursday December 22nd 1932

Another hard day. Worked until 10 pm. Had my dinner in the Cellar. Fried sausages and bacon on the gas ring. Enough butter done to last until Christmas. ('Done' means that the 56 lb. blocks had been beaten into reasonable softness and cut and shaped into one pound half globes. Each piece was then patterned by pressing on a sort of wooden die. Then all were loaded on a tray and taken up the shaft to the shop. The tray held, usually, 72 pounds of butter. It was rather difficult to carry up the ladder of the shaft. The forearms would be horizontal under the tray with the elbows locked into the hips. I have not described the operation very well!)

Drama in the shop, where I was serving, Woollerton, hurrying past the counter, touched the displayed bacon with his apron and some slices fell on the floor. Mr. Lanning noticed and called,
'Woollerton! Go and get your cards!' To the embarrassment of customers and indeed all of us, big Woollerton burst into tears, right there in the shop. 'Please sir, no' he sobbed, 'Give me another chance. My wife is expecting a baby. Please, sir'. After a terrible silence, Mr Lanning accepted the plea and snapped, 'Alright then, you big baby. Get back to work'.

There is a rumour that many of us will be sacked after the Christmas rush is over. 'Let's wait until tomorrow' says the song. I wait with dread.

(Woollerton was a big man and a bully. All of us except MacTavish were afraid of him. However after we saw him cry in public he never tried to bully anyone again. We had all seen His shame and were no longer afraid).