Sunday, February 18, 2007

Friday 4th August 1933

The milkman has to come half a mile to deliver his milk, sometimes only two or three pints. Decent, an ex-Scout.

Morning, sitting with two Scouts in a shady tree overhanging the water. Our boat, safely moored, drifted to and fro beneath our dangling feet. We were all reading Tarzan books. Dinner, drifting in Wolf. Then another spell of reading in the boat, anchored in mid-lake.

After tea, we played stalking games in the woods – principally “Scout meets Scout”. Snap of a twig. Rustle of dead leaves. Movement of saplings. “Stand up Dickie, by that tree, with your hands on your knees!” Six in camp tonight, including Matron’s nephew, from London. Went to the island for a camp fire yarn again. Hot cocoa (I had four cups!) Later a cruise round the lake. Storm lantern of the other boat and lilting strains of a song – “O Shenandoah, I long to hear you….” Saw the moon coming through the cloudy sky too.


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