Friday 23rd February 1934

Dank fog and frost; no sun.

An argument with the foreman re the litho pots (in particular no. 1, which he said had been too late and low in temperature.)

After the library went to Social with Ford and Withey. Boys Brigade O.B. Association.
Withey and I, non-dancers – Ford – and a one legged chap, Frank, sat playing cards and gossiping all the time. Smoking and refreshments. I played pretty fearfully, one ear on the music, one eye on the dancers shuffling past.

Frank, sensitive and nervously candid. “What do you think of me , then?” “What shall you say about me afterwards?”

Home 1a.m.

“Hand never flinches, touching hand,
And blood lies quiet, for all you’re near,
And it’s but spoken words we hear,
Where trumpets sang; when the mere skies
Are stranger and nobler than your eyes;
And flesh is flesh, was flame before;
And infinite hungers leap no more
In the chance swaying of your dress;
And love has changed to kindliness”.