Friday 7th December 1934

This is written two days later; Sunday afternoon. I could not write before – notes would have been too chaotic. Sweetness is becoming bitter-sweetness. The “kicks” I get out of things are still delicious but a little sharper. However, on Friday, it all seemed rather delicious still.

At 7 o’clock on Friday I met Joan (looking adorable) and we came here to the Kings Head. Vermouths. We talked over the fire and it all seemed the usual delightful flirtation. Her fiancé, Colin, is in the lab. At a rival paint firm. Well, next Friday, at 4.30p.m. in the Grinding Shop she will meet me and say “yes” or “no” Colin or myself. We exchanged tokens, my silver ring, her brooch.

All very charming; I thought, I’ll cut the blighter out! We went for a stroll in the night – yes, that favourite walk of mine, through the woods of Callow Hill.
Came to a stile and sat down and I held her in my arms and kissed her. She was breathing quickly and deeply… When she said it seemed unreal, when I said it was a dream come true… “Miss Walmsley” – “Mr Dawson”. That gurgling deep laugh of hers!

It was really filthy in the woods; great pools of water and I carried her through each one. Near the hill top we leaned against a gate and looked towards a big dark house. Her delicate, dead white face. She said it was burning hot though… I kissed her eyes and throat and hair.

We did not get back until midnight.