Sunday 17th March 1935

On the summit of St. Anne’s, Brockwell and I wrestled whilst Dick lounged nearby smoking. Strange scene; our struggling, panting figures in the bright moonlight; trees around. No result, though we fought for ten minutes or more. I could feel our evenness of strength at the first grapple. Good scrap!

When I said “cheerio” to Dick outside the Bells of Ouzeley, I felt sad. Back to routine! First time I’ve felt that regret since coming here.