Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Sunday 8th November 1936

Met John at Marylebone but we caught a train from Paddington to Beaconsfield. Consumed our sandwiches in the train.

A lovely day. We hiked along the old, circle route and reached Coleshill just before closing time. Played with a hockey machine at the Red Lion. John won. When we climbed over the fence at the edge of the wood where, last winter, Gwyn and I heard the guns of the Kings funeral, John was at the climax of a dirty story. We were both laughing.

Later, a sudden rainstorm. After sheltering miserably under a hedge, we caught a providential bus. Alighted at Penn Street and took refuge in a telephone box. John asked the operator to ring an impossible number (an empty house in Staines) and when for the second time she reported failure, said naively, “ Alright, what about coming out tonight?”

The rain then ceased and we walked on to Penn. Tea at a cosy place. We sat long at table, discussing neurosis, psychology and dreams. The housekeeper joined in and told us about the Irish “banshee”. A mile down the road, I remembered my stick. We ran back.

Travelled up from Beaconsfield by the 7:29. Frumpish occupants of the carriage did not greet our noisy humour with any enthusiasm. Left John at Ealing. Tube to Hounslow. Waited for bus in chilly wind. Green line, stopped opposite The Victoria, 11o’clock.

Supper again, then bed.


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