Sunday 13th June 1937

Raining heavily when I arrived at the 193rd drill hall this morning. My reception was most nearly approximate to that of the RNVR; perhaps a little less impersonal. I was interviewed by an officer – could not guess his rank because he wore a macintosh over his uniform.
He asked me why I wished to join? “Oh, must defend England, you know,” I said facetiously, thinking of the recruiting posters. He took me quite seriously and looked with approval.

A tall bloke, this officer. I’m glad. Get on better with tall men.The battery clerk filled in a recruit form and the old questions cropped up. I answered pretty swiftly, having seen so many of these forms before. “Where were you born?” “Parish not known, Grimsby, Lincolnshire.” “Have you ever served before in any branch of His Majesty’s Army, The Royal Navy, The Royal…?” “No” I answered readily. “What was your age last birthday?” (What the devil was it?) “Eh – twenty three.”

And to see the doctor on Monday (tomorrow). Rather fast, these gunners! They would not be so rapid if they knew I was still tied to “The Royal Navy or a reserve thereof”.