Thursday 26th August 1937

The first post brought a little note from Gwyn, enclosing a photograph of herself, as was promised long ago. “Life is not so foul, after all,” I thought as I cycled to business on my blasted push bike, with the ruddy suit case perched on the handle bars, to brand me as a traveller.

Called at the Hospital, where Gower’s men were busily slapping Paripan on the walls of the Sportsmen’s Ward. A familiar atmosphere, reminding me of those days, early this year, when I used to travel around with Beach. “Broken White Priming.” “First U/coat.” “Second U/coat for Cream.” The contract atmosphere. Matters seemed complicated but they all straightened out eventually and I returned to Eastwoodbury to write out my report – and an order.

By the second post came a letter from John. Typical. “Blank face and rotten balls, come and lunch with me at my digs on 4th Sept. We will piss off up the river then…” Four cheery pages, then, in conclusion; “Have read many interesting little stories about blank, blank, blank, and blank blank, which I will discuss in detail when I see you. Come straight to Melville on the 4th. Cheerio, Blank." (There are certain words I use frequently, yet do not write – in this my diary. It may, some day, be read by a lady!)

Feeling still more cheerful I left Roedean, had lunch at a café, then went on the road. Back at 5 o’clock, having sold a cwt. of U/ct. paste meanwhile. Two orders on Tuesday, one on Wednesday, two today. £12 this week, so far. Not too bad.