Sunday 7th August 1938

Several one-week-only men, went home today, among them, Ginger Hurst and Bob Upton.
“Lucky sods!” we growled but, discussing it later, were not quite sure. As the crude, good-hearted Camper remarked, “We’ve been a bloody decent tent-full and mixed-in well together”.

Church Parade this morning. Review order, of course. Sweat trickled steadily down my face, whilst RA’s and RCS’s formed hollow square. The Signals look jolly smart on parade though, with their bandoliers and spurs.

Put on “civvies” and went into Brighton alone. Lunch at a café, read the paper, went to the pictures. The film was not fast moving, and I kept dozing off. Eventually – luxury after so much roughness! – coffee on a tray, with hot milk and sugar was brought to my balcony seat. So I had two cups, then lit a cigarette and remained awake.

Odd jobs about the camp this evening. Keeping one’s kit tidy takes a lot of time. I’m now lying on my bed writing this by the light of a candle stuck on a tent peg.
Woolmer, Fayers, Lawrence and Camper are all out at present. Guess I’ll turn in now. Must be eleven o’clock at least.