Friday 11th November 1938

The mornings mail was cheerful. An order from Bundy – 10 gallons of Piccadilly. A note from the Office stating that my turnover (up to the end of September) had passed the £1000 mark.

At 9 o’clock – just before breakfast – to my amazement, Joan called. She’d heard all about my troubles, last night, from Lois. “Stephen,” she said, “I owe you something. Let me pay my debt and run you round in the car today.” “The car?” I said vaguely.
“Oh, it’s Mick’s” she said brightly. She did take me round! At 11 o’clock we were dashing along High Street. A lorry in front suddenly jammed on it’s brakes. Joan stopped, well out in the road. Everything and everybody stopped. She switched off the engine. Silence fell. Remembrance again, for the men who, we’ve thought lately, may have died quite vainly, after all.

Joan and I had lunch at The Ritz Café and talked like blazes – chiefly about each other; abstract subjects, and Lois. I shall like Joan much better now. She becomes a friend, instead of a barrier between – Lois and I.