Saturday, April 12, 2008

Saturday 29th October 1938

Business calls, office work, preparing next week’s programme, letter writing, writing up notes for the speech I have to make at school next Tuesday. A debate. I shall enjoy it, if I’m not too nervous. Have to propose the motion that “Territorial conscription be made lawful in this country”. “Madam Chairman” is Lois!

This evening, gloomy funeral of no.3 Company and end of all the friendship born at Camp. Cheese, beef sandwiches, pickles and beer on paper covered tables in the damned cold drill hall. At the end, slightly sentimental speeches from officers and senior NCO’s to an unimaginative and unappreciative audience. “Auld Lang Syne” and “The King.” We drifted towards the door. Someone had filled a pickle-dish with beer. Cigarette stubs and matches floated on top. A broken glass lay on a table. Someone, with a laugh, pushed it over on to the floor, with a crash. Very cold outside, too. Gave Bernard Fayers a lift home. All the men of no. 4 tent except Ginger had sat at the table with us, during the evening. Camper, Woolmer, Upton, Spider Laurence…

Another weary fresh start now!


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