Friday 3rd March 1939

Drove across to my new digs at lunchtime, to take a bundle of books. (Moving again!) It is the Windmill Inn. East Hanningfield. An old pub on a village green, reminiscent of the Red Lion at Thorpe. They seem lovely country folk. I’ll wash in the scullery and have meals with them, in the kitchen.

It will be lovely for the summer, especially after these impersonal, comfortless, strict digs. I shall miss the jolly crowd of blokes who’ve gathered here – but I do like somewhere “easy going” and I guess I’ve found that somewhere at The Windmill.