Saturday 17th June 1939

Packing-up. We were turned out at five o’clock but as all the tents were wet there was nothing to do until 8. Organisation! Sunny day. Everyone worked “as slowly and inefficiently as possible,” according to Tiny. The tents were gradually taken down. Chaos.

“Lunch” was two rounds of dry bread, stale bully beef and a cup of tea. I tramped up and down, grumbling, past the rows of squatting men in the latrines. “No bloody paper”. “Hemmings” came to the rescue. He had a double sheet of Yesterday's “Telegraph” which he tore in half. “Here you are, Dawson”.
So I found a vacant seat beside him, we read and discussed yesterday’s news, and in due course, used our paper for other purposes.

Returned with George, in time for tea, a wiser and wealthy man. Able to put aside £10 for banking! For a fortnight I’d forgotten all “The Depression,” “Business” and “War? War?”