Friday 19th April 1940

A party of men, with an officer, sergeant and bombardier, have been sent as an advance guard to As Luj, some barren outpost of Empire in the desert south of Beersheba, where the firing ranges are. Rumour has it that they will be there about three months. The bombardier is unfortunately Jack Chenery, so our little band is now minus one.

We are becoming melodious in my tent; Cartwright, Underhill and I usually start to sing as we sit cleaning our kits and then the rest join in. I’ve learnt another song, “My Grandfather’s Clock” which has a fine swing to it:-

“Ninety years without slumbering,
Tic, toc, tic, toc,
His life seconds numbering
Tic, toc, tic, toc…”

And I’ve taught them “Green grow the rushes O!”
These are our two favourites and we sing away rhythmically as we “polish for victory”
Ripping to be with a group of blokes who deliberately sing properly instead of just kicking up the hell of a din.