Tuesday 25th February 1941

A fine hot day. My blankets and the socks I've just laundered, are spread out to dry. Will we get leave, Cairo-way? Shall I even get a chance to have my films developed and printed? My pipe's burning nicely, it is quiet here and I'm bathed in sunshine – but ah! how depressed and heart sick I feel! I tried to find comfort in reading old diaries (Will they ever reach home?) but there's none to be found there. All is summed up in the last sentence I read (quotation from a book, at Nablus, last June) :- “ Life, love and happiness are all very precarious – little flames in a wind-swept darkness”...

It is better that I should write no more now, because when one is in this mood one is liable to write more than should be written. I'll carry on with some essentially everyday task – perhaps a little sock darning?