Wednesday 12th March 1941

Tonight I'm in a quite different world; this is a most refreshing state of affairs. In mid-afternoon, when we were well past Bardia, the convoy stopped. I was peacefully sitting in the back of M1 reading a Yankee thriller, when Mr Gardener appeared and told me to get in a lorry further down the convoy, with my bedding. Shortly afterwards, this lorry dashed on alone. There were 12 of us in the back; I didn't know any of the others very well (some of them were new draft men whom I'd never seen before) and the only thing in common between us was that we could all drive!

Eventually we reached Tobruk, signed in at the RAOC Depot and got billets in a barn with some Aussie infantry. We're right in the town, near the harbour. It gets bombed here somewhat; about sunset blokes began to carry tin hats about with them and two men came into the sand-bagged AA post and got the machine gun ready for action.
Had a decent tea and a wash and a shave.

Now, all around I can hear the slow Aussie drawl. There are no signallers here. It is a very pleasant change. One of the new draft here, who left England quite recently, is a Southwell man. He knows all the gossip of that wee town. Knows the Cottams and the Simmons; remembers the days of the Yeomanry in Southwell and knew several of us. He says that they still have happy memories of us in Southwell – we made a good impression.

The job we're on here is to wait a few days until some ammo arrives and then drive after the Regiment. Altogether qwise.