Wednesday 25th September 1940

In between times, we chipped away at the solid rock of the entrance trench, which now extends about 2 foot 6 inches at the pit's floor level. So I'll just be able to lie straight when I sleep in the pit tonight – the pit being about 4 foot wide. A steady day's work with little leisure. But we're an independent “cell” working our own arrangements.

After tea I shaved – had had no time until then. I propped a mirror on the parapet and stood just outside the dugout. A nice shave; my moustache is coming on well, even though the wretched impetigo sores still remain in some places. A grand life this, I thought, smoking and shaving. Nice and quiet; independent; no bullshit; a job to do. Oh! Almost too good to be real!