Wednesday 2nd October 1940

I sit by the exchange. Vic, who is better now, squatted on the sandbags above the trench. We're not so over-worked now that the sandbagging, digging, ramping and camouflaging is done. “Do you realise, Steve, that we're the only sigs. left in M1 now?” (John went to hospital this morning – dysentery.) “Yeah, Vic”: Talk about ten little nigger boys!”

The flies, cause of all this disease, are buzzing madly around me as I write. Their endless buzzing and settlings and little bites and the nausea of their mere presence, are enough to drive one crazy. It's cool and shady in this pit and the water in our bottles remains fresh even if kept here all day. But we still suffer the flies. They buzz one's brain away.