Wednesday 15th October 1941

A hell of a lot of men are being discharged to their bases today. All my friends are going – Golden, Buchanan, Steve Stevens and Rogers – but I remain. It will be lonely without them.

“Slight air activity over Britain”
“Nazis still unable to break through”
“Russians falling back slowly”

8p.m. “Well, Cheerio!” “Cheerio Steve!” “Look after yourself” “All the best!” “Cheerio”

The four shadowy figures trudged on towards the train; I turned down towards the hut in the date palms, near the beach. We'd known each other about a month (except for Steve and I, of course) here and at the 63rd.
I was glad when I heard I wasn't going, at first. Now I wish I could have gone with the rest. We'd been together nearly all the time for the last four or five weeks. (Cakes, lemonade, music and magazines at the Bulldog Club!)
I feel a bit fed up, here in the hut. There are three men talking quietly at the far end and one asleep nearby. Many empty beds. Think I'll go up to the canteen for a bit. I don't like hot and stuffy rooms nowadays – a sort of claustrophobia through being in the open so much, perhaps – but I feel like a bit of noise and laughter tonight.