Monday 2nd February 1942

Attended the elementary specialist class today. They were doing logs – something quite new to me! The masses of figures amazed and intrigued me but I managed to sort them out and found I'd really learnt something at the end of the session.

However it was all useless. The officer lecturer told me I shouldn't be in his class. “I was detailed for it, sir,” I said, injured. “Well, you shouldn't have been,” he said smugly. “You're a signaller, aren't you? Well, all the signallers are to concentrate on their own subjects alone. Didn't you know that?”
“I certainly didn't.” “No, that's not right sir,” put in Tom Gibbon, who'd been in the specialist class for a week. “Some signallers are in other classes, sir.” “Are you a signaller, Gibbon?” “Yes, sir.” “Then the same applies to you. This class is for gunners, drivers and specialists. I'll have no signallers here. You have enough of your own work to study.”

“You can't escape from ruddy signalling,” I told Gibbon, disgusted, as we walked out, “Once a syphi-bloody-litic signaller, you're always a bloody syphilitic signaller.”