Thursday 9th April 1942

I'm still carrying on as Troop NCO Sigs! Don't they realise I am US? Why, I'm treated as quite an important man nowadays.

(“C Troop – 'shun!”... “Thank you sergeant major. C troop – stand at – ease! Bombardier Dawson!” “Sir!” Then I march out and the Troop Commander acknowledges my colossal salute and has a talk about what we shall do this morning, whilst the whole Troop stands waiting. Then he tells me to “carry on”. I salute again, tramp back to the section whilst the gunners, drivers and acks, still wait patiently. “Signals -'shun! Right – turn! Quick – march!” Away we go. “EYES – RIGHT!” and a stupendous salute, then, “Eyes front!” and we are off the dusty parade ground. After all this grandeur we have a small class in which I, the titular instructor, endeavour to learn as much as possible. Bullshit baffles brains.)

I'd been getting quite satisfactorily resigned and wooden about (Army) life and death, perhaps because of the new job, which keeps me pretty busy; but this afternoon some letters came from home, which “shook” me all over again and made me long once more for the bloody war to be over, so that I could live again.