Thursday 18th February 1943

I duly reported at the MI Room, but owing to a mistake of the medical orderly, I missed the duty truck. The road sentry got me a lift on a signals truck going into Damas and I eventually reached the hospital an hour late. I was afraid the interview would have to be postponed; but fortunately this was not so.

Whilst waiting, I sat right underneath a big clock in the corridor but even then, my bogey man appeared, this time an RAMC private who strolled past and then, as if devil-inspired, turned back and said “What's the time, mate?” (Damn you, I thought, you live here and you must know there is a clock on the wall just over there!) But I said nothing, I just held my watch up for him to see. The man came closer, peered at the watch, then nodded his head, satisfied, and walked on.

After the interview with the Medical Specialist, I came out into the street, wondering how I'd return to camp. I walked to the YMCA hopefully and found a 3 tonner outside marked with the familiar fox-head and the figure 55. Pat Geraghty was inside having lunch, so I joined him and then came back to camp with the cakes and cigarettes.

Tomorrow I have to go to hospital for a while. Hope I don't have to see eyes like Isobel's in about the year 1922... Hope it's not that sort of place...