Monday 20th December 1943

We must be in the Bay of Biscay now. There is still a long swell but perhaps it's not quite so awful as yesterday. When one stands, the deck merely heaves horribly, or drops away, or surges back like the uprush of an electric lift. Before, it used to explode beneath one's feet, like a land mine going off.

At 10a.m. deadlights were opened. So now, although it's still very stuffy, one can at least look out, through the thick glass. The sea still seems made of colossal and highly mobile hills and valleys but the sky looks brighter than it did when we last saw it, two days ago. We were allowed on deck this morning for “exercise”, once more.

At 3p.m. we were warned, by the loudspeakers, that the ship was about to alter course and there would be considerable rolling. So there was, but it was a great relief from the pitching and tossing we'd felt so particularly up here in the extreme fore part of the ship. A long steady roll... I don't believe there were many absentees at supper time, and Murdoch had his first meal for three days.

The general opinion is that we're about 100 miles off Land's End now, and should sight land – British land! - at daybreak tomorrow.

This evening I realised that the radio programme I was listening to, was the ordinary home service of the BBC. It ended with a request that anyone who'd witnessed a certain road accident at Epsom on Sunday would communicate with Whitehall 1212 or any Police Station.

Ah! Glory!