Monday 27th September 1943

“The 28th is the zero day for boats home”, said Jock, twirling his moustaches. “According to rumours,” I amended. “Well, we'll give them two days grace,” added Jock, after a moments thought, “Until the 30th. If here's nothing then – we'll give up hope until next March.” The rest of our “D for E” circle solemnly agreed to these gloomy sentiments.

14 furlongs today; yesterday the same.

This is a foul place, with it's grim choices – life behind barbed wire, or else parades and the picking-up of stones and paper. Why can they give us no brain work? Nearly all the real work consists of cleaning and sweeping. Even Occupational Therapy is like that now, for we've a new Sister since the fire. Work has been resumed, but a terrific amount of time each day is wasted in sweeping, cleaning, and tidying-up. Thus the amount of book binding done has had to decrease considerably.

I hate this typical Army hospital, and I hate the Army too.