Monday 5 July 1943

My weight was down again – 146lbs this week.

The ward was at it's balmiest this morning. There have been several new admissions, all Jews, who definitely lower the stability of the ward. There are two Africans (Paulo and Rizigalia) and the rest are composed of 2/3 Jews and 1/3 English. Linen changing was a dizzy business, with half the patients lying on the floor or pacing feverishly up and down. One Jew, who has lost (or sold?) two pairs of sox and a shirt in three days, kept rushing in and out of the linen room accusing me of stealing his kit.

John Store was at his worst, dying every few moments. He'd lean against dusty walls, making his face dirty, and then weep because his flesh was turning black. “By the way, will you take this barrow back to the stores for me?” “Stephen!” he cried imploringly, “Is it fair to ask me to do that when I'm facing eternity?”