Tuesday 24th August 1943

This afternoon I suddenly heard a burst of familiarly-wild singing - “Song of the Revolution”, which I'd not heard since the winter, at Sidon, Syria. I went to a window and saw three Greeks sitting around the door of the next ward. One – whom I recognised as the very crazy Greek sergeant! - was leading the other two in song. He had the same peculiar, fixed and vacant smile, but looked rather different as he had grown a heavy moustache since the Syria days.

Paras apparently has been discharged. But the sergeant (obviously much better now) still remains!