Last day of summer, we always used to say. Now autumn comes, and soon winter. Still no chance to see Captain Folkard, who was out all day. Harvest not yet done – we still have a lot of barley to cart, which has been standing in the traves far too long. They simply cannot get the men to work.
Busy all day, telephone ringing incessantly.
Tonight forced myself to see Dr Penry Rowland again, to get some more sleeping tablets. [Rudsdale had been suffering from sleeping problems and had been advised by the doctor to take a holiday for his health]. Walked up and down
Wellesley Rd a long
time, hoping the Seymours
would not see me, and at last saw him drive up in his car. Dozens of new American ‘planes were streaming
over, and apparently landing at Langham, the noise so terrible that the Doctor
could hardly hear me speaking. He was
reluctant to give me any more bromides, but at last made up another
prescription. Said he was glad I was
going away, and that he too would have some holiday next week.
Back to Lawford by 8, had supper, and everybody in bed by 9 o’clock.