20 May 1918 – 26 May 1918

... I positively feel, in my hideous modern way, that I can't get into touch with my mind. I am standing gasping in one of those dis- gusting telephone boxes and I can't ' get through.' " Sorry. There's no reply," tinkles out the little voice. " Will you ring them again — Exchange ? A good long ring. There must be somebody there." " I can't get any answer." Then I suppose there is nobody in the building — nobody at all. Not even an old fool of a watchman. No, it's dark and empty and quiet . . . above all — empty. Note: A queer thing is that I keep seeing it — this empty building — as my father's office. I smell it as that. I see the cage of the clumsy wooden goods lift and the tarred ropes hanging.

The sea here is real sea. It rises and falls with a loud noise, has a long, silky roll on it as though it purred, seems sometimes to climb half up into the sky and you see the sail boats perched upon clouds — like flying cherubs. Hallo ! here come two lovers. She has a pinched-in waist, a hat like a saucer turned upside down — he sham panama, hat guard, cane, etc. ; his arm enfold- ing. Walking between sea and sky. His voice floats up to me : " Of course, occasional tinned meat does not matter, but a perpetual diet of tinned meat is bound to produce . . ." I am sure that the Lord loves them and that they and their seed will prosper and multiply for ever and ever. . . .