After a movie (“Major Barbara” by G.B. Shaw with Wendy Hiller) I went back to the ship to sleep.
Joan’s RAF pilot has come up all the way up here on leave from South Australia to see her, and she feels she can’t rightfully give me a date at night till he leaves — fair enough — I respect her all the more for it.
Forgot to say that I met a couple of soldiers just back from Tobruk yesterday. They had terrible machine-gun scars on their stomachs, legs, and arms. One of them was captured for a few hours (wounded) by the Germans, who, he said, treated him very well. They seem to have an admiration for the Germans, they scorn for the Italians, and hatred for the Japs, who, along with myself, they regarded as some low form of animal.
Went into town late in the afternoon and met a cute little clerk, whom I had talked to the day before in the radio store in which she worked — Gwenda Jones, a peculiar name. Had a very nice evening at Prince’s dancing. Took her home afterwards — a damn sweet little kid — up to my old tricks — I must’ve swallowed one of her earrings — umm!