Jan. 16, 1942 (Friday)

Brisbane, Australia

The goddamned Army won’t let any of us go ashore, as we MAY sail in the next week or so. So here we sit on our asses while they load the damned tub with miscellaneous junk, including HEAVY WINTER OVERCOATS! Yessir, the old U.S. Army knows what it’s doing — nothing like a good old winter overcoat in the tropics.

Am certainly fed up with sitting around. I’d sell my soul for Lockheed Hudson and a chance at those little yellow bastards. I seem to be doomed to be spending most of my flying career anywhere but in the air. I suppose they’ll be out of airplanes when I finally get to wherever I’m going.

Almost every Australian I have met states right out that he wishes the U.S. would take them over — they are all fed up with the English and their selfishness.

Called Gwenda and told her that none of us could get ashore and that we are most likely leaving. Promised her a new pair of earrings when I return.

Checked a trunk full of uniforms and etc. ashore at the Hotel Lennon.