Friday 8th September 1939.
That small group of women came into the shop again. I recognise two of the ladies from the next street at home. They stayed for a while, deep in discussion. I wonder what they talk about, I’m sure I overheard them talking about herbs in her garden. I’m sure they even mentioned the moon once or twice.
I met Hazel after work, there was a new cafe close to the bookshop, the counter was full of cakes. It was on the way to the bus stop. Hazel had an unfortunate time at work. Her dress had split right up the back seam. I can only imagine her embarrassment, poor lamb. It happened in front of her crush, Ray. She said he was a saint and helped her cover up. I don’t know why they are not together, they clearly are smitten together.
Luckily she had an outfit to change into. I would die of embarrassment if that happened to me.
Cake is the last thing we need, but the damage was done. We laughed about it over our shared second slice of Victoria sponge.
I had an eerie feeling, I just had to be at home. And it was a good job, Nan had had a fall. Climbing up a bloody ladder to get into the loft. She had a bump on the head, and a bruised ego. God only knows what she’s up to. I’ll get it out of her tomorrow.
Fish supper. No cake (I darnt have more)
Beryl. X
Dear Diary,
Rooted In Rations 