23 Jun 1945, Barbara Anslow's diary

Rumour that some of the outlying beaches have been shelled.

Social in afternoon, great success. I recited poem:

'Is there really an England, I wonder?
Or is memory confused with a dream?
Was there ever a life without hardship and strife
Where a lazy content reigned supreme?
 
Does there still stand a road trim with houses,
All alike, yet a difference in one?
(Nothing frightfully great, just the creak of a gate
That's a welcome when roaming is done?)
 
Did I ever rush to a hot kitchen
On a raw winter's late afternoon,
And toast hunks of bread that I afterwards spread
Thick with butter that melted too soon?
 
Was I once in a small old-world garden,
Bright with roses and pansies and all?
And away at the end, a few Wyandottes penned,
And a cat sat in state on the wall?
 
There are none who can steal my illusions,
That is, if illusions they be:
And though all else may go, I have something no foe
Can appropriate - my memory.'

Letter from Margaret Todd (UK):-  'Delighted to get letter... Expecting baby in May.'