A Story of War

I have another session with the Van Bergers and we go and call on one Ellen something, who speaks English with a strong American accent and has a voice like Popeye. The Wynbergs had previously introduced me to one Tilly, who has a face like a Pekinese and not much nose. On Friday or so I get a letter from Iris that she cannot come to this dance on Saturday as a friend of hers is coming down from Germany to see her – presumably the Guardsman. So on Saturday morning I go down to look at these two dames with a view to taking one of them to Valkenburg on Saturday. Tilly looks shocking by daylight, so I escape after making some excuse about fixing up a tennis afternoon, and nip across the street to see this Ellen dame. She looks a bit grim too, but I coordinate her, and take her out in the jeep. Is she hot – whoa! We do not drink much, and spend alot of time necking in long chairs, and my uniform now stinks of ‘Je Reviens’, though fortunately there don’t seem to be much lipstick on it. I put her home at 1.30 but am not invited in so that’s that.

Yesterday I play tennis out at Wassenaar and then lie on a couch listening to Will Wynberg playing the guitar, and watching a swaying poplar through his window, with no cigarettes.