23rd August 1940

They have started giving signals again for the raids. Bertie has built a shelter in our hall, into which we go and lie down, like rabbits when we hear the signal or the whoo-whoo of Jerry himself. We have a mattress on the floor, but it is jolly hard, and a tight squeeze for all three. I have decided not to wake Marion at night. Our kitten Wiggles is air-raid conscious, flies like the wind for shelter, even if only under a marrow leaf, when he hears the roar of planes. He is the one bright spot during a raid. Marion insists on having him with us in the shelter and puts his little red leash and collar on him, so he cannot bolt. After cutting capers for a while, he settles down between our feet and purrs so loud, we think he is a Jerry. We have made some silly mistakes such as missing air-raid signal and getting Marion up at 3 a.m. for the all clear. She is very indignant and says she will lock her door so we cannot wake her.