Sunday, June 5, 1983


Although I’d expected everyone to be ill this morning, they were all up bright and early, feeling fine. It was a fairly boring Sunday and warm again.

In the afternoon the sky grew black, glowing dark and vaguely yellow across towards Gaunt’s Hill. Lightning cracked repeatedly overhead and a tremendous hail storm came whooshing down, with hailstones ¼ inch wide, covering the ground with drifts of what looked like polystyrene balls.

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