May 26
Again transports leave us and Real. This time they don't say they go home, but to Algeria instead. Reportedly, Gruenhut from Prague had it written on his ticket. They say one ship sank; a warship accompanies each transport. Terrible heat every day.
May 28
Ferdinandi received more than 200 lire, so I made a feast dinner—fried potatoes and fried fish with wine.
The Italians ordered us to go bathing at Real while our underwear and uniforms were steamed. We moved to our old place. There was a gale at night that took away the roof of the storage.
May 30
Now I get mail often, from both home and Ústí. Dysentery is spreading again due to the heat, and almost everyone has colic. The Italians line the camps up 500 men at a time and do tests with alembics as before, under control to avoid cheating. They say we will get moved away—maybe to England. The time's up, otherwise we might get baked here on this Ass Isle.
May 31
I was bored, and the sun shone so hot, I wrote the following poem and sent it on a card to Miss Anna in Ústí. It arrived alright, and Anna wrote to me later that she burst into tears
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