A Story of War

Had a damn good flight today, before parade, at 6.30 hrs – did two chukkers dual, as T-B didn’t like my first landing, which I nibbled at, as I saw a plane doing the other day in the dusk. Then did four chukkers, perfect, though maybe two landings were a bit pancaky.

We all went to a cocktail party given by Maj-Gen Wilson ICS, yesterday in Guindy – encountered Michael Hunter, going to France on Sunday, and Mickey Thomas, met Pam Holdsworth, looked at, in the way that dogs do (as not officially introduced) Anne Maconachie, and Jean Gordon. Maitland’s friend, Marjorie Buller, arrived too, whom I looked after last Friday. Well, I sit and talk to her the whole time, and produce excerpts from my experiences in Waziristan. Come back slightly whistled and have a srink off Cotterill after dinner, in company with Bill. Being slightly afloat, as I say, I sit down after dinner and write Marjorie a letter, she having said how she adores them. I start “Dear Sir – ” and explain I was writing to the bank but somehow I seem to be writing to her – hadn’t I better and see a doctor about it… In the light of day, I go to the box to get it back, and find to my horror it has gone. No harmful effects, I hope. Later she rings me up – delighted with it.