A Story of War

On Sunday I go out with Dickie Bird to lunch at the Mansels. He is 1st Lieut in HMIS Rakardar, the RIN training school, and lives in Manora. There is a wonderful cool breeze all the year there, and they need blankets in June and July. After lunch, at 3, we go sailing, and then more drinks and back on the 10.20 boat. Monday at 11am we leave for Jodhpur which we reach at about 4pm. A bloody awful journey over Sind desert, the bumps are so strong I sometimes have to take both hands to the stick. We miss Jodhpur and we only find it by swooping low over the railway stations and reading their names. I am on gravity, with about 8 minutes left when I land. The RAF have an EFTS here, and it must be one of the best stations in India. They live in the State Hotel, polo and pig-sticking alternate days and good shooting nearby. Well, we are lodged in State Hotel and drink from 6pm to 2am. Hotel and then to Club and back to Sq/Ldr Bonnar’s room for the last black Dutch beer in India. Pete Bond and his mistress there, and met the instructor at the flying club. Gossle in cracking form with his French Canadian accent and jokes (Napoleon etc). He was at sea and then in the Palestine police before joining the RAF.

I have a run of nimbus (?) about 11pm which does me well and I remain sober, but A. Haig in a bad way, even smoking cigarettes!

We go down again to Karachi for ATC and he is due to go tomorrow with advance party. However I am changing over as he wants to go to Naini to see Violet. So once more that damn train.

Gordon Arthur’s crash killed four passengers from Baghdad. A bad show as he had been at a cocktail party, and none of them had signed “blood chits”. Gozzle got a DFC for rescuing Leicesters on Green Dome, 21/8/39. Much concern that I didn’t wear my wings and medal on my bush shirt. All the Army where their medals on their shirts now and it looks damn silly to me. However, mine is a light one, but perhaps I might do something about it.