I spend last weekend in Peshawar, going over for a football match. Go to the club at night with Dicky (Cleaver) and Glover, Knowles and Wagstaffe (AILOs), and meet Basil Henson who says he has fits and is being invalided home shortly. “Christmas” Nowel invites us over to his party, Air Commodore Russell’s, and he gives me all the “gin”. Dickie fixes himself up for a fighter squadron and he tells me we move to Karachi next year and then to Quetta. Suits me.
Lots of flying, puff shoots, dive bombing and front gun, the latter not very successfully. I have an abscess where Pank stopped the tooth, so have to go over and have it removed. Drinks here and there, football or rugger most days. I go into Peshawar, to the Club, on a Sunday morning and sit on the lawn to listen to the band. All around are tunics and Sam Brownes. Some even have their caps on. And I am wearing my green rollneck football jersey. Have I established a new record?