A Story of War

We sit in the lounge at the “Beach Hotel” in Elie and have lunch and tea out of the rain. I ring up Donibristle but no aircraft, so after a walk around the beach I set course on the 4.21 train for Edinburgh, somewhat relieved as I now know that I was in love with a shadow, and that its substance is a different shape. The Club fixes me up with B and B (3/6) in the annexe lounge – the bed part turns out to be four blankets  and a pillow on a sofa but I manage OK when I get home at 1.30, despite no lungi.

I beat it hot foot to the Club after a bath and meet an RASC Lieutenant, a Canadian, and a navel Lieutenant and we drink and sup together there. Then to the dance. I advance on some plain looking ringed dame, as a sort of stop gap, but she smells strongly of whisky and is quite gay. Name of Ray, from Manchester, as are they all. I see her home to the North British Hotel, skirmishing en route, and we sit in the lounge for a long time as her room is occupied by her sister and a Maori captain with an M.C. and a bottle of scotch which he brought all the way from Italy. I go on strike eventually so we go out and I try to navigate my way home, remembering the position but not the name of the street I am staying in. I try to line Ray up on the way, but no good, though she comes to the door and spends a long time kissing me goodnight. And today I return to Ternhill to find I’m on night flying again. A most odd letter from Nairn – Ma’s landlord – in answer to one of mine.