A Story of War

A week of not much flying and then the last three days of intense activity in air to ground and air to air firing. I distinguish myself with several complete “ducks”. I go to the Pauls Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday for one thing and another, including taking David, Norman, Reg and Tiny round one evening. David and I take Barbara to “Barlows” and “Monks Retreat” on Friday to give her a taste of low life. Yesterday I rang up a bit tired and am invited for the night. After a few gins with Mrs Paul, dinner and a whisky or two, Barbara and I are left alone in the drawing room, with the usual results of which I am not particularly proud.

We finish here on Friday evening. I then have to get down to St Ives, organise my kit and go to Larkhill on Wednesday. I send most of it off in advance, expecting to go down in Reg’s car, but he is now going to P.R.U. with David and Tiny, so I have to set off Saturday afternoon and it will be pretty grim. My new uniform arrives from “Flights”, a bit tight and nearly a good fit, though it seems I am a bit optimistic getting it. I shall be dead or out of the RAF before I have much time to wear it.