Letter 35

Letter 35: August 4, 1941

 

August 4th 1941

P/O H.H. Pibus,

(Can) J5086,

Attached R.A.F.

R.C.A.F. Overseas.

Dear Mother,

You are becoming almost as psychic as Evelyn. Your first 300 cigs arrived today just as I was on my last few of my section. Thank you very very much they are indeed more than welcome – they were dated June 21st.

So far we are getting along quite nicely, very busy, but not too much so for our liking. It is so much better than sitting around doing nothing all day, it gives one a great deal less time to think and become homesick.

I have completely recovered from the internal sit down strike – in which I did all the sitting, and am now back to normal again, for the time being at any rate.

We went back to Ground School today, for another week, before we go back to flying in the Blenheims. It is pretty well all stuff we’ve covered fairly thoroughly before but are a bit hazy on and need brushing up on.

It is impossible to give you much of an idea of what we’re doing or to tell you anything much about our work. If I did it would simply mean that a few pieces of paper holding a large number of holes together would constitute a letter.

I regret very much the fact that my first letter was so short but it simply couldn’t be helped. Eventually I shall be able to explain quite a few things for your benefit, but as long as there’s a war on it can’t be done for obvious reasons.

Since our leave in London, before starting the course, we haven’t had a chance to see anything except from the air. Our days are well filled, and our nights pretty well given up to sleeping – we need lots of it.

Since I got caught a couple of times without my raincoat over here, I take it with me wherever I go, no matter how fine the day looks. Many times already I’ve had occasion to be very thankful for it.

We’re all in one house (all our gang of observers that is), about ten minutes walk from the Officers Mess. Our hatman is about as Scotch as you could find anywhere, but darned good despite the feet that there are times when we feel the need of an interpreter. It means getting up a but earlier in the mornings, but we like it much better than being in the mess, as it gives us a chance to get away from the mess atmosphere at night. Of course all the rooms have fine places, and darned cozy they are, some of these raw damp nights.

I received a letter from Jen Farwell yesterday. It had been chasing me around ever since last March, although it should have caught up with me long before that. I was on L.A.C. when it started so that’s some time ago. This week I shall try to answer it and also drop Aunt Villa a line or so, while I’m in the business (I got 16 letters written while I was in sick quarters, which was quite a load off my chest).

I must stop now and see if I can’t learn a few formulae, that I seem to have mislaid mentally – as to why bombs go where they shouldn’t aught to go, and what to do about it.

Very much love,

Bus

 

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