bloody cold and it’s time to get ready for the off.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Regards, etc.
Francis
“Well?” This was Grace. “What does he say?”
“Nothing much, he’s out of hospital and flying again. He thanked me for visiting him in hospital and for the chocolate. That’s about it.” She handed Grace the letter. “It’s nice to have someone other than family to write to about the day-to-day stuff we have to put up with that they would never understand.”
Grace passed the letter back to her. “I see what you mean. He’d hardly want to tell his parents about the pain, would he?”
“No, they’re half a world away and they would worry terribly. I suppose I’d better write back. At least he’s given me an address this time.”
Dear Francis,
Thank you for your letter. I’m glad that you’re back in action after all of that enforced idleness. I could not imagine being cooped up for so long, especially as I really loathe hospitals and infirmaries. I still can’t smell Lysol without… Well, never mind. Suffice to say, I would not be in a hurry to return to any hospital. I hope that your leg is getting easier to live with. I had some vague recollection about pilots having to use their legs as well, and I don’t know that I could manage. I have enough trouble wrestling with some of our older trucks and stiff clutch pedals.
I’m glad that I was able to visit you too. It is always nice to escape the daily slog, even if I was soaking wet and shivering by the time I got back. Luckily, our hut is quite warm and I hogged the stove for a good hour before I felt ready to move again. Don’t worry about the chocolate, really. I can take it or leave it. Right now, I’d much rather have a good home cooked meal, so I’m counting down the days until Christmas because I finally have a week’s leave. I was stuck here last year. Aislinn will be home too, with her fiancé, Charlie. It should be quite a lively Christmas. I’m not sure about Charlie. Mama has dropped some veiled hints in her letters that Ash could do better, but I shall wait and see and judge for myself. My sister has proved to have dreadful taste in the past. I’m hoping this one might be an improvement. If that makes me sound snobby then, I suppose I am!
Not much else to report here. It’s getting colder, but then you would know that better than I would, since you’re closer to the sea than we are. At least we have the fens and Brecks in the way here.
I suppose I should go. I have parts to deliver to Newmarket, one of the better runs because there’s always a mug of tea and a sandwich waiting for me there, and I do like the town, although, since it will be afternoon by the time I get there, I won’t see any horses.
Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble.
Regards,
Ilke
November was marked by the coming and going of letters and by the sound of bombers taking off in the night. Ilona heard them depart and knew that, somewhere over the east coast, the fighter squadrons would join them as they headed across the North Sea for their targets. She had managed to avoid thinking about pilots for over a year but the correspondence with Francis had plunged her back into that dangerous world once more. She didn’t spend the hours and days fretting about his safety. It wasn’t that kind of friendship, just an exchange of letters griping about life in the RAF and WAAF, about the endlessly shifting Fen winds and the war. She liked this Francis, the pilot who loved his Spitfire and loved the thrill of leaving the earth behind and the angry roar of the Merlin engine. Grace had pronounced the correspondence harmless and, in spite of her best efforts, she could find no hidden meaning buried in his letters, which had deflated the matchmaker inside her.
November fell into December, bringing rain and icy winds. Ilona had been on a long run to far-flung satellite fields and returned to the depot to find everyone huddled by the
Hope to hear from you soon.
Regards, etc.
Francis
“Well?” This was Grace. “What does he say?”
“Nothing much, he’s out of hospital and flying again. He thanked me for visiting him in hospital and for the chocolate. That’s about it.” She handed Grace the letter. “It’s nice to have someone other than family to write to about the day-to-day stuff we have to put up with that they would never understand.”
Grace passed the letter back to her. “I see what you mean. He’d hardly want to tell his parents about the pain, would he?”
“No, they’re half a world away and they would worry terribly. I suppose I’d better write back. At least he’s given me an address this time.”
Dear Francis,
Thank you for your letter. I’m glad that you’re back in action after all of that enforced idleness. I could not imagine being cooped up for so long, especially as I really loathe hospitals and infirmaries. I still can’t smell Lysol without… Well, never mind. Suffice to say, I would not be in a hurry to return to any hospital. I hope that your leg is getting easier to live with. I had some vague recollection about pilots having to use their legs as well, and I don’t know that I could manage. I have enough trouble wrestling with some of our older trucks and stiff clutch pedals.
I’m glad that I was able to visit you too. It is always nice to escape the daily slog, even if I was soaking wet and shivering by the time I got back. Luckily, our hut is quite warm and I hogged the stove for a good hour before I felt ready to move again. Don’t worry about the chocolate, really. I can take it or leave it. Right now, I’d much rather have a good home cooked meal, so I’m counting down the days until Christmas because I finally have a week’s leave. I was stuck here last year. Aislinn will be home too, with her fiancé, Charlie. It should be quite a lively Christmas. I’m not sure about Charlie. Mama has dropped some veiled hints in her letters that Ash could do better, but I shall wait and see and judge for myself. My sister has proved to have dreadful taste in the past. I’m hoping this one might be an improvement. If that makes me sound snobby then, I suppose I am!
Not much else to report here. It’s getting colder, but then you would know that better than I would, since you’re closer to the sea than we are. At least we have the fens and Brecks in the way here.
I suppose I should go. I have parts to deliver to Newmarket, one of the better runs because there’s always a mug of tea and a sandwich waiting for me there, and I do like the town, although, since it will be afternoon by the time I get there, I won’t see any horses.
Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble.
Regards,
Ilke
November was marked by the coming and going of letters and by the sound of bombers taking off in the night. Ilona heard them depart and knew that, somewhere over the east coast, the fighter squadrons would join them as they headed across the North Sea for their targets. She had managed to avoid thinking about pilots for over a year but the correspondence with Francis had plunged her back into that dangerous world once more. She didn’t spend the hours and days fretting about his safety. It wasn’t that kind of friendship, just an exchange of letters griping about life in the RAF and WAAF, about the endlessly shifting Fen winds and the war. She liked this Francis, the pilot who loved his Spitfire and loved the thrill of leaving the earth behind and the angry roar of the Merlin engine. Grace had pronounced the correspondence harmless and, in spite of her best efforts, she could find no hidden meaning buried in his letters, which had deflated the matchmaker inside her.
November fell into December, bringing rain and icy winds. Ilona had been on a long run to far-flung satellite fields and returned to the depot to find everyone huddled by the
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