Letter from John Taplin to his Family

Letter from John Taplin to his Family

He apologises again for not writing. He has been very busy. He is writing the letter in a field of poppies.

Six handwritten sheets

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STaplinJA1268696v10006

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W/F Section
Block 4 Room Y.
R.A F Station
Horsham St FAITHS
NORWICH
NORFOLK.

MONDAY.

Dear Mum & Dad & all

as usual I have to beg your forgiveness for not writing. But I have the good excuse that I have been busy, and it is really true. I have been working all hours. Anyway I should have an half day off tomorrow. So I am going out to tea to Mrs Mickleborough. I

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went there to supper last night. (Sunday.) I had a lovely time and supper too.

The weather has been simply broiling the sweat has poured off me in buckets.

Well its [sic] dosnt [sic] seem likely that I shall be home yet, about 2 – 3 weeks. [inserted] I expect [/inserted] It is a good 5 hrs travel. Never mind Ill make it if I have to walk.

As I have told you previously the job is very intersting [sic], The kites I work on are Blenhiems [sic], they are not bad. as regards speed.

I think I will have to [underlined] try [/underlined] buy some tools

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pliers etc. Because I have to do quite a bit of repair work. inside the plane.

Perhaps you are thinking the writing is bad, well its because I am writing in a field that accounts for that

I expect I will go to the band-practice to morrow I really look forward to these as you know.

I dont think I have told you before, but this place is a second flanders (FLANDERS there are poppies everywhere. When I look out from my window this place [letter deleted] looks like some mythic carpet of rare pattern

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The field I am writing in is covered with them. The aroma they transmit is indeed exhilerating [sic] and inspires me. There is a silent zepher [sic] gentley [sic] brushing the head of these bienials [sic] and the ghostley [sic] fingers of dusk are weaving there [sic] patterns quere [sic] and wonderful in the sky. The trees pointing heavenward in a vain effort to reach the far beyond there [sic] long gnarled branches giving them there [sic] majesty almost divine: A lowly cot [sic] in the distince [sic] with a wisp of smoke [deleted word] [inserted] drifting [/inserted] from its chimney meanders in the air in no definite

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direction. The sleepy corn to my right seems to say good night as in the dim light of dusk it wavers in the wind whilst on my extreme left there is small bundles of hay, the [deleted] efforts [/deleted] [inserted] results of some age worn character. With pipe in mouth and deep set eyes, the betrayer of age, and old hat slumped on his head, he slowly trudges to his home in the creast [sic]. His footsteps gradually diminuate [sic] to the soft crescendo of a nightingale. But alas it stops as if dead, all is quite [sic] [deleted] save [/deleted] [inserted] again [/inserted] but

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for the soft rustle of leaves and corn, – peace. – this England of ours.

Sorry to have kept you but I could not help it. Well to get back, I hope Joe gets on OK with his trumpet he should do OK if he perseveres.

Well sweathearts [sic] all, My bed is calling, sorry the description is so weak. I have lost that skill I had at school

Cheerio

Love always,

John