Letter to L V Rosser from Maurice Moon

Letter to L V Rosser from Maurice Moon

Writes that he had received news of Rosser and letter was attempt relieve browned off feelings. Comments that his course would shortly be over and he could leave that awful place and hopes he could join Rosser at his Operational Training Unit Tells long joke about a Yorkshire travelling salesman and a Frenchman. Continues with gossip and banter including his love life. Concludes with news of his future activities.

1942-03-30

1942-03-28

Six page handwritten letter and envelope

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EMoonMRosserLV420328

[postmark]
LOUTH
4 15 PM
30 MCH
1942
LINCS.
[/postmark]

F/Sgt. L.V. Rosser 745193,
Sgt's. Mess, R.A.F.,
Chipping Warden,
Nr. Banbury.

[inserted] Maurice Moon [/inserted]

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[crest]

Sgt's. Mess, R.A.F,
Manby,
Nr. Louth,
Lincs.

March 28

Dear Vic

I received a letter from Pamela today in which she tells me of the recent unfortunate happenings which have befallen you, so I thought I would rally round and try to write a few lines with the intention of attempting to relieve the browned off feeling you must be experiencing. I am afraid that I am rather badly cheesed myself so that it is going to be a pretty miserable effort.

Thank God this course is almost ended and then I shall be able to bale out of this bloody awful place. Let me know the number of this O.T.U. you are on and I shall have a shot at getting myself posted there. It may be a bit of a dump, but I have a feeling that between us we could put things in order.

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2/

Seeing as how this is a letter to yourself exclusively, may’be I shall be allowed to be bit more free with what I write, and how I write it.

I heard a story the other day which I thought was damned good, if you have heard it before it's just to bloody bad for here it is again. I may have some difficulty in faithfully portraying the broken English part of the dialogue, but nevertheless, I'll have a go at it.

"A Yorkshireman who was by way of profession a travelling salesman, was having lunch in a London restaurant. Sitting at a nearby table was a Frenchman who kept taking something from a small snuff box arrangement, holding it to his nose, and softly murmuring "ah wonderful, beautiful".
The Yorkshireman watched this proceedure [sic] for a while until finally his curiosity gained the upper hand, and he ventured to ask the Frenchman what he was up to. It appeared that the Frenchie was a travelling salesman also, and that every time he left Paris

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3/

he took a few hairs from his wifes’ "thing" (nicely put, that) and when he was lonely he would have a sniff and everything would be grand once more.
The Yorkshireman thought this was a bloody good idea so the next time he set off from Leeds on his travels, he pulled out a handful, stuck them in a cigar box, and set off. He happened to lunch in the same London restaurant and he placed the cigar box on the table, occasionally taking out the contents, putting them to his nose, and saying "by lad, that's bloody good".
The Frenchman was lunching there once again too, and seeing that his colleague had followed his advice, he made bold to enquire as to the satisfaction it was according. He was invited to "have a do thee sel lad," and after delicately sniffing, was heard to say,

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"Ah m'sr, it ees beautiful, it ees wonderful; but m'sr as one connoisseur to another, a trifle near zee arse yes."

It is a pretty crude story I know, and may'be it is my distorted sense of humour, but personally I think it is damned funny.

I met Thornton, who was I believe, your navigator on 51 while he was here doing a bombing leader's course. I had a bit of a session with him one night down in Louth, but his course is finished now and I believe he has gone back to Dishforth.

Paddy Colman – ex 58, A Flight – has arrived to commence the next bombing leader's course, complete with "galloping horses" and D.F.M. It's bloody marvellous how these blokes do it, must be personality or something.

When am I going to have the dubious pleasure of saluting you, you old horse?

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5/

I remember some time ago, your making some kind enquiry as to how my latest affaire d'amour was progressing, so now if this letter has not already brought you a frown or a yawn, I shall tell you all about it. Her name is Ada, a nice simple girlish sort of name. I like nice simple girlish names, they're so damned easy to remember when you're tight. Honestly though Vic, I don't think I'll forget this ever. She is a real corker, she has a face and figure which send me into a slight swoon everytime I think of her. She is a blonde, quite definitely, and defying the statement of some poor misguided youth who used the expression "dumb blonde", she is a pretty brainy sort of a [indecipherable word], and often ties me up in knots with some damned silly thing.

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6/

I am seriously thinking of popping the question. I wish to hell I had taken that other ring back, although no, I suppose it would be a pretty low sort of a thing to do, even for a low type like myself.

I expected to finish here on Good Friday and intended nipping up home smartly for a day or two before proceeding to my next station wherever it may be, but I have just been informed that we must stay here until after Easter owing to travelling restrictions. I wired the news to Ada, and she wired back to say that she would come down here for the holiday. Big doings next week end boy.

Well, I shall have to close now, for ai want to write and thank Pamella for her letter before hitting the hay. You don't mind if I write to your wife do you? It doesn't make any difference if you do anyway.

Cheerio old boy, take care of yourself. Your old pal Maurice