Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Peter Lamprey writes about life in the Royal Air Force including aircrew training, exhaustion and what he got up to on his leave

Five-page handwritten letter

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ELampreyPGuntonW[Date]-11

Sgt. Lamprey. P.
Sgts. Mess.
RAF. Hixon.
[underlined] Stafford [/underlined]

Dear Unk etc.
Far from being the pleasant saunter through smiling fields, life has developed into a dirty big route march plus pack plus sore feet etc, [sic] . If the weather doesn’t hurry up and break down I shall be spark out from exhaustion by the end of the week. We have done so much flying lately that the bloody seagulls nod to us every time we cross the coast.

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As for getting into town and getting down to a spot of real RAF war winning – that is just a memory. If anyone put a pint in front of me now, I shouldn’t know what to do with it. Even when we reckon on being back for eta, the blasted navigator gets lost and we stooge for two hours looking for the bleeding ‘drome. Personally – just between you and me – I can’t see any future at all in this job.
However at the time of writing I am still alive - not that it is

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their fault mind you. From some of the trips they give us I have got the idea this camp is overcrowded and they are taking the easy way out. Still as I say I am still here and in the kind of health you would expect a six weeks [sic] corpse to be.

Other than the little trifles mentioned, things are much the same. No news of any importance and only the thoughts of you boys paying for it all to keep me going. I haven’t received your last letter – mainly because I don’t suppose you

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have written it yet. Still I thank you in anticipation.

As you expect it of me, I again express the wish and hope all are well at the shop. It doesn’t make any difference as I have wished a lot of things about some of you but as they have never come off; or has Hunty broke his leg yet? By the way I never saw Bill Collins last time I was up. You might apologise for me and give him my regards.
I never told you where I spent

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the last night of my leave, but you can guess. Your mind is dirty enough. I think I’ll close this letter now, I’ve written quite enough. In any case, you’ve heard it all, it’s just the same old stuff. Remember me to all the boys. I’ll write another time, and if you use your blasted eyes, the last six lines in rhyme.
Three cheers. Etc.
Love Pete.

P.S. Wyn sends her love. Not to you stoopid [sic] but to Arthur Warren.