Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Peter Lamprey writes that little has happened since his last letter as operations had been suspended due to high losses after recent operations. He reports that he is now a grade 1 ‘W/OP.AG’ which results in more money. He concluded with a poem, the “Bomber Boys’ rhyme.

Four page handwritten document

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ELampreyPGuntonW[Date]-33

Sgts. Mess. [sic]
R.A.F. Ludford Magna.
Market Rasen.
Lincolnshire.

Dear Unk. Others.
Despite my undoubted abilities as a literary virtuoso, there comes a time when the fount of inspiration suffers from a temporary exhaustion. One of the aforementioned periods is now in full swing so that, no matter what your expectations are, they are liable to be urealised. [sic] Nothing of any moment has occurred since last I wrote. They, the powers that be, were evidently shaken by the losses on the last affair and the squadrons are still sitting on the deck licking their wounds. From what we have heard they must have thrown every kite the Luftwaffe could muster

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into the air to stop us but, as usual, the brave boys of Bomber Command fought their way to the target and made the expected ferocious attack, that has, of late, been launched on all their objectives. Pause for cheers. This lull in the air war is giving the boys a chance to catch up on their sin and debauchery. A chance I might add that is being taken with both hands. For myself, I have got me a date for the night. It is expected she will fight for her honour but it will be the usual mock [smudged] battle. [/smudged]

You will be pleased to hear that I am now a Grade I W/OP.AG. with the usual increase in emoluments. My crown will be through in November – if my bloody harp don’t [sic] get in first. The undoubted success of the ex. Deputy Father will no doubt upset my old friend Mr. Hunt

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who I suppose, has given up his holiday work and returned to his own sleeping quarters round the folders farthest from the old mans [sic] box. With my brains and his bloody cheek I should be an Air-Marshal before Christmas. If I could only combine old Sams [sic] scrounging ability the job would be a piece of cake. One thing all my detractors should remember is the Bomber Boys rhyme.

While you are soundly sleeping
In your cosy little bed
You seldom spare a thought for us
Who stooge by overhead
And when the wireless tells you
Of our deeds, you only laugh
And nip off up the local
To sink another half
But just you heed our warning
This thing you shouldn’t do
For if we catch you laughing
We shall drop the shit on you.
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This small piece is usually printed in leaflet form and can be arranged to drop at the same time as the cookie both being signed “A Well Wisher”.

Hope life doesn’t hang, it is you who should do that. Remember me to Bro. G. my friends and others.
Kiss Auntie.
Love.
Pete.