Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Peter Lamprey writes of his disapproval that he does not receive replies to his letters and of his sortie to Essen where his aircraft was heavily damaged resulting in them having to limp home.

Two page handwritten letter

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ELampreyPGuntonW[Date]-41

Sgts. Mess.
R.A.F. Ludford Magna
Market Rasen.
Lincolnshire.

Dear Unk.
This of course is a load of cock. Why in hell I write to a bunch of dumbells [sic] that so consistently ignore me is a mystery. At one time I said I should not be concerned in any one way correspondence effort but as usual my better nature has conquered. However this is a final warning so somebody had better pull their finger out. Either that or I transfer my efforts to another publisher and circulating library.

At present, repeat present, I am keeping fit and well. This is due, not to a slackening off of the reception always so generously accorded us on our visiting nights but more to the infallibility of the Skipper in picking the kites with the best set of motors. Last night, Monday, we visited our Essen playground and had shit knocked out of us. It has dawned on me at last the [deleted] a [/deleted] RAF is not universally popular as might be expected. Personally, after last night, I am inclined

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to ignore all future invitations to visit the place. They definitely do not like us. We limped home with the bloody kite looking like something picked up at a jumble sale. The first thing the stupid sods hit was the “Elson” [sic] and the back of the kite was like a s----house. Then they knocked the nose of [sic] and we f------- nigh froze. Definitely the future looks remarkably short if not sweet. However tonight we have the night off and even haven’t enough energy left to go to town. Money to burn and no urge. What life does to us poor brave air-crew.

If Bro. G. takes a mugs [sic] advice he will beat his boy over the skull with an axe when he comes on leave. Only fools and birds fly and he has no feathers, and even birds don’t fly at night. It is a mugs – spelt c. u. etc. – game. The log book looks very nice but after a few hot trips you know why they only give you twenty fags over the bar. Its [sic] just waste selling a bloke fifty.

Hope the rest of the crowd are staying the course and enjoying whatever life has to offer. Look after yourselves
Pete.