Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Letter from Peter Lamprey to W Gunton

Peter Lamprey writes that his leave has been cancelled and he is being sent back to Tiree. He continues that he hates Scottish scenery and that bad weather caused the cancellation of his flight. He concludes with banter and says he will write from Tiree.

1942-03-20

Envelope and six page handwritten letter

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ELampreyPGuntonW420318

INVERNESS
9 AM
20 MAR
1942
[postage stamp]
Mr W. Gunton.
Waterlow and Sons Ltd.
Twyford Abbey Road
Park Royal.
London. N.W.10.
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[RAF crest]
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[RAF crest]
Signals Section
HQ. 14 [underlined] Group [/underlined]
[underlined]Wednesday 18th March 1942[/underlined]
Dear Uncle Bill etc.
You can – I am very sorry to say – put the flags – bunting and red carpet back in the store. I shall not be coming on leave just yet. Should anybody break into hysterical cheers over this fact you might note their name for future attention.
The way of an airman is very hard my friends. After steering a clever path through all the snags – pitfalls and what have you that beset the road I tread, they decide it is time to take this long heralded trip back to the island.
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My cup of bitterness is – as you can guess – now full to overflowing. Should you hear of an air force being formed in Scotland, having no connection with the RAF, it will be me forming my own one to get a bit more leave.
If anyone should – in their misguided way – tell me, I shall soon get used to the island, I shall have much pleasure in beating, what goes for head with the them, off their blasted shoulders. I shall never get used to it – I don’t want to get used to it.
Owing to the exigences [sic] of the service I am [deleted]unu[/deleted] unable to concede to your request to mark your letters off on the cribbage board. The fire was out and there was no wood so that now – your letters go
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unmarked. Not that I would ever consider marking off some of your latest efforts as letters. They were just lurks to try and catch up – but they don’t get by with me, my friend.
Once again I implore you. Don’t shoot that horrible line [deleted]about[/deleted] to me about Scotch scenery. I don’t like Scotch scenery – except when I am heading south. Then it is moving in the right direction. Just remember that you saw it from the ease and comfort of a ship. I have to walk all over it.
Thanks for the latest parcel – which by the way is still unopened – as it was packed in my kit ready for the big trip. Should it be one of those parcels I
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shall withdraw the thanks in my next letter – if any.
Having got us all packed and waiting on the drome they decided the weather was too bad for flying so here we sit. Just the bare necessties [sic] of life to live with. Dare not open up the kit as I’d never get all the stuff back again.
After much mature consideration I have decided not to say any more about Brother Georges efforts in the last war. If he should burst a blood vessel I’ll never get that drink he is always refusing to buy me, or he might haul off and beat my block in with his stone axe.
So far – despite all your letters – I have no inside information about things down there. Are they still the same or do you
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have to work now? Is Dave still in charge of the books or have they found him out? Thats’ the news I want – or some good news like, Moloneys’ funeral was a big success.
The inventors I suppose still dodge around doing their good deeds. Not that I give a hoot if they are doing time – which, by rights, they should. I like to think that one day they’ll have all their work cut out inventing excuses – and that the Sergeant won’t listen. If I ever get a chance to help them out of a tight corner they can rely on me to do the right thing – I owe them one or two things.
Mr Hunt seems quiet these days. If it is because I have upset him in any way – I am
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sorry I never thought of it before.
Here unfortunately I must leave you. This being the last sheet on the pad and the rest packed. Remember me to everyone.
I will write from Tiree but at present do not know what part we are going to.
Love to all at home.
Your loving nephew
Pete.
P.S. I’ve heard all about your outing – you dirty beast. After the girl trusting you.
P.P.S. Don’t blame it on me. Mine have all got blue eyes,