It has been a while since I've written anything in my journal and to be quite honest, I had all but decided to quit. Between flying and the responsibilities inherent in running a fighting squadron, I just couldn't find the time. It was a letter from my dear old father that rekindled my interest in saving my thoughts and experiences in something more secure than just my memory. My father is what you would call a capitalist through and through, why if he could sell sand to the Bedouins he certainly would. Anyway, the gist of his letter involved me making a fortune selling my memoirs after the war. He reminded me just how well Winston Churchill had done on his various war memoirs. Of course, I have no intention of selling my memoirs, it would seem almost blasphemous to do so. What I will do is begin anew with the hope that someone in the future could learn something from what we have experienced and accomplished in the war.
I received the news of our impending transfer to St. Pol with mixed emotions, while I have generally enjoyed our stay here in Vert Galand it would not be honest of me to deny that the thought of returning where it all began for me doesn't hold a certain attraction. I can hardly believe it has been over a year and a half since I began combat flying and to return to where I took my first tentative steps makes me certainly nostalgic. The boys have no memories of St. Pol and so the move is meaningless to them, just another spot on the map. Their only concern is will their physical needs be met and who can blame them, I too was once like that. The other bit of news is to be a surprise when we arrive at St. Pol and so I haven't shared this with the men. We are trading in our beloved Pups for the Tripehound. If everything that I've read and heard about this kite is true then I don't think the men will miss their Pups for long.
3 February - The move went smoothly without any significant problems. The men were a bit surprised to see the lorries waiting for us when we landed and their surprise grew when the riggers began to disassemble the Pups. Imagine my joy when I could then inform them of our new kites that were waiting on the lorries. The men jumped to it and helped with the disassembly, reminded me of children at Christmas. As soon as the first Tripehound was assembled I had Higgins set to it to apply my personal markings so that I could fly tomorrow's sorties.
Life is certainly strange, I return as a battle proven combat pilot to the place where I once was a frightened fledgling scared of my own shadow. It will be interesting to see what new memories I make in my time in St. Pol.
Edit: Removed the summer picture and replaced the correct winter picture, oops.
Last edited by Banjoman; 02/03/1710:57 PM.
Member and provider of banjo music for the Illustrious BOC
