March 27, 1941
Things are just as quiet here tonight as main street Tofield on an average day. As yet, we haven’t had an air-raid and as the night is very dark, I don’t imagine we will be bothered. Well, spring seems to be with us again. The last ten days have been beautifully warm, tho’ it often gets frosty at night. The crocuses have been blooming for some time; they are slightly different from ours, being yellow, mauve, and white. The grass, of course, stays green all winter, so the changes aren’t so drastic as at home.
I went out tonight to see a “Spitfire” which had crashed near us. It seems that the machine became fouled in a barrage balloon cable and was forced to land. The pilot apparently tried to land in a grain field but struck a ten-foot post, which had been planted to stop enemy craft from landing. The result: a post chewed up like matchwood, a long piece of torn ground, and a damaged machine lying on its back, and a slightly injured pilot. The pilot can certainly consider himself lucky, as few men could hope to get away from a crash of this nature with only a fractured collar bone and two cracked ribs. We had the opportunity of examining the machine at close range and marvelled at the workmanship.
When you see one of these fighters, you don’t wonder how they proved superior to anything that Gerry could build.
Our life these days is pretty drab, with one day much the same as the next. Today, we had gun-laying practice at which I made 62 out of a possible 80, which isn’t as it should be. I am always accurate, but lose marks on my time. However, the officers tell me that I am doing fine and that speed will come with practice.
You know how Dad was always talking about his “treacle” pudding, well, I have written it out and hope you will be able to read it. It sounds like a rather tasty dish and if it turns out, you have to let me know.