Dear Pepper,

I'm really and truly surprised at you. Just when I had you trained, and goodness knows I've tried hard enough, you went and boobed again. I'm not a Sergeant, I'm a Flight Sergeant and you should call me "Chiefy" or "Flight." I should have you ostracized for calling me "Sarge." But since you sent me such a nice long letter and gum I'll forgive you.

Tom and I got together for Xmas and celebrated in style, in London. Tom left on the 27th. To throw his torpedoes and I stayed until New Years then went to Carlisle and Manchester to finish celebrations. I'll bet we Canadians can get kicked out of more hotels and bars than any other nations. Boy some people celebrate Xmas but we really celebrate. England's quite a lively island.

I'm on the move again to conquer more nations. I was moving from place to place here so often and flying for all the Four Commanders that half the time wondered for which side I was flying. I've piled up over 500 flying hours already. One plane confirmed - my own. Fuegers(Fuigers/Fingers?) X & d.

That was a swell card you sent. I mean, rather, it was swell of you to send me a Xmas card. I'll send you a picture of me on a motorcycle, wearing a "po-po" for protection. We had a raid at the Dorm that day and I stayed on the ground for a change.

Seeing that Herb is going to be a Bomb Aimer he should hear the one about the pilot that found himself in trouble and upside down, suddenly he jettisoned the A/C and went down on a bomb. True experience.

Good luck Herb and take things easy.

So long Pepper, so long Margaret Rose.

Your cousin,
Frank Roadknight