[Editor’s note: The transcription was provided by the collection’s donor as text only – no JPGs.]
July 4/44.
Somewhere in France
The day may start from 4 o’clock to 8 o’clock in the morning, it depends whether our sqdn is on readiness or not. If we aren’t, it starts with a show usually around 7 a.m.; it may be bombing, armed recco or just a patrol over the front lines. If we are on readiness we are up at 4 a.m. and get down to the dispersal so that we have our a/c at the end of the runway as the first light appears. The two flights share the readiness until the next duty sqdn takes over at 1 p.m. During this time we are liable to be scrambled to patrol the shipping off the coast or around the airdrome
Sometimes we go out with 500 lbs bombs to soften up some tough spot the army may be having trouble with. Other time we go out on just ordinary patrols in search of the Hun. We have taken off as late as 10.30 at night even when darkness was due to fall at 11.00 p.m. So you can see that our day can be a long one especially if we two or three days like that in a row.
Life around the camp proper itself is probably the most interesting part for the outsider, by that I mean people who are not interested in flying.
The time, 3.45.a.m., up till now the camp has been reasonablely quiet with only the soft foot pads of the sentries breaking the silence. The first people to put in appearance are the pilots who are on sqdn readiness, one by one they drag themselves from out of there slit trenches, sleepy but usually in a very jovial mood, its not a pleasant job, getting up at this time of morning but the boys realize that it has to be done and they do it with a cherry smile.
The odd truck is seen plying its way from the sleeping quarters of the pilots to their respective dispersals. Then the stillness of the night is shattered by the roar of a a/c engine being warmed up for its mission, a few light sleepers disturb, roll over and sleep on peacefully. The dawn has just broken, now the steady throb of the aircraft engines hangs in the still air.
Things are quiet again, what’s that stacato report, it’s the throbbing of a a/c taking off, Is it a scramble? No its another sqdn taking off on a early morning bombing mission. A circuit, then off into the rosey east then float away and then again quite. By now the whole camp is beginning to rub the sleep out of its eyes. The pilots left behind are still in bed catching up on some lost sleep in the last few days.
The cooks at their respective messes begin to prepare their first meal of the new day. The smell of food drifts to the nostrils of the boys that have been up from early dawn, and a freshened tang is added to their appetites not that it is needed.
The early morning show is back and hurried movements are seen around the flights as the ground crew hurriedly refuel and rearm if necessary, the pilots proceed to the mess to a much deserved meal and are joined by a few of the pilots who enjoying eating as much as they do sleeping, then back to Intelligence to await there next show. When, where and what they don’t know. Bridge seems to be the favourite game for a pastime. Correspondence is caught up as this about the only time that we have for this, as when we get a few hours around tents, our time is pretty well taken up by washing, shaving or just sitting down and completely relaxing. Other odd jobs are in the process of being done.
By now the whole station is awake and the days duties are being tackled with a new energy, except those on night duties, they are of course have their turn at sleeping.
From now on till dusk the day is spent much the same. At dusk you can usually find the boys gathered around the bar having a night cap enjoying some tasty snack from one of our parcels from home. By the time that true darkness has fallen you will find a few of the boys already in bed in an attempt to catch up on the sleep they lost through having to get up early.
Gradually the camp goes to bed, the stars come out and the wind gently stirs the leaves on the trees.
Then all that can be heard is the soft foot falls of the patrolling sentries.
The day is through. To‑morrow is another day.
Larry Wilcocks
