Royal Flying Corps,
Norwich
Dec. 28, 1915.

Dear Ones All,

I am still without any word from home. George has my address now and I am hoping to receive some forwarded letters by almost every mail. In explanation of the mistakes in this letter I might say that there are eight or ten leathern-lunged flying officers carrying on an animated conversation around me on various subjects The slang one hears here is so absolutely different from ours that it is hard sometimes to know what in the world they are driving at. For instance, one of the instructors was criticizing the construction of a certain aeroplane- he finished up by saying that “the frame-work was absolutely Bloody” Pretty expression, isn’t it? The German motto “Gott strafe England” has supplied the British soldier with what is now a much loved slang word: They use such expressions as “Straf" the cook! or in our particular corps- "Straf" the weather! Somebody is always “strafing” something all the time it seems to me. And that is particularly true because the English officers whom I have met are for the most part gloomy cynical persons, who think that their one chief end in life is to criticize and “knock” every person, thing and experience which they have met with throughout their entire life.

Later,
I had to postpone this owing to the arrival of the lunch hour, and now I am writing at our billet but the conditions are not much better for now there are four Canadians who feel perfectly at home and therefore quite at liberty to talk as fast and as noisily as they possibly can. It is good old Canadian talk through and it makes me feel more at home than what one hears at the mess.

For a billet we have had a vacant house on the outskirts of Norwich allotted to us. It is a good house, fire-places in all the rooms, lighted by gas (unfortunately) and with big grounds surrounded, as so many of the properties are here, by a high wall. We have lots of big chairs and rugs and things, also beds and everything of that sort, all supplied to us free of course. We have two servants to look after us and are taken to and from the aerodrome in a motor car every day. The six of us who are here are all Canadians and that makes it much more pleasant for us than if we were separated.

The R. A. S. in my address stands for Reserve Aeroplane Squadron. I am told however, that it is not necessary to use it, so instead of that address which I gave you on the back of my envelope last Thursday you may use this: Lieut C. E. Robertson, Royal Flying Corps, Norwich.

By the way we are all permitted to retain our two stars. It is all rather complicated but as far as I can understand our second lieutenancies in the R.F.C. are not valid for some reason or other, and we merely hold our first lieutenancies in the Canadian Militia, the reason being that the R.F.C. is not a regiment in itself. The uniform, the badge, and even more particularly "the wings" are not worn until the tests and exams are all passed and then we shall be "military pilots" or "flying officers" Hence at our school here there are commissioned officers ranging from captains to second lieutenants. They are all under instruction like ourselves and all wear the uniforms of the regiments to which they belong. We are all merely “attached” to the R.F.C. Nobody “belongs” to the R.F.C. excepting perhaps the privates and N.C.O’s for I am not just sure of their status.

Xmas was a dreary affair, but I shall not linger over that. We shall probably have a good time over New Years.

I am afraid I must not mention much about our camp but there are a very large number of aeroplanes here, of various types. There are some speedy little scouts and other machines of a distinctly military design, but the school machines are all Maurice-Farman’s-two kinds known as the long-horns and the short-horns. They are not made with a fuselage and more closely resemble a box-kite- in fact they are generally known by just that name. All the pupil machines here are slow and clumsy owing to that form of construction, but the long-horns are particularly so, and so we start our course on them. I had one flight this afternoon. It was purely a “joyride” and I enjoyed it very much, naturally I suppose, as it was my first flight over land and there was so much to see. Nobody wears goggles here as the machines cannot make over 55 to 60 miles per hour, and then too they are supplied with transparent wind shields.

Now I must leave you as it is getting late. A great deal of love to you all, and I do hope some of you are writing to me occasionally.

Always devotedly yours,
Eric