34 Brigade School
Fernbank House,
Alum Rock Rd.
Birmingham 8.

Aug 26th 1940.

Darling,

Thank you so much for your letter. I arrived at the above last night; it seems we shall be here for a month before getting our seven days. We have lectures all the morning and afternoon, with a weekly examination. After leave, another month is spent in practical work on gun positions, after which we come back here for yet a further month’s advanced training.

It’s all terribly interesting, although at the moment a bit involved. Our sergeant instructors said this morning that the first month covered a syllabus that should take two years, so I imagine that is pretty crammed. We get week end leave…

…every week (24 hours) from about four on Saturday until 6 on Sunday evening. I don’t know if I shall be able to hitchhike under these circumstances. Write and tell me what you think about my making the attempt this coming weekend.

How have the air raids been going, darling? I can’t help worrying about you. Our experience here is that they start with us at 9:45 and generally last until about 5:00. We get them every night now, and the fire we have been putting up, although only barrage, has been very effective in keeping him off his factory objectives.

I was amused, darling, to hear your comments about “4.5s.” Yes, don’t they make a magnificent row? The cannonade with four of them firing together, a few yards away and at a low angle of elevation over one’s head, is about the loudest thing I know.

I am in a small room…

…with three other fellows. We have beds! And the view—one brick wall with glass on the top, and “other side a large factory.” Mrs. Southall’s unmentionables in huge quantities are made there.

By the way, I heard a very rude story yesterday, which I think Wyn would appreciate. It’s about a chap walking along the banks of a river watching the fishermen. None of them seemed to be having very good sport except one bloke who was having phenomenal luck. Our hero decided to stop and ask him how he managed it. It appeared that the chap was a surgeon, and he always used his patients’ appendices for bait. Still continuing his stroll, our promenader came upon a small boy who was doing even better than the first fisherman, and on being asked “I suppose your father is a surgeon,” he replied, “Oh no, my dad’s a Jewish Rabbi.”

I shall be very thrilled to see…

…Wyn’s piece of Dornier! I wouldn’t have you tell her so for worlds, but there ain’t no such animal. Dorniers, Do 17, commonly called the “Flying Pencil,” was probably the chap. The other Dorniers are flying boats.

Well, darling, write me very soon please and tell me all the news, and don’t forget, and omit to tell me how much you love me. Do you remember that thumb and forefinger just the wee set distance apart. 

Gosh, I miss you.

Yours,
Kenneth

P.S. I thought perhaps Wyn might like the enclosed to put on the wall above her typewriter.