1 October 1937

Dear Mother:

I received Saturday's Herald today again and glad to receive it. Today is Saturday, and in accordance with the Air Ministry, our Squadron was officially photographed this morning. (I shall send you one someday I hop.)

Our Squadron is fully up to strength now with eighteen pilots (twelve officers and six airmen (Sgts) pilots) and many other ranks. A squadron is a self-contained unit - there are wireless men, mechanics, riggers, armourers, clerks, drivers (lorry) etc. etc.

It is rather misty today and the weather is mild, which is a help. This radio telephony is the thing. Yesterday while practising formation flying, P/O Blatchford took off with the flight, but left me behind, as I had difficulty starting my engine. I saw the flight disappear into the clouds, and a minute later Blatch called me up on R/T and asked me if I was ready to take off. I said yes, got rendezvous position, and rejoined him high in the good old atmosphere.

We fly in tight formation, and one aeroplane on a flight acts as an enemy. The leader details someone to break away and do a certain attack thus: say I am Blue 6. "Hello Blue 6. Hello Blue 6. Fighting Area Attack No. 1. Fighting Area Attack No. 1. Go. When I hear "go" my wing banks vertically. I pull away from the flight and go into my attack with a terrific dive or something.

Practising attacks is rather dangerous, as the closing speeds of modern high performance aircraft are so fast as is also formation flying at half a span in bumpy air and especially on take-offs and landings when the aircraft is not so easy to control.

Still, the R.A.F. are not paying me to amuse myself. Life is real, etc. Our job is to seek and destroy. (We're not playing around). We all know the chances we are taking, but we love the life and wouldn't change for anything. At least one is live a 100 percent life.

This is a grand station here, and the officers of 26 Army Co-op Squadron who share our mess are great chaps. My C.O. leaves nothing to be desired, as he is just one of the fellows and doesn't stand around aloof as so many officers in the R.A.F. are noted for. British Army Officers are, of course, often attached to 26 Squadron as Army Liaison officers, and I get a good chance to know the real British Army Officer, and I know they are grand chaps. What seemed terrible at first about the discipline is not so bad now. One soon learns the necessity for it, especially in the air, where one disobeyed command could mean the loss of a life or more. Even in our mess there is no "B.S." All officers of whatever rank mingle together as equals. That does not mean that a Pilot Officer can walk up to a Squadron Leader and call him Old Chappie. We have a little tact. They are of a slightly higher strata. They rate a "Sir," but Captains downwards do not, i.t. Flight Lieutenants, Flying Officers.

Sergeant Pilots of the R.A.F. have to have the same educational standards as officers, but they haven't got that Public School accent which is a necessity for an officer.

You should see our playing field today. Grass hockey, rugby (English), and football playing at the same time.

Love Bill