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30th May, 1940
Dear Evelyn,
I hope you’re having a better week than we are here. It’s been rather nonstop, and I’m exhausted. The war has finally arrived, and we’re right in the middle of it. I know I’ve been complaining about not seeing Jerries, and now I realize just how silly that was. All we see now are the enemy, and they are much faster and more numerous than we ever dreamt.
We lost two pilots this week. One was another new pilot officer, and the other was my flight leader. It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re an experienced pilot or not up there. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s all just a matter of luck. It certainly seems that way. At least, it was for me.
I was shot down yesterday. An Me 109 hit me in my fuel tank. I was lucky enough to walk away with only a bump on the head and dislocated shoulder. My luck continued and I was able to catch a ride home with His Majesty’s Royal Navy. They dropped me in Kent and I took a few trains to get back to my squadron. I’ve never been so happy to see the inside of a London train station in all my life.
While I was on the grand tour, my squadron moved stations again. I returned to a new airfield, a new Spitfire, and a new position. It’s now Flight Leader Lacey, at your service. It seems that war is good for advancement, if nothing else. I think I’d rather have Mother back, but since that’s not an option, I’ll do my best to lead these ragamuffin pilots. I’ve no idea how I’ll do that, but I suppose I’ll muddle my way through. If the doc clears me to fly, I’ll be back up tomorrow. I don’t mind saying that I’ll be going back up with a rather large chip on my shoulder. There’s nothing quite like being shot down to put an even larger fire in your belly.
There’s so much I want to say, but it’s late and I’m tired. I’ll dream of you and pray that you’re safe and well.
Always yours,
Flight Leader Miles Lacey
