Photo Credit: James Ambrose (Son of OC 41 Jan-Mar 46)
27 December 1944, RAF Kirton-in-Lindsey
Peter Scott, my fellow pilot since I began my training in Canada, invited me to spend Christmas with him, at his home not far from here. His father came and drove us there. I spent some three days with them and I must admit that they showed me the most splendid hospitality. Despite my being a foreigner, a stranger in this country and not a Christian, they made me feel at home and among friends, while celebrating a Christian holiday, to a degree that I could not have even imagined when I accepted the invitation. This is an English farmers' family: They have a big and varied farm and an ancient but large house, furnished with tasteful English simplicity. This was the first time I made a personal acquaintance with an English home and family, and if I am to generalise from this individual case, it is hats off to them.
Peter Scott, my fellow pilot since I began my training in Canada, invited me to spend Christmas with him, at his home not far from here. His father came and drove us there. I spent some three days with them and I must admit that they showed me the most splendid hospitality. Despite my being a foreigner, a stranger in this country and not a Christian, they made me feel at home and among friends, while celebrating a Christian holiday, to a degree that I could not have even imagined when I accepted the invitation. This is an English farmers' family: They have a big and varied farm and an ancient but large house, furnished with tasteful English simplicity. This was the first time I made a personal acquaintance with an English home and family, and if I am to generalise from this individual case, it is hats off to them.
6 March 1945, Alton, Hants
My application to be posted to the Middle East has not been successful. Apparently there is no "work" for pilots to do that theatre, while demand here is frenetic and plentiful. It must be admitted that there is a good side to this also: The war in Europe will not go on for long, and I am glad that I'll be able to take part, along with the others, in their final effort to annihilate the Nazi beast. When that day arrives, we will all celebrate together the world's redemption and our own. I pray that this day is not far off.
Tomorrow I leave for a new camp, and from there to join a squadron of the Tactical Air Force, in which I will play my role in the war.
My application to be posted to the Middle East has not been successful. Apparently there is no "work" for pilots to do that theatre, while demand here is frenetic and plentiful. It must be admitted that there is a good side to this also: The war in Europe will not go on for long, and I am glad that I'll be able to take part, along with the others, in their final effort to annihilate the Nazi beast. When that day arrives, we will all celebrate together the world's redemption and our own. I pray that this day is not far off.
Tomorrow I leave for a new camp, and from there to join a squadron of the Tactical Air Force, in which I will play my role in the war.
19 April 1945, England
Last night I returned from London, where I spent my 48 hours' weekend leave. I reached camp before noon, and upon entering the sergeants' quarters was told that I was wanted. I went straight to the telephone:
"Hello, Flight Sergeant Remez here."
"Thank goodness! Where have you been, you good-for-nothing? We kept calling you all of yesterday and this morning, but you couldn't be caught."
"I spent my 48 in London."
"We tried your London address too, and there was no answer. Never mind. The main thing is that you're here now. By 3:00 p.m. all your kit has to be at the transport office and all your marching orders have to be signed… get a move on, my boy!"
"Where have I been posted?"
"To 41 Squadron, I believe. Hold on a moment and I'll tell you… yes, it's 41."
"Splendid! Never fear: I'll be ready on time. Thanks!"
"Good luck and many happy landings!"
I packed up during the midday hour, and devoted the two hours I had left between 1:00 and 3:00 to getting my clearing papers signed. I chased around on the bicycle like mad, from one end of the field to the other, and almost despaired of getting all the signatures in the space of two hours – but I did manage to collect them. I thanked the Spitfires group CO for posting me to 41 Squadron, at my request. My mates P (or F), W (or V) and R are all there.
In the evening we went to the town of K (or C) to celebrate my posting with the customary beer. Tomorrow morning we take off from England to Holland, where my squadron is based.
Last night I returned from London, where I spent my 48 hours' weekend leave. I reached camp before noon, and upon entering the sergeants' quarters was told that I was wanted. I went straight to the telephone:
"Hello, Flight Sergeant Remez here."
"Thank goodness! Where have you been, you good-for-nothing? We kept calling you all of yesterday and this morning, but you couldn't be caught."
"I spent my 48 in London."
"We tried your London address too, and there was no answer. Never mind. The main thing is that you're here now. By 3:00 p.m. all your kit has to be at the transport office and all your marching orders have to be signed… get a move on, my boy!"
"Where have I been posted?"
"To 41 Squadron, I believe. Hold on a moment and I'll tell you… yes, it's 41."
"Splendid! Never fear: I'll be ready on time. Thanks!"
"Good luck and many happy landings!"
I packed up during the midday hour, and devoted the two hours I had left between 1:00 and 3:00 to getting my clearing papers signed. I chased around on the bicycle like mad, from one end of the field to the other, and almost despaired of getting all the signatures in the space of two hours – but I did manage to collect them. I thanked the Spitfires group CO for posting me to 41 Squadron, at my request. My mates P (or F), W (or V) and R are all there.
In the evening we went to the town of K (or C) to celebrate my posting with the customary beer. Tomorrow morning we take off from England to Holland, where my squadron is based.