Grantham,    

14.1.40.    

Dear Mother, 
          I hope you didn't mind the scruffy postcard I sent you the other day, but I had promised to catch a certain bus into town, and Andy was looking at his watch and cursing at me.   However, I expect you get hold of most of the news indirectly from other members of the family or from prospective members.   The fact is that there has really been no important news to relate during the past fortnight. 


          We have been prevented from flying for several of the days due to bad weather - there is an appalling fog blanket which hangs around here, and although it generally stays in the valley, it sometimes sweeps across the aerodrome and we have to land in a field nearer the East coast. 

          Yesterday I went up by myself in an Anson and climbed to 15,000 feet for a height test.   My word, you can see a long way from 3 miles up.   It was unfortunately misty to the west and south, although I could see Peterborough factory chimneys through the haze.   To the east and north I could see all round the Wash and up the coast-line past Spalding and Boston, right up to Grimsby.   Of course, I was bathed in brilliant sunshine, and although it was freezing on the ground, at about 8,000 feet the temperature was 57ļF.   By 15,000 it had gone down again to well below freezing point.   The sea looked so blue that I should like to have had a swim, though I should probably have changed my mind on reaching the ground.   It is rather a strange feeling to be up so high, for of course, it is as high as you can safely go without oxygen unless you are used to great heights.   Even at 15,000 it is an effort to move your feet from the rudder bar or raise your arms above your head.

          When I decided to come down, I forgot that there is a motor horn behind the pilot which goes off when you shut off the motors, as a warning that the undercarriage is still in the up position, and I got such a fright.   However, I shall remember it in future.

          I am afraid that the only news I shall be able to give will be concerned with flying, as that is all anyone has time for down here, so I hope my letters will not bore you unduly.   I don't much think there will be any leave forthcoming for a long time yet, judging by the stuff we have to get through in 8 weeks, so until I do arrive in Westwood Park, cheerio for the present, 

          from your loving son, Geoffrey.

P.S. Would you let me know, if you do know, the date of Phyllis Fernellís 21st birthday Ė itís some time this month.