Diary of Denis Patrick (alias Rupert Bert Patrick), 1941-1945 - Part 5

2/5/42
As I write this little addition I am
enjoying the comparative comfort of a
first class seat in the Flying Scotsman
en route from Edinburgh to London.
My C.O. gratiously gave me two weeks
leave, so here I am bound for
goodness knows where, more or less
on my own of course - I have spent
a very pleasant day with one Miss
Winnie Leamont, a charming lass
with brown hair and as she says
tartan eyes. - Doc Bilston introduced
me to her. I love her Scotch accent
her neat figure, and her bright talk.
She called on me this morning at the
Old Waverley Hotel where I was staying
and from there we took a bus to
Queens ferry and walked in the
woodlands among the ferns and
glens. I almost glimpsed Australia
in these fairy glades — Winnie's
bright chatter kept away the
idle hour, we lunch at a
wee [[?]] place and did a little
more hiking & talking, finally
having a high tea, which in
Scotland means anything from
tea and biscuit to roast turkey
Anyway we were lucky to get
eggs and bacon & a jug of [[?]]
Food prices of course are quite ridiculous
one pays the best part of six shillings
always for a decent meal. and then
it only just —Its a brave and uncomplaining
type of young womanhood
this war is turning out, and I think
these girls with restricted food & limited
clothing xxx have a particularly
optimistic outlook — I went to a party
held by a very wealthy Scotish
gentleman — it was for the officers of
455. All Australians of course — 
everything was dreadfully pukha, and
I was [[bowing?]] at my very best.
His home was in a large estate — The
girls at the show were very highly
educated & disgustingly proper.
but most of them served with His
Majistis Forces in the A.T's as
mechanics, M.T. drivers and all sorts
of dirty jobs. Their hands were
[[showing?]] the signs of work too
but they didn't mind — Yes its a
hardy bunch this war is building
and a strangely self sufficient
two fisted and practical women
I can imagine the women
displacing men entirely from the
[[?]] soon. They won't want
babies or a cat — They will
 

have their own clubs, run their own
politics and to hell with the
weakling male sex — But I don't
blame them.
In the meantime were still
rattling our way over the rails
to London in search of pleasure — I
think I'm going to miss this war when
its all over.
4/5/42
So here we are in Bournemouth, once
again, what a gentle place it is, with
its green parks modern buildings & warm
sunshine. I stopped at London yesterday,
wandered around the big city on my
own, it seemed bigger and lonelier than
before. Colin is not there now, in fact
most of my old time cobbers have
either gone East or "West" — Called
at Kodak house in Kingsway, and
enquired after Colin, apparently he is
O.K. to their knowledge. — so having
done all these things came on to
Bournemouth where I at least
know two women, God bless em.
Edna tells me she has just inherited
five hundred quid, & a furnished
house — but it didn't have any
allure for me, not £500 if it
had been five thousand I should
probably have suggested that she
should marry me straight away.
As I write I am looking out of the window
of the       where I am staying
opposite is the Bath Hill Court — a huge
place, taken over by the air force, just
as most of the buildings are — I am
wondering just how long this was will
last. Day after day passes and still we
seem to be gradually loosing ground
on all three fronts. Yes its a pretty
grim spectacle and not much of a
future for a torpedoe bomber pilot,
but who knows when the day will
dawn, peace, once again — These
English people are much too content
with their "state of security when the
world & their allies are crying for
action
10/5/42
I left Bournemouth with a little regret
but things were getting a little hot there —
so packed my bag boarded a London
train bound for goodness knows where