“The weather barometer points to ‘stormy’. My private indicator is set at 'calm’. Cranwell is the coldest place on earth, and the windiest: but all the wind is actual. In the metaphorical sense it is one great rest. As soon as I reached here I told everybody whom I used to be. It gave me an uncomfortable month. The back of every chair in the canteen used to sprout a face whenever I entered: and the airmen generally held their breaths waiting for a sign. A month that was. After it their strained lungs expired and inspired air in gulps, and then settled down to normal rate. When a new man comes to the station he is brought to see me: otherwise everything is the same as ever it was. God be praised. The R.A.F. is very good. My discharge date is August 1932. When I wake up suddenly at night it feels close, and frightens me: but six years is yet a long time. God be praised as I said before.”
—
finding balance
That last, incredibly sweet chapter in The Mint… this points to it coming
yedrindax
trusthimhesadoctor









