My Uncle David was an Auster pilot. Dated 20th August 1944, this letter was one of the last he wrote to his parents and two elder sisters, one of whom was my mother. Two weeks later he was fatally wounded in a small village in liberated France by a German solider hiding behind some trees while trying to escape. David and his driver were entering the village by car. They had swapped places, he was at the wheel while his driver was in the passenger seat. The latter was unharmed but David was shot in the neck. The villagers carried him to safety but were unable to save him. In 2005, the local authorities erected a memorial in his honour. He was one of only two WWII fatalities to be buried in the vicinity.
My mother kept this photo of him by her bed. When sorting through her belongings after her death in 1998, my siblings and I found this letter among many others that he had written to the family during his training and when he was deployed in France. They tell of his life as a pilot, his love of flying and of life, for his family, his plans for the future, the girl he hoped to marry…
