Listen, I just write the books. Who
knows where they end up? I've had mail from Norwegians on oil platforms, and
from a pilot who flies jumbos for a South Pacific airline, and from Jim in
Alberta where it's often 30 or 40 below. I'm told the U.S. Marines in Iraq
enjoy my WW2 desert story, A Good
Clean Fight. Nothing surprises me, not even the email from Tim in
Australia that began: "The first book I stole was
Piece of Cake." He nicked it from
the school library when he was 16. "I probably read it another six or seven
times before it fell apart." By then he was old enough to pay for books, so he
bought another copy. Should have bought two, and given the other to the
library.
So I don't know
where my books end up, and I don't
know how the reader feels at the
time. For instance, Tony in Ireland has read the RFC and the RAF trilogies. "I
was working in Eastern Europe," he says, "and they saw me through some hairy
times" - which sets the imagination working. And Peter in Somerset recalls a
very rough patch when he was ill. "I want to thank you for helping me
recover," he says, and he names in particular
Hornet's Sting, Piece of Cake and
Damned Good Show - "so good, so
entertaining and so well written that I forgot how ill I was and simply enjoyed
the pleasure of the stories." I had never thought of the novel as therapy;
but when the book takes you out of yourself and lifts you to somewhere you would
otherwise never go, that journey might well do you a power of good.
These thoughts are prompted by the
steady stream of letters (and cheques or PayPal requests) that followed
Nicholas Lezard's corker of a review of
Hullo Russia, Goodbye England
in The Guardian a couple of weeks ago. David in Maryland ordered a copy and
wrote that he came across Goshawk
Squadron over 35 years ago and still re-reads it, along with other yarns of
mine. Helen in Dublin said she 'enjoyed' my writing, then thought that
'appreciated' was a better word, and finally upgraded that to 'enthralled'.
W.B.T. in Southampton has read and re-read all my books, and (he says) so has
his wife, which is pleasing. Paul in Dublin ranks me as "one of 3 or 4 authors
all of whose work I own"; and Matt in London "recently read
Goshawk Squadron on my honeymoon
and absolutely loved it." (Let's hope that marks the start of a long
relationship.) And many more letters, saying more of the same, including the
nice lady in Wales who addressed me as 'Dear Sir or Madam'.
That's got the Gender Confusion out of
the way. Now for the dog named Moggy. Jack in Alabama liked
Kentucky Blues, so he moved on to
Piece of Cake and writes that he thought the characters "were very
well-drawn, with CH3, Fanny, Flash, Skull and Moggy being stand-outs... In
fact, I'd place Moggy as one of the best-drawn characters in war literature
ever." So when Jack's girlfriend gave him a cocker spaniel for Christmas, he
named the dog 'Moggy'. Didn't go down well. "God, how people bitched and
complained!" he tells me. The nickname means nothing in the States. Jack
travels a lot. His girlfriend took care of Moggy in his absence and rapidly
renamed him 'Tucker'. "But," Jack adds, "for a few short days, Pilot Officer
Cattermole lived on in the form of a rambunctious little black dog." Nice
tribute, Jack. Can't think of anything better.
Some ex-Vulcan pilots and
groundcrew also bought copies of Hullo
Russia. Next time I'll write about that. They all say they finished the
book, sometimes reading it non-stop, which can't be bad.
Derek
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