Official Air Force Records
Document No. - 198652348-C-90
Date – Unknown
Origin – Personal Correspondence – Corp. Peter Newkirk
Alterations Made – Grammar and spelling corrected.
Dear Blondie,
The sun rose this morning over the white cliffs of Dover miles from this hell hole I've found meself in, and I missed the sight so desperately I thought I might weep by the heartbreak. Then you walked in with your frightened pale face, gold-spun blonde hair and silver eyes, and Dover started to look like a ruddy trash dump.
I was shot down at night, you see, and didn't get the opportunity to truly appreciate the beauty of this country. This barn of yours has been my only refuge since and I was certain that I would die here, with nothing to cheer me but a rotten pile of hay and three of the saddest cows I've ever laid eyes on.
Then, this morning, you peeked in, tears filled your mercury eyes, pink lips parted in surprise and you shouted something in German that I couldn't quite make out. If only you spoke English, you would have understood the professions of love that came straight out of me mouth a second later.
The way you grabbed for that pitchfork and wielded it over me, might have caused some downed fly-boys to doubt your devotion, but not I. Unfailing faith have I, in the ultimate good of womanhood everywhere, and you are no exception.
I do hope you'll forgive me for pulling that gun on you. I never in a million years would have used it. It just isn't my style you see. But we Brits were told horrible things about you Krauts back on our home soil. The way your boys bomb the stuffing out of my hometown, could you hardly blame us. So I took an unnecessary precaution and caused your lovely frame to quake with fear and for that I do apologize.
Even worse I find that I must take my leave. I may not get far, those three holes you left in my hide haven't quite finished leaking yet, but when I do finally, bravely fall by the wayside, you can be assured that my final thoughts will be of you. The feisty, blonde lass with the pitchfork, who perforated my
End Personal Correspondence
Cataloging Note:
Above correspondence written on a piece of wax butcher paper in pencil. Analysis of final sentence indicates that the author may have been surprised while writing. The piece shows signs of wear and tear. Spotted with a substance identified as blood, probably human. Paper a common type, not specific to any region. Fibers were contained in the paper when it was folded and have been identified as wool/cotton blend, consistent with usual combination found in blankets used for farming/animal purposes. Item was stored without details as to origin.
Contacted Lieutenant (retired) Peter Newkirk.
Received following reply in form of post card, included with above correspondence.
Leftenant Sumner,
If I remember correctly you're the chap that sent that old letter to my dear friend, Colonel Hogan a few weeks ago. I haven't the foggiest notion how you came about this little marvel. I always figured it was lost to time. I just barely remember writing it. As for the explanation, I would ordinarily refer you to the text of my first children's book, "Sticky Wicket Williams", but you seem a bit old for that.
Long story short I wrote this about the time I was first shot down in Germany, long before I met Hogan or any of the others. I did some damage to my knee and holed up in a barn, only to wake the next morning to the sight of a gorgeous blonde lass standing over me, brandishing a pitchfork. When I moved, she stabbed me with it. Hurt like blue blazes.
I pulled my gun and she shrieked and went tearing out of the barn, never to be seen again. It took some time for me to figure a way of patching up and moving out, and for some reason it became vitally important to my addled brain to apologize for frightening the poor girl.
I suppose that if I hadn't stopped to write that silly note, I'd never have been captured, and wouldn't have found my way into Col. Hogan's service. Fate is a fickle and funny dame.
Best of luck with your efforts then son,
Sir Peter Theodore Newkirk
Additional Notes:
Follow-up correspondence received July 20th, 1975
Leftenant Sumner,
I hope this finds you well, and that you haven't yet been swallowed by your mountains of paperwork.
Your first letter got me to thinking and wondering and I decided to take a bit of a trip back to the Rhineland. A connection with the RAF gave me a good idea of where I was shot down thirty years ago and I decided to take the Rolls Royce out for a lark and see if I couldn't find that old barn.
It isn't a farm anymore, but a commune of all things. 102-acres of land, fenced in, well-guarded and occupied entirely by nudists! These ladies and gents are completely off the radar, which is just as well as some of their countrymen aren't too keen on the free love mentality of late. Not a one of them is pale skinned like "Blondie" of old.
I must tell you, the reaction from the lady friend that I brought with me was hardly lady-like at all. She didn't share my amusement and demanded that I drop her at the bahnhof straight away. Poor dear.
But I spent a delightful week in the company of the FKK-Campingplatz and discovered that for all the emotional discomforts that full nudity might cause, there are of course benefits. As you are no doubt a man of the world I will allow you to imagine the more obvious positive results, but I am happy to say that I have met the future Lady Newkirk V. I just have to convince her to don more than a veil for the trip back home.
As for Blondie, she and her family donated the farm to the older couple that run the commune, shortly after the war. Betsy, the Mrs. Kommandant of the commune, thinks she might have a postcard from them somewhere and will send me a copy if she finds it.
Til then I must wish you the absolute best, and give you some advice. If you've never been to a nudist camp before, you should go. I hear they're all the rage in America.
Cheers,
Sir Peter Theodore Newkirk
End File
July 21, 1975