"Scatterjack a-dawning/Winter's yawning"

A new edition of my "Per Ardua Ad Astra" reaches me, fresh from the publishers, messrs Wacklow, Futtle and Crun. I see that they've gone with a variation on Page's original cover illustration, featuring myself, Drake and Hood, and there's a generous selection of Sally's photographs- eight pages, I think- placed aprropriately enough between chapters seven and eight (which chapter includes an account of the mission's first complication, during which the camera was lost; three exposed rolls of film, however, were safely secreted about Sally Hood's person).


She cut my hair- gave me a trim, really- in that little compartment of the Spitfire that doubled as kitchen and lounge (and was soon to be pressed into service as a morgue). Perhaps I should have included such details in the book? Is the scientific community of saltpetred greyheads really interested in such day-to-day minutiae as which tin of Spam we opened at which particular point in the debacle?

Sally it was, also, who calculated the seasons of the moon and taught us all to remember them by means of a simple rhyme. A song, actually. I wish I could remember it now.

She kissed me once, too. Should I tell them that as well? And if I do, what will I have left then?