1st Canadian Hospital, France,
August 27, 1917.
Well, at last old man, I am writing to you. I am sorry I have not
answered your last letter sooner. I have no good excuse to offer, so
I guess I'll still cling to the old thread-bare one of "too busy." I
guess my dear Mary will have told you that I am in hospital recovering
from a little wound, the penalty of getting in the way of one of
Fritz's shells. I am glad to say that I am going along nicely and hope
to be about again very soon. I got hit just back of the knee, over the
hamstring tendon, "whatever that is." I guess I ought to be thankful
it was no worse. In a week or so I shall be none the worse for the
experience. Believe me, it was some experience. You know--one of those
times when you hear invisible bands playing "Home Sweet Home" and
"He's Gone Where They Don't Play Billiards."
I guess, dear George, you would like a little of the news of how I am
passing the weary months away. Well, at times it's not so bad. We have
our little bit of fun, for you know I'm one of those guys that makes
the best of it. We get many a laugh. We have got the knack of being
easily amused. We often get a smile out of things at which if it wasn't
for the surroundings we should feel like shuddering.
I cannot tell you much on account of the censor. But I can tell you
a little of the experience I had last Wednesday week, the 15th, the
time we had the pleasure (?) of going "over the top" and getting in
close touch with Fritz. We had been expecting it to come off for a
long time and I think the period of waiting was the worst part of the
whole affair. We had only been out of the line a couple of days and
such awful days they were; the time we had been in, it was up to our
knees in mud. Well, anyway, the order came along for us to go back and
make an attempt to pull the job off. The day before they tried to make
things as pleasant as possible. We had a band concert almost all day
long, and then as soon as it got dark we started forward to take up our
position to wait for the big show at daybreak.
Our first trouble was gas. We had our masks on in about two seconds. I
guess you have seen pictures of these masks. But believe me, when you
get a bunch of men moving cautiously across country they're enough to
scare a fellow out of a month's growth. Eventually we got there. But
the position we were to take up was being peppered with Fritz's iron
rations. So we were told to move to another place and dig ourselves in.
Again he located us and made it unhealthy, so we had to move again. We
were in a great mood then, for we had worked like niggers and had just
got comfortable when the order came to move. We contented ourselves
that we would square matters in the morning.
At a quarter of four (daybreak) we settled down to wait for the signal
for the big show to start. There certainly was some excitement in the
air. Almost as much as when in a game of pool the fifteen ball's over
the hole and it's your shot next. Through some cause or other matters
we were delayed twenty-five minutes--the longest minutes I have ever
lived. Each minute seemed like an hour. Long after the war is all over
and forgotten, I think I shall remember that long, weary wait.