Jan. 22., 1917.

My dear Lulu

Today I received your letter in which you told me of your sickness. I was very sorry indeed to hear of it, and hope with all my heart that you have recovered long before this reaches you. How I wish I were nearer so that I could hear about your wellfare without the long lapse of time that is now necessary! Sympathy written on paper seems cold and meaningless. But never mind, Lulu, maybe the war will end this year, and then I shall be back as soon as ever I can get.

I have so much that I would like to tell you, and so much that I want to ask, that I dont know how to write. The censor in this battalion, too, allows but a limited number of letters, and says they must be brief. What shall I do?

You talk of sending parcels. It is very, very kind of you and I appreciate them more than you can think. Then too, you have an almost uncanny way of knowing just what I need. But really it is not fair to you to undertake such a burden. I seemed to see you sick in bed, and yet worrying yourself about not having sent me a parcel! Don't let it put you to any such needless bother, Lulu, for I know your kindness. You see I am getting no whit thinner for all the change of life, and have a shamelessly healthy appetite. I am more like a dog with my present like, eating everything that is eatable.

I am afraid that cantata was too much for you. If you had lots of help, and been able to get around very quickly, things might have been different. And then I dont know how sick you have been, or perhaps are! You speak of different girls staying with you at night, and yet of being only a bit unwell! I am afraid you are worse than you speak of. Well I pray God that by this time you are better, and well able to get around. Let me know as often as you can, but dont overburden yourself about writing even. I look forward to your good long letters more than I can tell you, but I don't want you to lose sleep in sitting up late getting them off.

I suppose the people, especially your father and mother, appreciated your work. I should have liked to have been there, especially so that I could have taken you to Smith's Cove. We didn't get back in any very big hurry when we passed through there last, but then we might have gone faster if it had been cold.

We had a splendid trip to a bombarded city near the front line the other night; I wish I were permitted to tell you about it, and the strange emotions awakened, as we silently marched through at dead of night. War in modern days has much of the spectacular, even as it had in the days of chivalry. At the very front, night seems sometimes like day with the beautiful "fireworks". I am not joking when I say this.

Well I am healthy and strong, and if I am not exactly enjoying life, it is an experience which anyone might envy in many ways.

Did u read Pres. Wilson's magnificent speech on "Peace"! He expresses just the ideals for which I enlisted. If we could get away from the thought that he was talking about things, for which others were giving their lives, one could feel like worshipping him.

Well, I hope with all my heart that all is well with you now. I shall pray that God will make you well, for homecoming without you to meet me at Digby would be poor indeed.

Give my regards to mama & papa and to the friends who remember me

Yours as ever
Tom.
Thos. W. Johnson, No. 252656.