France, Mar. 10. 1918.

My dear Dad;

Something must be very wrong with the mail just now as I have not had any mail for over two weeks. I wrote to Grannie a few days ago and would have written to you sooner only I have been rather mixed up the last few days.

Just after I wrote Grannie I went up on a show and got frost bitten and have been going around with a big scar on my cheek ever since. It has not hurt at all but looks rather queer.

Day before yesterday I got in a scrap with four others of our chaps with 9 Huns and we managed to bag two of them I think. In the mix-up I was shot down and forced to land. Got in a good field but ran into a ditch in the middle of [word missing] and that machine is no more. I had eight or nine bullet holes in the bus but none in me. The C.O. decided that I needed a rest after that and sent me down on a joy ride in tinder to Boulogne yesterday and I did not get back until late last night. However I am due for a show in half an hour so you see I must be all right.

I certainly hope to get a bunch of mail pretty soon. I hope you are taking care of yourself.

I very nearly cleaned up a lot of money yesterday. Our squadron dog, Bristol. Having decided to have a family we formed a pool as to the number to [?] I drew four which promised well. However the event happened yesterday - [?] & I lost a couple of hundred francs. Pen just gone dry so

Love

Gord