(before Jun 11/16)
Our Battalion leaves for France tomorrow so will kick the dust of Merry England off our boots for a period. Was on leave in London yesterday when we were wired back and also news of drowning of Kitchener. Pretty rotten. Gave Mrs. Henry Drader your address and she said she would likely write. They could not have treated me better if I had been a son instead of a cousin, so I know you will bear this in mind when you answer. She wished to be kindly remembered when I wrote. Not much to tell here. Will write when we can so don’t worry at all about us over here.
You should see the moustache I’m not raising. It is a sort of pinkish tinge—streaked with orange and rather rusty and gray with all.
The patter of my little feet will soon be heard in France. Poor Kaiser. If he had to wear our heavy boots he wouldn’t feel so gay.
Met Harold Jobbit up at Drader’s on Sunday. A very nice young fellow indeed. He had been in Calgary for a few months so we know some places of mutual interest. Write often to all your boys over here. I know it’s hard—but we like it. Same old address.
Worlds of love,