British Expeditionary Force,
No. 1 Canadian Field Ambulance,
7 March, 1915.

My dear Father:

On Friday morning I gave you some account of what was being done here. That afternoon I rode a horse lent me by one of the doctors to a town a few miles away to look up the grave of a fellow killed in action just before Christmas, the son of intimate friends of mine in London. After some inquiry I found it, in a little military cemetery, one of the best kept graves of them all. Just before I found it, I dropped into a house where Scots officers were quartered, found them just sitting down to afternoon tea before going to the trenches, at their request joined them, and soon felt as much at home among them as if we had been brothers born. They mentioned that their machine gun officer, then in action, was a clergyman, and who should he turn out to be but an Edinburgh divinity classmate of mine, and my successor as assistant in St. Columba's. Isn't it extraordinary how one meets people?

Every evening I have gone with the ambulance to the one or the other of the aid posts from which we collect. Last night I expected to have the funeral of two men, but the graves were not ready. So this evening I shall probably bury these two, plus three others killed yesterday. These are the experiences that bring home to one what war means. I am glad to say that as a rule our troops have behaved splendidly under fire. I have heard no criticism at all.

Yesterday afternoon I visited the billets of one battalion of this brigade now relieved for some days from trench work, to arrange for services today. Thus this morning I held three brief services at the billets of three of the double companies. In each case the troops formed three sides of a square, ranged under the eaves of the buildings surrounding the farm courtyard. In a few minutes I am setting off for service with the fourth company, and when I get back here I expect to have a round-up of the Protestants in this field ambulance at 4 p.m.

With these short services I am wondering whether I shall ever again be able to produce a full length sermon instead of a brief sermonette.

Meantime adieu, Warmest love to each one.

Ever your loving son,
A.M.G.