My Dearest Girl,
Agda girlie, you’re a peach. If you only really knew what a dear girl you really are. I’ll try and tell you one of these days. Your letter of Sept 8th reached me last night. It was a cold, windy dusty day, or rather night, for it was close on midnigh when I got back, but I noticed none of these things when I saw your letter.
I had been back that day to the rear to get some official records, for I now occupy the proud position of Orderly Room Corpl, and it was a long lonesome bumpy ride back in a motor lorrie, with no lights over roads which once were roads, but are now in places a sucession of shell holes and patched up low places. I felt very hunry and tired and just a wee bit lonesome, till I saw your letter. The house we occupy at present is little better than a total ruin. The roof is gone, and a team of horses could be driven through shell holes in either walls, but the cellar is not too bad, and one room isn’t so awfully bad, and as it posesses a fire place and there is lots of wood around, we keep a fire going part of the time, and that makes things a little more cheery. I guess you will have received a photo by now, that I asked my sister to send to you. I was called to England a few weeks ago to attend my mother’s funeral. She died quite suddenly.
What do you think of the war now and the little old Canadian Corps. We sure have been doing some fighting since Aug 8th. I will send you by Christmas, one of the souvenir books, the Division is getting out. A good many of my pals have got theirs during these last three big battles. I am fortunate, as while employed here in the Orderly Room, escape having to go into the front line. A lot of people here think that the Boche is about all in, and soon will be glad to quit on our terms. I hope they are right, but I don’t know, I sure will be glad to get through with it all, especially as this rotten winter weather is coming, with the rain and mud; and everything. I think that Hilltop would seem like paradise to me if I did ever get there, and you, dearest, would be the ministering angel-in-chief. But oh say kiddie, would you cut out the mush? I have it for breakfast every morning, and as it’s always nearly cold I hate the stuff. Did you ever try to eat mush that way? It’s fierce, when its all lumpy. and cold and sticky. I don’t give a hoop as a rule, but I sure do sidestep that dope Cheerio, fancy having eggs and bacon nicely cooked, and hot cakes and maple syrup, oh Gee I guess I’d go right on eating all the time. D’you think I’m a bit of a hog? Well I do sometimes long to have a decent meal. When I was in England I lived with my sister and she’s the greatest little cook I know. I wonder how she would compare with you. She can’t make those good old Canadian pies, and I’ve never seen her making bread.
But she used to put a meal up for me that would make a ‘bo blush in harvest time. Say, arn’t those snaps dandy. That one taken in the City Park is a real little work of art. You look a happy little bunch in the car, but I like the one of you by the brook where you are alone. Well Agda, mon petit cherie au revoir, I’ll write you lots in a day or so when we have settled down for a while