Somewhere in France
Dec. 21., '16.

Dear Mr Aitkin

I am still at the same place from which I have written you so often, and consequently have had no mail since coming to France. I hope with all my heart that we shall soon leave this backward place; it is worse than most out of the way place in the far west.

But I have had one very agreeable change since I wrote last. I was given a seven hour leave, and spent it at the neighboring port. It was just fine. To be out of a military camp, to be amongst civilians; to sit down to a meal at a nice table - even if they charged three francs and sixty five centimes for the privilage - was a great treat. To spend money too in a real shop - as they all stores in England - was one of the best treats I had.

But best of all was the sense of freedom. To walk amids crowds just as you wished; to sit down at a table as long as you liked; to listen to people talk all around you and not understand a word that was said; to feel yourself a foreigner in a foreign town; a sort of tourist on the continent, was great.

I had only about one hour of daylight, and about four darkness in the city. I saw the fine docks and fleets of shipping. I saw the quaint houses, narrow streets, crowds of people of all nationalities apparently, with their strange dresses. The stores were well lit, set out like English shops rather than our American style. They crowd their goods into the window which never seems half the size it should be to show them off to advantage.

Of course I found my lack of French to be a great disadvantage. Wherever I turned I needed it. I enquired the way to the railway station from a benevolent old gentleman, only to received a surprised look and a deprecatory gesture of the head, hands and sholders. I though I could read enough French to venture into the General Post Office to send a little souvenir away, but when I went to one of the windows I found I had either made a mistake, or the woman attendant was mad at me. Anyway she shrugged her shoulders and motioned me to get out. I tried a second with similar results; then I went to a third, only to be turned away. I was going off, this time in despair, when a lady's voice said to me in refined English, "Can I help you, monsieur?" I looked round in surprise and pleasure to see a lady at my elbow. I thanked her and we went to another window and with her as an interpreter got through my business. We had some talk after the transaction was completed and I had to apologize for my ignorance. I explained that I never expected to need French, which she answered rather sadly by saying that many of us never did. I felt something like what a Russian looks like in Winnipeg. I had on mud bespattered clothes, just having come from the trenches we had been practicing in, buttons never cleaned and black with gas fumes, & whiskers of three days' growth. What a position for a -------!!

From the post office I went to a fruit store, only to get into further trouble by trying to by some delicious looking figs - and no nice lady came to my rescue this time. Then I went to a stationer's and tried to buy a beautiful calendar done in dainty watercolours, & this time got into trouble because I hadn't enough money to buy it.

But I only laughed at my jolly experiences for I felt like a schoolboy out of school. Oh, it was fine, and if I get another chance I shall certainly get another leave.

Well now I must stop again for I dont want to write too long a letter.

Dont forget to keep all my letters for I want you to give them to me back again if you will when I return from this war.

Try to get a letter to me by registered mail next time will you, for I find they are more prompt in sending them to the owner.

Your old friend
Thos. W. Johnson