Original Letter


                        11th April 1918


My Dearest:–

It is a gorgeous day and I have been out all forenoon enjoying it. I haven’t felt so good since I came back from leave. Last night I went to sleep before nine and never moved until I was wakened this morning at a quarter to five. Getting up at a quarter to five isn’t all its cracked up to be but I never h ated it less than this morning. Perhaps in time I might get used to it but I don’t think so. Now I think that nine o’clock is the right time to get up – except in the winter when the days are short when ten should be the official hour of reveille. It’s funny getting up digging up water from god knows where and finding something to put it in shave by the chancey light of a candle and standing in an impossible position to do your toilet – (the toilet is done here – not made) The procuring of water from shell-holes is not encouraged any more for sound medical reasons and some times water for ablutionary purposes (sound military phrase that) is hard to catch but I’ve always managed a wash. I am having a pretty easy time latterly and making the most of it. The only really kick I have is that it is too long between leaves. I have three months and a half to wait still and I don’t see how I am going to wait so long.

The papers from England are full of pep and determination. It apparently requires adversity to waken them up over there. I see that they have finally decided to apply conscription in Ireland and that Ireland – through her representatives in London – has give her sacred promise that she’ll raise merry hell before she accepts any such giddy goings-on. I am far too good un soldat either to entertain or express any political opinion but it seems to me that when Canada which is at least not any nearer the heart of the Empire than Ireland has conscription – well, I meant to say Ireland is running true to form anyway. If she isn’t consistent, she’s nothing. However, maybe they are both right. I personally know one little Irish, Canadian body who is always right (sans blague) so why shouldn’t the pure strain know what’s what?

And here I haven’t told you once to-day that I loved you. But, Dearest, it isn’t because I am not loving you because I am – I’m just brimming over with love of you to-day and every day. Poor Baby, she’s lost her holiday and is back in the hurly burly and I want to go and comfort her! One day I shall be with you again for always, Dear, and you see if I don’t keep you from ever having a worry or disappointment again. I love you Maidie. Your own Ross