Dear Mother:

From Sergt. J.C. Stothers

169th Battalion Canadians Army Post Office,

London, Eng. Dec. 24th, 1916

Today is my first Sunday officially with the 169th to which the remnant of the 170th have been transferred. We got back to Aldershott on Thursday night, Dec. 21st and since that time I’ve been acting Sergt. Maj. for "D" Company. All the men from "C" of the 170th have been put into "D" of the 169th. When the men on pass, including the Sergt. Maj. of "D" company return on Wednesday I will be put on musketry instructional staff of the Battalion for the time being. I’ve had two letter from Carman dated Dec. 12th and 17th, the latter of which was more cheerful than the first, but they must have an awful depth of mud to contend with and they sleep in tents, 14-17 to a tent. Reg Topp and Bert Rivers both wrote me. Carman saw H. Bellamy and Al Posliff several times. The advice he gave me to stay in England as long as I could was censored but I managed to gather the drift of his meaning. They did the same thing in this unit having separated several brothers in several instances. Everybody had a grudge against Col. Reed for being evidently anxious to get us off his hands in order that he might see the sights of London. Of course this is a more a less uncharitable view of the situation but later events will only prove how true it is.

Co. Sergt. Maj. Leonard is acting as Bn. Sergt. Maj. and left me to take his place. Have just been called out to inspect a quarantine guard. We have several huts in quarantine for one reason or another. Two of them contain spinal meningitis and all are closely guarded to keep infection from spreading further. One of our officers have just been in. He leaves immediately to take a place in the Royal Flying Corp. Retreat has just gone, 4.00pm and it is getting dusk. Christmas Eve at last. The favorite quotation seems to be some version or other of "Xmas Eve in the Work house", a specimen of doggerel verse that seems to fit the occasion. I got five parcels the day I came from Aldershott, including one from Laura Stothers, one from Miss Porter, one from Fern Ave. School, and one from Tena Baker, and one from Mrs. Adair, whose boy I befriended. It is a rather interesting occupation digging into the contents of a box. Most of mine have been bumped around between Bramshott and Aldershott three or four times in a vain attempt to locate the School of Musketry.