Dear Steve:

Sunday, September 30, 1917

Your parcel of tobacco came to hand less than an hour ago and I hope to spend many reflective hours, puffing it into vacancy. I hope my time is not too strenuous occupies with the complexity of military detail to enable me to give it due consideration. I can tell you this, that I wouldn’t miss this little visit to France for anything. I feel ten times as broadminded. It is part of a liberal education, even though in later months I may feel like cursing and kicking against a cruel, unjust, fate. There are moments of exultation and I can well believe there are hours, days, perhaps weeks of the lowest depression. It will be the testing time.

I met Pelt McCoy, of Lucknow yesterday. He hasn’t changed much, but I would hardly have recognized him if I had not known he was in the battalion. He is a changed boy and I believe got a new hold in life in Strathray. He was surprised and pleases to meet somebody, who wasn’t from Toronto. He tells me there is a young Murray here, son of Donald Murray of 9th Con. W. Wawanosh. Jim Agar’s son, Stanley, was one of the first fellow I fell in with and he looks well. I believe I told you about Geo., who died of wounds some time ago. They were both fine boys and George was an especially clean living fellow, one of the best, and well thought of by everyone who knew him. I told you about having dinner with Harry, Armstrong, (you remember him at Carlton School) before leaving England. Well, I’ve met him over here. He didn’t exactly know where he was going to get appointed to, but I couldn’t tell you anyway and I suppose you have no need of his address. I have seen several other Toronto teachers, one of whom was much surprised to see me, as a private. He made me promise to go round and see him, which I will do soon.

By the way, I’m now an acting Corporal, pro term, but will not hold them for long. In fact I’m still a private but wear two stripes, so don’t address me as corporal. It may last six days and may last six months. We’ve had a nice Church Service this morning, but had no band music to help out the singing. The padre is a good one and doesn’t preach at you. In fact all the padres, I’ve heard over here, have been specially uplifting and earnest men. They have managed to create the proper atmosphere for worship. I see and think of many things about which to write but many of these topics are absent without leave, when I do actually sit down to write.

I heard a funny one the other day. Don’t be shocked we’re not lousy yet, but some of us were getting that way before we were treated to that wonderful Fumigatory Process, I told you of. One of our men had a good crop of vermin but he was too tender hearted to kill them in cold blood. So he cast about him for a means of disposing of them. First he tries burying them in the sand and then, upon being remonstrated with about such procedure, he started putting them in his oil boots. It must be getting nearly full by now. It was a wonderful scheme wasn’t it?

I’m getting sick of sitting crosslegged like a Turk and I promised to make a call this afternoon and it’s getting nearly "eats" time again. I had a letter from Bert Rivers last night and he seems to be right in the pink. He expects to come over again, soon perhaps. H. Bellamy may be home by the time you get this. Be sure to look him up. I met Everett Henry early in the week. He had just come over and was looking well. Give my best regards to all.

Yours in F. L. & T. Cannon

P.S. Have just met Pelt McCoy again and had a great chat about Lucknow. He wants to be remembered to Bob Andrew. JCS