Ward G.
Canadian Milit. Hospital
Nov. 24., '17

My dear Lulu

This is Saturday and I have received your letter dated Oct. 29. And a fine letter it was too. I have been pretty blue for about a week - as you can tell from the last two letters - but I am getting over it. I don't expect to sail until well into January now & am sort of resigned.

You speak of some cards I sent about Oct. 12; I wonder how you liked those I got in Llandudno! The colored nature studies like the "Ivy" & Dahlias & the waves studies I liked very much. Evidently our tastes are similar & that is a very good thing, isn't it?

I wonder whether you like pictures, & which kind you like best! I have been dodging around the art stores here for quite a long time, so that now I am known at a number. I got a Medici print of that painting of Durer (1521) "Hands in Prayer", also half a dozen first impressions of Martini's "On the Western Front". The latter are signed proofs by the artist. Two days ago I was at a store looking at some watercolors by a man named Brown, who paints water scenes beautifully; his blue water seems alive & he is becoming much sought after. I saw one he was just painting - a little thing - & I am going again on Wednesday, & if I have money enough I shall buy it. Just now things like that are pretty cheap. Perhaps I ought not to buy such things in such tragic times when money is so much needed for war purposes, but I persuade myself that as I don't smoke I may buy one or two little souvenirs. I am not supposed to send things like that through the mail so I shall bring them over with me & risk losing them. If a man was only a little wealthy he could buy many beautiful things here.

I think I understand where you mean by 'home'. My sisters are very confused when I speak of home too. They think I mean the latest hospital sometimes; at other times my old circuit; then they think I mean where my father is, & at others at my new circuit, or where you are. I think you mean where you are -, that is which I mean. Is that right?

I can quite appreciate your difficulty about sending anything to Carman or Ainley. I always laugh when I think of some mistakes I have seen. One day I was in the rest camp at Guey Servins, behind the lines. I was in a little Y.M.C.A. hut writing letters when a man came in soaked to the skin & plastered with mud from head to foot - just shining again. He carried in a little parcel he had just received from Canada, & had evidently come in to where he could read his letter & be warm. After sitting down next to me he broke the paper & drew out with his muddy fingers - what do you think? A dainty pair of kid gloves. We all roared out with laughter, as he held them up with the tips of his fingers.

My dear Lulu, you don't need to think badly of yourself at all because you "have helped so few people". Don't you think that to teach those children to love music, to help your mother & father, to cheer such poor folk as myself & Carman & Ainley, & goodness knows how many besides, in real work? Other people do, no matter what your opinion is, & we shall love you for it. It is funny reading too to hear you bemoan the fact that there are no poor to help at Digby, & that they are all Xtrans. What will you do when you get to heaven? Yet it is true in a sense, I suppose, that we must have some vent for our sympathies. How can we be "kind one to another" if no one has a need of anything; or "forgiving" if no one has any fault?

I wonder how Mr. Street walked into the room that day you were playing. You say "just as I thought you would have done." How was that? I have looked forward to that day so long that I don't know how I shall walk in. On all fours likely! I shall have patience on at least one day till 'really Lulu' comes home. I fancy I shall not be 'really Tom' for at least three days, so you must be charitable too.

If I should go to Montreal I should be pleased to make the acquaintance of your aunt there. I wish she lived in Liverpool for I long to go to a private house, & to have a few civilian friends. Let us transfer Kingston & your perfect aunt here, shall we? Could you spare her? If her two girls are little girls it would be most delightful for me, however it might be for her. But perhaps we shall visit her together, & maybe that would be the best way of all.

No, dear Lulu, I do not think you too confidential; I would like you to be even more confidential. When we get together we can talk more openly. This exchanging confidences when we are 3000 miles apart & when it takes six weeks for a reply is not all it might be. But it is very, very nice just the same.

Now I must send this by the post so that you will get it early. Soon it will be Xmas I suppose, & we shall be sending Xmas greetings.

With best love - don't forget that bride's cake you promised.

Yours as ever

Tom