Shorncliffe Camp.
England.
Nov. 25., '16.

Dear Mr Aitkin

I am writing to you sitting in my England Home, with my father and sisters & nieces. You can hardly realize what that means to me.

But I must tell you how I got here, for that is really the beginning of my story.

We arrived at Liverpool dock on the 11th, just two weeks ago, and were paraded right to the train, a few rods from the ship, and put into the tiny little compartments of an English train. Inside of a quarter of an hour the little "whistle" sounded, and away we went.

I can hardly describe my sensation of gladness as we sped through the city of Liverpool and out of its streets, crowded with little children, out of the smoke and semi-busyness, into the sunny fields and pastures. I remember teaching some Foreigners the English language in Winnipeg. One of them in a letter to me described his feelings as he landed in America from Poland. He said he knelt down and kissed the soil of what he thought to be a new free country. That is just like I felt as we hurried in those fast smooth running cars through the centre of beautiful England.

And yet I could not feel that it was true. The changing view through the carriage windows seemed like a moving picture exhibition. It was all impossible.

The men in my compartment were men from my own tent, and we had a glorious time. They had for the most part never seen England before and it was fine to listen to their wondering remarks & exclamations of surprise. The number of children astonished us most. As we passed the suburbs of Liverpool they were in crowds at all the streets as we passed, cheering and shouting and waving their arms. The women in the houses and on the streets threw kisses to us. We had a great reception in the towns in Ontario, but the people of England seemed even more enthusiastic.

We arrived at Shorncliffe in Kent about midnight of Saturday & marched in silence through the dark streets to our camp, about two miles away. There half of us were put in huts and the rest in tents; I was unfortunate enough - as it seemed - to be in a tent.

We were served a supper of fish & hot tea, & very glad we were to get it, for we had only had a sandwich since breakfast.

Then began a process of weary waiting, hoping for leave. We understood that each half of the battalion would have six days leave in turn, and we were hoping & hoping. As days went by and delays were always cropping up I grew impatient.

We filled in the time with the old form of drill, & a new variety of physical exercise - good but with little interest to me who was afraid the I might be drafted over to France - as many others had been - without seeing my father & sisters & brothers, etc. Every afternoon we had "pack drill." That is, we went on long route marches, in heavy marching order. It is at this point that I find I am not strong. All forms of physical exercise I find I am able to do, perhaps better than the average. At shooting too I am fairly good; even bayonet fighting does not find me in the rear of the average. But the heavy manual work of marching with that heavy pack tell on me I find. However I can do it, thank God, and dont complain more that the rest.

It had some advantages too, for it helped us to see the beautiful country on the English Channel in the daylight. Everything is dark at night, so we have opportunity to see it any other time. One house we saw was dated 1632, and an ancient church we passed had been built 600 years ago. Oh! it is very beautiful here, with the clinging ivy overgrowing the crumbling walls, and climbing the trees & hedges!

At last however - the second Sunday night after our arrival word suddenly came that we could go the next morning. I could scarcely sleep of course, but managed to doze occasionally.

Now I am interrupted violently. I have received orders to entrain for France and expect to go tonight or tomorrow. This letter has been written in stages, and I can write no more at present.

Suffice it to say that to go home felt the same as I expect to feel in going to heaven.

Well, Mr Aitkin, may God grant you all his richest blessing; & upon you especially may the Holy Spirit descend in richest measure. "Stay with the job," to use a common phrase here, is about all I have time now to write.

Yours with much affection

Thos. W Johnson.

Address:

No. 252656, Pte Thos. W. Johnson
B. Company, 209th Batt.,
Canadian Contingent, B.E.F.
Army Post Office
London, England