May 21, 1942 (Extracts)

I am enjoying the camp life, but must admit it would be much more pleasant were it not for the little winged demons known as midges, knats, or in the army vernacular (unprintable) so duly censored. This little winged dragon is about the size of a fly speck but has the fire power and persistence of a spitfire. The worst of it is that you don’t feel their presence until they have buried their fangs and departed with their pound of flesh. Some of the boys are using citronella but I think I prefer the knats to the smell, so will endure their torment. There is always a sunny side to every story and this is no exception. The little blighters disappear just as soon as the sun gets warm, so it really isn’t so bad after all.

The country side is lovely just now and I must say I think I am going to find our prairies dull and drab after England, especially, the counties of Devon, Sussex, and Surrey. However, I expect I will be so darn glad to see anything Canadian that it will more than balance the account. I had a forty-eight hour leave a week ago and, as had the whole regiment in common with practically the whole 2nd Division, we thought for a time it was the real thing, at last. I went to Barnstead, staying with friends, dating back to the time of my crash. They were very pleased to see me and Mrs. Shopland did her best to tickle my palate. I enjoyed a nice steak, creamed cauliflower, and mashed potatoes, followed by peaches and cream………………