23rd Battalion, C.E.F.,
Dibgate Camp, Shorncliffe.
Sept. 3rd, 1915.

My dearest Mother:

I hope that a week has not gone by since my letter to Dad and that this letter will catch the mail boat on time. I can’t just remember what day last week I wrote; everything has been in such a rush all week. I try to write to one of you each week, but sometimes when I have planned to spend an evening writing something turns up and I am unable to do so, which may or may not be just enough to make my letter miss the mail. For instance, I wrote to Fernie on Sunday and intended to write you on Monday night but we had a night march, on Tuesday I was busy at some work, and on Wednesday night again we went out to the trenches at 7.00 and arrived back at eight in the morning, so my best intentions were upset. Last night I was very tired and dopy, so went down town to see about my waterproof which I had taken in to be lined about three weeks ago. The bally thing got lost somewhere and it took some time to dig it up. However, it arrived O.K. this morning with a fine warm fleece lining in it. It is a rather shabby old thing, but is waterproof in any rain so I had the lining made and buttoned in, and it will be useful for any new coat I may buy. The cold weather is mostly rainy weather here so I expect it to serve in place of a greatcoat to a considerable extent.

I see by the Army orders of a few days ago that the puttee is to be abolished and a high boot substituted for all ranks. It has been found, I think, that the puttee binds the leg and conduces to frost bite in this kind of trench warfare. Of course I expect the puttee will be still used for marching, as a high boot unless excellently made would I fancy be rather irksome. I will be sorry to see the puttee go, for it is very serviceable and business looking.

Speaking of clothes, I am having a new uniform made by a first class military tailor here. Had it tried on to-day and I think it will be very smart. They build an easier fitting garment here than in Canada. I suppose our tailors are not used to making uniforms and haven’t quite got the hang of the fitting yet. My old one is so tight that the buttons are groaning, but otherwise is quite serviceable still for marching, etc., but is getting a little shabby for ’’evening wear”. The tailor says he can let it out under the sleeves and fix it right for me. So there we are all set up with a wardrobe like a London nut.

I have been very fortunate this last week in receiving two letters from little pet Fern, one from Dad, one from you, and one each from Mally and Kae, so I have been feeling quite cheerful. You don’t know how keenly I enjoy hearing from you and how anxiously I watch for the Canadian mail.

Life here is really rather deadly dull just now, although there seems to be plenty of gayety about at times. I think probably it is more a lack of interesting work and a certain feeling of uselessness that annoys us all. I am trying to read up some phases of our work and of course have my habitants to look after. But something is lacking and I think it is the apparent impossibility of finding anything to do which requires an intellectual effort. Everything is more or less mechanical. While we were training our old men we were learning ourselves and our interest was constantly stimulated, but except for the diversity of human character which we bump up against there is little now to raise one’s enthusiasm, unless the pedagogical instinct is very dominant, which it isn’t in most of us. However, we peg along hoping for the best. War, except for the higher ranks, is really rather an uninteresting game, my dear mother. Of course when under actual service conditions I suppose there are opportunities for resource and rapidity of decision which in the training stage it is of course almost impossible to introduce.

Major Smith left yesterday for the front at last. I think he will have about two platoons of his old company in the one he is taking over, so both he and the men will be tickled to death, for they all would crawl a mile to do his slightest behest. Such is the result of firmness combined with real sympathy and that ease of manner which the men seem to recognize instinctively as the cloak of an abiding competency. I hear that the Third Battalion is now up to strength, so if that is true we will possibly have to wait until they put on a show before we get our chance behind the footlights. Its just like being spare on a football team; one doesn’t wish anyone any ill luck, but there is always a hope that somebody will get a bad cold or tired nerves and need a rest. If there are any vacancies we have a friend at court now, anyhow. I suppose you have little sympathy, mother mine, with our keenness to get over there, but really I didn’t come over here to keep the King’s good money in circulation without any effort on our part. I read Milton: ’’They also serve who only stand and wait”, which eases the conscience a little, but doesn’t quiet the nerves very much. However, who knows but I may be on my way to France by tomorrow night. Things seem to move with leaden feet for countless ages and then move with a lightning rapidity that fairly takes one’s breath away. Of course the reason is that Head Quarters is busy like the devil all the time but it is only when the open windows facing down your street that you notice how damn fast the machinery does move! They leave you severely alone for weeks, then suddenly they want a draft perhaps and they want it in twelve hours. Messages and instructions simply buzz over the phone and everybody falls over everyone else trying to work everything in. The men generally get about five different orders at once from different people and decide that everyone in command is a natural born fool. However, they get off equipped and all correct. Fortunately for us, we had two or three old stagers in our company who had left for many wars and when we came to move at eight hours notice we found that many things had been prepared beforehand by the Sgt. Major and there was no confusion.

There has been very little of note happen since I last wrote, but we have been fairly busy with training and routine. I think I mentioned in my last that George Mac. had gone over to France with the Nova Scotian company for the 13th Bn. They were all equipped with Kilts before they left and we nearly had George bluffed that it was necessary for the conducting officer to be dressed like the men. He was very disgusted; there isn’t much Scotch about him but his name. He arrived back a couple of days ago, having been to Havre via Southampton, a different rendezvous from the one we went to. It is the real English base in France, Boulogne being only a troop camp and the Medical Corps base. No supplies or transport go there to speak of. He said that everything was in wonderful order and running like clockwork.

The Third Battalion called for a draft of sixty men the other day and as the new company of the 35th had not yet completed their training we were forced to send them Frenchmen, much to our disgust and the wrath of all the Third Officers here. It is hardly fair to the Third or to the men themselves, as many of them cannot understand English at all, which makes an infernal confusion. Of course they will be all split up and mixed in with other veterans, but all the same it is an infernal nuisance. We have been busy getting them equipped and ready, but orders to move have not yet arrived. Their N.C.O.’s are pretty punk, consequently I had to do a lot of work which we always left the details of to our Q.M. Sergt., and found I had rather a hazy notion of the procedure in many matters. Good N.C.O.’s like we had made it unnecessary to bother about details at all, and the consequence is that we didn’t bother knowing about them. The experience has shown me what absolutely rudimentary ideas of method the average man seems to possess.

The Second Division is due to leave some time next week. I saw Eric Lockhart yesterday and he expected to go on Tuesday. That means the H.Q. Staff is to move then, as he is attached to H.Q. Signalling Section. He looks very well and tells me he is on the water waggon. Poor old Eric, I remember how he used to come to life when anyone suggested a nipper; so I suppose he is safer on the teetotal. The two divisions will form an Army Corps, I suppose, and I hear that an extra Brigade is to be taken over and some of the Mounted Rifles as Array Corps H.Q. Troops. No one knows just what that means, but several crack battalions are looking very pleased about it. The 49th, 42nd of Montreal, 36th of Hamilton, and 48th of B.C. will, I expect, form the Brigade and probably the Western or 1st Brigade of mounted troops. It is very satisfactory because all these are as well organized battalions as there are in Shorncliffe, and have been looking forward to being broken up as reinforcements. It will mean, I suppose, that some more battalions will be brought over from Canada to furnish the base depots. The idea is that one battalion here will reinforce a battalion in each division, meaning that they will need twelve battalions here.

Well I hear that there has been an addition to the Adams family, and I suppose Ethel is as proud as a peacock and more excited than ever. I shall write her a few lines and give her some advice on the care of babies. I believe that is the correct thing to do in these cases.

It was so good of Dad to look up Mr. Bell. I was afraid that he might have some trouble, knowing that gentleman’s elusive habits. I hope he was not put to great deal of trouble. Mr. Bell asked me to drop a line to him so I shall write and thank him for undoubtedly he put it through as he promised he would do his utmost to do. I am very pleased, for if I ever manage to get back to law books again it will be a great encouragement and incentive.

Give my love to all the dear ones, Mother. Don’t worry if I appear to grouch a bit. I suppose things are not as bad as they seem and I am really quite cheerful but very restless and unsatisfied. Spirit of the times more than anything else, I fancy. Everyone is about the same except those whose object in life is to pinch a soft job.

Beardmore wants to take me for a spin in his car. His car is A.1. and I like the country, so I’m off.

Best love,
Your loving son,
Errol.