bad smells I got a whiff of a hedgerow in
bloom. The birds perch on the trees over our heads and twitter away as
if there was nothing to worry about. Bonfire is still well. I do hope he
gets through all right.

Flanders, March 30th, 1915.

The Brigade is actually in twelve different places. The ammunition
column and the horse and wagon lines are back, and my corporal visits
them every day. I attend the gun lines; any casualty is reported by
telephone, and I go to it. The wounded and sick stay where they are till
dark, when the field ambulances go over certain grounds and collect. A
good deal of suffering is entailed by the delay till night, but it
is useless for vehicles to go on the roads within 1500 yards of the
trenches. They are willing enough to go. Most of the trench injuries are
of the head, and therefore there is a high proportion of killed in
the daily warfare as opposed to an attack. Our Canadian plots fill up
rapidly.

And here is one last note to his mother:

On the eve of the battle of Ypres I was indebted to you for a letter
which said "take good care of my son Jack, but I would not have you
unmindful that, sometimes, when we save we lose." I have that last happy
phrase to thank. Often when I had to go out over the areas that were
being shelled, it came into my mind. I would shoulder the box, and "go
to it".

At this time the Canadian division was moving south to take its share in
the events that happened in the La Bassee sector. Here is the record:

Tuesday, June 1st, 1915.

1-1/2 miles northeast of Festubert, near La Bassee.

Last night a 15 pr. and a 4-inch howitzer fired at intervals of five
minutes from 8 till 4; most of them within 500 or 600 yards--a very
tiresome procedure; much of it is on registered roads. In the morning I
walked out to Le Touret to the wagon lines, got Bonfire, and rode to
the headquarters at Vendin-lez-Bethune, a little village a mile
past Bethune. Left the horse at the lines and walked back again. An
unfortunate shell in the 1st killed a sergeant and wounded two men;
thanks to the strong emplacements the rest of the crew escaped. In the
evening went around the batteries and said good-bye. We stood by while
they laid away the sergeant who was killed. Kind hands have made two
pathetic little wreaths of roses; the grave under an apple-tree, and
the moon rising over the horizon; a siege-lamp held for the book. Of
the last 41 days the guns have been