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Letters from “Jack the soldier” during WWII – writing from the trenches in Holland

Well, this is a humbling letter. That’s pretty much all I have to say about it – his words say more than I ever could.

A couple of things – Boche was slang for Germans, and the Boche potato mashers were German grenades.

M11915 CPL Martin JS

6 Platoon Support Coy

Calgary Highlanders

C.A.O

16th Oct 1944

Holland

Dear Folks,

Thanks again for your super letter written Sept 28th. It arrived this evening so it didn’t take as long as the last one to get here.

I am writing this in my dugout and have only a flickering old candle made by myself out of some fat I scrounged from the cooks, so don’t blame me if you strain your eyes reading this.

This dugout I mentioned, is not very deep, as the ground is very sandy and it keeps caving in. I hunted up an old lumber pile and laid lots of heavy board on top, covered that over with soil, then placed the turf back on over the entrance. I have a couple of groundsheets which help keep the rain out. It also keeps this little light from shining. As you can imagine, I haven’t much room. But after I have been in for a while, it gets kinda cozy and it is a lot warmer than sleeping out on top.

Every place we go these days we carry a shovel, and dig ourselves below ground level. Then if we stay over-nite, we dig it deeper and try to get a top on it. The darn things won’t keep a shell out, but I feel heaps safer in one. Sort of ostrich like complex, if I can’t see out, I figure they can’t see in, and the top keeps a lot of shrapnel from buzzing in.

I remember the first time I was under shell fire. We had taken over positions from the Boche, and as he had been there some time, trenches had already been dug with roofs over them. The shells were coming over very thinly(?), and we could hear the whine a long ways off. I used to think it kind of a big joke to beat the shell to my trench. It was rather exciting, but at first not dangerous. It wasn’t until there were several casualties that I began to see the serious side of it, and still I hadn’t learned my lesson. Our next step was thru Caen. All our vehicles were perched very prettily on a hill and I had just stepped out of our jeep, when Bang. All hell broke loose. I dived for the lowest spot I could see, and in between shells I scooped out the ground with my hands to get a spot to bury my head in. For an hour they came over and I was a pretty scared boy. When the shells quit for a while, I beat the wind getting below ground. There was nothing around to use for a roof, so for the next three days I shivered in that hole. When it rained everything turned to mud, and the concussion of shells landing close, blew the sides of the trench in. So now next to my good old _____? I push my shovel.

It’s hard to describe things as they were during that first month around Caen. I watched a 1000 bombers blast hell out of Caen. Turning day into nite with the smoke they raised. Distances were measured in yards, and there was a dead body every yard. Every village was pounded and re-pounded until it was a heap of rubble, the stink, ruin, and cries of the dying and wounded just about drove me insane. There was no let up, day or nite. After we broke away from Caen, it was a little easier. When I went to hospital near Falaise, I figured I was lucky, and the two weeks out gave me a chance to rest up and stop my nerves from jumping. It used to be if I heard any sudden noise or if anyone spoke to me suddenly I’d jump a mile. But the rest fixed me up again. After coming out, it was a lot easier except for the odd day or two. I rather enjoyed the rest of the trip thru France. The people were very friendly and gave us all kinds of fruit and stuff they had been saving for years. Things got a little difficult thru Belgium as it, like Holland, has so many canals, and Jerry put a fight up at each one. This blasted country looks as tho it s going to be the worst of all, as on top of all the other things, it is cold and wet.

As for me, I have kept in quite good health, but I won’t be sorry when it is all over.

My job these days is to pick up mines, check on booby traps, and other fiendish contraptions, as well as doing the odd spot of stem? shooting.

The biggest percentage of the new recruits have never even heard of a booby trap. (God knows how they have been trained in Canada). So being a Cpl, I have to worry about them, as well as myself. One thing the most of them have is guts, and they learn pretty fast here, or they don’t last long. Things on the whole aren’t too bad. We usually manage to have lots of fun between times.

Don’t worry Edna about the mistake you made in my number. I noticed on the letter that came before this. If it is addressed to the unit, it will reach me. When I was in hospital all my mail went astray. Letters from my wife in England didn’t reach me until long after I returned to the unit. I didn’t know I was a “Daddie” until nearly a month after and a telegram that Eileen sent informing me of the news took 2 months to reach me. Now that I’m back my mail situation is better. But still some of the parcels you sent haven’t arrived, and you can bet that burns me up. But when they do I’ll let you know, when they come.

Tell Percy he hasn’t anything on me when it comes to fishing. I don’t need any line or reel. If we get near a canal, we drop half a dozen Boche potato mashers in, and if there is any fish around, they sure come up. But I believe I would rather do it his way.

Well folks, I guess I’ll soon have to finish this as my candle is getting very low. Thanks again for your letters, and I will drop you a line soon again. I hope it will be a fairly quiet night here, but I suppose that is asking too much.

My little Julie Ann is doing famously. I’m waiting on a picture of her, my wife tells me she looks like me, poor kid. It is over two months old now and is getting bigger every day. I can hardly believe it is true yet. But I’m longing for all this to end so that I can see her for myself. I tell the wife all about my times at the C.L. So don’t be surprised if some day, we all pay you a visit.

God damned guns have started up again and just about to blow my candle out every time they fire. So will say so long and All the Best to you all

Sincerely, Jack.

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Letters from “Jack the Soldier” during WWII – a letter from his wife Eileen

Ah food, the universal language of love. Who doesn’t love a good blueberry pie? On the note of non universal languages, and the different ways that English speaking people can name the same thing – I was living in the states for a good 5 years before I figured out that a parking garage was the same thing as a parkade. As a Canadian kid, I’d always assumed the Fisher Price Parking Garage was some sort of mechanic shop where you took your car in to be repaired and filled up with gas. Not that it was just a parkade with a cool elevator. I loved the Parking Garage, but didn’t have one – I hade to go “all the way” to my aunt’s place and play with it along with my cousins in their basement. It was a great toy.

Thursday December 18th, 1944

Dear Edna:-

Hope you don’t mind me being so informal, but I prefer to be “Eileen” to people – it’s more friendly – so hope you feel the same way.

Have just collected some pictures of my handsome hero and thought as you’ve been so good to him, you’d like a copy. It’s a super one of him taken off a studio one he gave me on our first wedding anniversary.

I heard from him yesterday and he wrote from Paris, where he was on a 48 hour pass. Certainly had a good time and must have spent a fortune on presents and souvenirs for Julie and I and my folks. Sure hope they arrive safely after all his trouble buying them.

No doubt by now you have received my first letter – hope so. Jack will be pleased I’ve written you I know as he specially asked me to try to scribble off a letter to you now and again.

How’s that young rascal Marshall? Don’t tell me he isn’t, because he really looks it. What is the eldest girl’s name? I don’t think Jack has told me – if so I”m afraid I’ve forgotten.

I was reading an article in the paper where the Canadians say “spool of thread” where we say “reel of cotton” and one or two other things are tubbing (??) the newly arrived wives of Canadians – hm! Methinks I’ll have quite a game getting myself understood, but I’ll have to start taking easy lessons. Someone tells me the cooking over there is different – oh me! I’ll have to go to school or something. Never mind, Jack’s easy to please and is always willing to help, – so I’ll get by. He loved Blueberry Pie – what are Blueberries? – are they similar to Black Currants? I imagine so, because I made him a Pie with Black Currant filling and he promptly called it Blueberry Pie! I knew then that he’d enjoyed it!

Mother has gone to Birmingham for a few weeks, as my sister is having another baby and it seems she’s likely to have quite a time – her blood-pressure is very high. I’m acting “Head-Cook and Bottle-Washer” whilst she’s gone and with a baby to look after, I’m having quite a time – no time to worry! At least I still get out in the afternoons though for our walk, so I’m not doing so badly and no one has grumbled yet! Time will tell though. Julie is so good though, I have very little trouble her – she really draws a lot of attention to herself when we’re out. If anyone looks at her she gives them a smile and if they speak to her she really goes to town and does her best to tell them all about it. She loves to kick and squeals away, then chuckles. She amuses me as well as herself.

Well, I must close now, as my dad and sister have arrived in and are hungry. So must away and feed them.

So long now, will try and write again soon and maybe send some more pictures. Until then, God Bless you all, and may you have a very happy New Year.

Sincerely

Eileen Martin

Back of photo: When Julie was about 2 1/2 weeks old
Back of photo: Julie at 3 weeks old
Back of photo: Julie at 2 months

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Letters from “Jack the Soldier” during WWII – this time a letter from “Bill”

So we hear from this “Bill” that Jack mentioned in his letters. I think this letter was sent in 1940, maybe 41 but I’m not sure. He didn’t date the year, and it wasn’t legible on the envelope.

Bill is the man in one of the photos from yesterdays’ post and Jack has mentioned him a few times before. It’s fun to get to know him a bit through his letter.

PtE WHJ Harris M11295

A Coy 1st Calgary Highlanders

C/O Cnd 5th inf CASF

Base Post Office

Overseas

To Mr and Mrs Percy Copithorne

Just a few lines after a long while hoping they will find you and the family in the very best of health as it leaves me still in one piece. Well you will see by the address that I am quite a long way from Canada and it is needless to say I have wished myself back there quite a few times. I tell you milking cows and pitching bundles is not so bad after all.

Well we had a wonderful trip over here and I enjoyed every bit of it. Wasn’t even seasick. The people give us quite a greeting when we landed and they have been very good to us since. things are quite strange to me after being out there for so long I did not think it would be so different, and the Air Raids and Blackouts does not help it any, but however I am getting kind of used to it now and get a long not too bad.

I was home and spent 5 days with my mother. Something I have lived for ever since I joined up. I took her out quite a bit while I was home, to picture shows and concerts, so I had a grand time for 5 days.

Well Edna, how is the weather over there? It seems to rain about every half hour over here and it seems awfully cold. I have been damn near froze ever since I have been here. Jack Martin is over here, we quite often go downtown together.

Well Edna, I can’t give you very much news as you know, but however if I can still hang onto my scalp I hope to be back there some day and then I can tell you all about it.

Please remember me to the kids and I hope they are both ok. Well, I will say Cherrio for the present.

From your old friend Bill.

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Letters from “Jack the Soldier” during WWII – air raids and cowboys

I’m feeling a bit invested in Jack’s life. I still have no idea who he is or how things turned out for him, but I’m loving his letters.

M11915-PtE J. Martin

Calgary Highlanders

C/O Overseas Base P.O.

London, England C.A.S.F.

September 4th, 1940

Hello Percy and Edna

Just a line to let you know that I am ok and feeling fine. How is everything with you folks? I hope you are not overly worked, but I know you must be busy, especially at this time of the year.

Bill and I are having a pretty good time together, he has bought himself an old accordion and we manage to wheeze out something like a tune out of the old wheeze-box. We have quite a lot of fun, playing darts, a game which is popular over here. Bill is quite an expert and always manages to beat me.

The weather is rotten right now over here, it is always raining or going to rain, and it seems to be very cold. I almost freeze to death in this weather. I always thought I could stand lots of cold, but this weather seems to seep right through a fellow. I don’t know what I”m going to do when winter comes, probably I’ll get used to it if I live long enough.

Well, I managed to get five days leave, and I sure enjoyed my holiday. I think we stationed in the worst part of the country. Once we get away from this vicinity, we have a good time, the only trouble about going on leave and having some fun is the thought of coming back here again.

I paid a little visit to London while I was away. There happened to be a big air raid that day, and I had a grandstand seat to watch it. There is no doubt about our airmen being far superior to Jerry <a nickname given to German soldiers- I didn’t know that so maybe you didn’t either>. They knocked out 113 that day, not a bad going. Old Adolf must be having quite a headache at the way things are turning out.

Of course in a city the size of London, there is bound to be some damage as there is always something to be hit when Jerry drops his load at random, but I think the papers over stress it a little. There is lots of streets untouched, and even where damage is done it does not take very long to fix it up. A person can still travel quite safely wherever he wishes, and business goes on as usual.

I wish I could put on paper the spirit these people show at a time like this, but mere words can’t show just what they are. Every man, woman, and child deserves a medal for bravery and coolness in London, and lots of it never gets into the papers. You can see stores partly demolished and windows blown in, but the big worry is to reopen as soon as possible. The women and kids are wonderful. I’m afraid most of us would get panic stricken and get discouraged if our houses were bombed over us, or had to jump like a rabbit down into our air raid shelter every time a siren screams, but the kiddies just play on as usual, and take it just as a matter of course. If Hitler thinks he can scare these folks by bombing them, he sure is barking up the wrong tree, for they won’t scare in a thousand years. What gets us mad is not being able to do anything about it. The safest place these days seems to be in the army, but as the boys say “There’ll come a day.”

We had some Canadian mail the other day and I sure was surprised to get a parcel from you. The mince pie was swell although it had started to turn a little, and that shortbread was wonderful. I don’t suppose you figured on it travelling all the way over here, but it was welcome. Thanks ever so much Edna, thank you too Red-Head, you’re a swell cook.

Sorry I wasn’t able to visit all those people you wrote in your letter about. I’ll save their addresses, and stop over and see them on my way back. I sure would have liked to see them, but this man’s army doesn’t think much of what any single soldier wants, but make damn good and sure he does what they want.

Well, there sure isn’t much news as yet. Bill and I are keeping fine, he got a letter from Harry the other day, giving all the news, I was sorry to hear old man Oliver had died. Everybody seems to be keeping alright, although Mrs. Harry seemed to be sore about a horse that had bucked her off. Wish I had been there to see it.

I had quite a time here when some of the Englishmen found out I used to work on a ranch, they wanted me to stage a rodeo all by myself lonesome, but as there were no bucking horses to ride, no calves to throw, it didn’t turn out to be much of a success. They were awfully disappointed when I couldn’t yodel as they think every cowboy was a born yodeller. I have quite a time convincing them that it was quite sate to go to sleep on the prairie without being afraid of getting scalped by Indians, or eaten by wolves or bears. I think most of them prefer the safety of a dugout than the thought of living in Canada I guess it takes all kinds of people to make a world.

Well, I think I’ll sign off for now. Thanks again for the parcel and the letter. I know you are busy and it is hard for you to get time to write. Say hello to Clarence and everyone for me. Hope Sheila and Marsh are keeping well. As usual give love to the cook. I always try to keep on the good side of the cook.

Best wishes to you both

Jack

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Letters from “Jack the Soldier” during WWII – Thanks for the Candy

This is the kind of stuff that makes history so fascinating to me. I have always been much more interested in social history than political history – although these letters are a bit of both, it’s the humanness of the time, the emotions and personal stories that go with the incredible hard times of war that interest me. The human sprit is amazing.

4th August, 1940

Dear Percy and Edna

Thanks for the small box of candy, it sure hit the spot alright. I must say I was too surprised for words when my name was called at mail parade, as I had not been expecting anything and I can barely explain just how pleased I was to hear from you both and I must admit that I never tasted or made better candy. A fact which everybody who tasted it admits. Boy of boy, how some of my pals liked it, and they told me to tell you it sure was good.

Well the old army life is still going strong, although there has been quite a change at the camp. Most of the tents are gone now. Almost a thousand workmen have been busy since we came here erecting new huts and most of the men are sleeping inside now, at least there is a roof over our heads, but windows and doors are lacking just yet, but I suppose by the time this reaches you these will all be fitted in.

It sometimes is hard to write a letter and give all the news that you would like, but we have to be extremely careful what we write, as letters might possibly get into other hands, before reaching their destination, so I’ll try and give you an idea just of what we do, without mentioning any dates, or rumours or what we hear. I have been taking rifle and machine gun practice lately, and I must confess that with a rifle I am not just what I’d like to be, although I suppose with more practice I might possibly become a fair shot. With the machine gun I tested good so far, and do I love to run one of those babies. Hitler better not let me get a lock on him, unless he want so to die sudden like. Drilling hasn’t been very much stressed so far, but more emphasis on rifle and machine gun practice. I suppose the idea is that to be expert in shooting and knowing your machine is much better than to be able to do a left or right turn correctly, and anyway these things are more important.

Troops in the more advanced stages enact field maneuvers, in fact do everything here that would be essential in a hostile country. In every kind of weather that happens to come, they stay out for two or three weeks at a time and act out just as if they were in the front line, all kinds of maneuvers. And talking about the weather, this part of the country can be changed from the driest, dustiest hole to the wettest, coldest, most miserable spot anywhere or anyplace.

I’m afraid if you keep mentioning hot biscuits again you’ll have a deserter on your hands. When I read your letter, I just imagined I was back there again, wolfing hot biscuits by the dozen into me again, and it was only by experiencing every ounce of self control that I didn’t go out and jump the first train west, for that is one thing the army doesn’t positively make hot biscuits. I get hungry just thinking about them.

I haven’t heard of either Bill Harris or Charlie Robinson in camp so far, but I’ll try and find out at Headquarters just where they are, and give you news. As this camp is so large, it is like trying to find a needle in a haystack for any one person unless you know on good authority just where he is.

So you have a little red-head Scotch lassie helping you now. Well I always had a crush on little red-heads especially if they are Scottish so you might give a guy her name, you might possibly coax her to write, letters are always welcome, providing of course if the boyfriend doesn’t object too much.

I went up to see Mel Jones just before I left Calgary and he told me all about Kay getting married to the Watkins salesman. He didn’t seem to think much of it. Kay wrote me a long time ago when I was down at Picture Butte, and told me she would probably be getting married. I hope she gets along ok. How is my old, or should I say young friend Claudia, the school marm? I suppose she will be married by now and living in the house on the hill. Tell her I was inquiring about her if you happen to see her.

Often I stop and think about the times I had out there on the ranch. Is old Dolly or whatever her name is still alive? I remember now it’s ______? And she is a he. It was the only horse that I could stick on and not be scared to death that I would get bucked off from. I laugh to myself now, how I used to think what a cowpoke I was. These days seem so far away now, tho in reality it was not so long ago, but things have changed so fast in the last year that when you start reviewing everything it seems almost impossible that they would happen in such a short space of time.

Well this letter seems to be taking on the proportions of a book, so I had better wait a few days and write you another letter, I don’t know whether I’ll be able to send any snaps of myself this time, as I haven’t had them returned yet from the studio, but I’ll see about them if they come before I mail this letter.

Give my regards to everybody especially Sheila and Marshall. Oh, don’t forget the redhead either. Thanks again for the wonderful candy and to Hell with Hitler.

Sincerely Jack

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Letters from “Jack the Soldier” during WWII

I have no idea how my grandparents knew Jack, but there are several letters here from him. Some are from Camp Shilo in Manitoba where he went for training, and some are from overseas.

One of my favourite university classes was the history of Canada during the World Wars, and so I find this kind of stuff fascinating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen photos of Camp Shilo before, certainly not “real” ones that didn’t come from history books or archives.

Anyway, here’s the first of the War letters. Enjoy!

Sun on July 1940

Dear Percy and Edna

Well I am just raring to go. I left Calgary last Tuesday, and arrived here at Shilo Wednesday about four o’clock. It sure is an impressive sight seeing this camp for the first time, rows upon rows of tents, lined up in mathematical precision, and everything is slick and span, which seems to be part of the soldiers deities.

The first time a person comes here, a tension, or underlying excitement seems to grip one, all the hustle and bustle and stirs of the camp seems to change the atmosphere, and unconsciously one gets adapted to the rules and regulations of the camp.

I am still in the awkward squad, but I hope to be up with some of the other fellows in the next couple of weeks, who have been here a while, and as I like the work, and take an interest in it, I get along a lot better than lots of those, who find drilling just monotonous drilling.

The first time that a bunch of us new recruits got together for drilling was sure an experience. The sergeants in charge forgot to speak English and it is really confusing the first time one yells “A-Hee”(???) that he means stand At Ease. The army has more abbreviations for commands than you can shake a stick at and everyone seems to accent them differently.

One of the finest sights is to watch the Highlanders marching to the skirl of the Pipes, the gay colourful plays, and the sound of marching, everyone moving with automatic precision sure stirs the blood, and makes me proud to belong to this unit. There is a great deal of rivalry existing between different units, sometimes not so friendly at that and new recruits soon get to possess a possessive feeling concerning their unit and think it superior to any other.

I sure was disappointed at not being able to get out to see you before I left, but leave is hard to get unless one has been in the army six months or more but I’ll try and get out there the first chance I have but in the meantime I’ll write and let you know how things are going. I’ll enclose some snaps of the camp from time to time, and I’ll ask you to keep them for me until I get back, as they will be good souvenirs to have.

Many of the boys that I became aquatinted with from around Lethbridge are here, and and as everyone is so friendly I haven’t had tome yet to get lonely.

I haven’t come across Bill Harris since I came here, but perhaps I’ll see him if he still is in camp, it is quite hard to find a certain person among so many thousands unless I know his company or Number.

It seems as though the next page/pages of the letter are missing. Not sure if the army took them, or if over the course of the last 80 years things just vanished. However, there are lots more letters from “Jack the Soldier” as well as several photos. So, I will continue to share what I have and be grateful for that!

Panoramic photos before they were a thing. These photos had directions to overlap them so that the entirety of the camp could be seen.
A little bit more of the camp that didn’t fit into the first set of photos
Jack Martin. Signed up June 29th (1940) at Lethbridge, Alberta. M11915, Calgary Highlanders C-A-S-F
Cameron Highlanders practicing. Shilo Camp. The Goat is their Mascot (July 25, 1940)
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Old Fashioned Love Letters ❤️

My Grandpa has made me realize that I’ve never been properly courted by a suitor, particularly not by someone sending me good old fashioned love letters. We have really lost something with the move to digital methods of communication over that of paper and pen. Not only are the words beautiful, but the penmanship is magnificent. I remember being told that my Grandpa was born left handed, but had it smacked out of him with a ruler when he started school. As a fellow leftie I was grateful the days of ruler rapping on knuckles was a thing of the past and I was able to learn to write with my left hand. His writing though was impressively neat and clear and the ups and downs of the pen quite attractive to look at while reading.

I’m reading these letters, realizing that they are dated 10-11 years before my mom was born, a couple of years before my grandparents were married, while they were getting to know each other. In late 1929 to early 1930, there was a period of a few months where my Grandma accompanied her mother to Ontario to visit their family out there, and it seems this was in the early stages my Grandpa courting my Grandma. Hence the letters.

My Grandpa talks of the moon, of the chinook winds blowing, of the creek, and ties it all to her – to my Grandma – and how he feels about her.

Why don’t we do this anymore? They’re beautiful and moving and I feel so honoured to have a little peek into their private garden where their love was growing.

And while there’s talk of cows, it’s not only cows. It’s about horses (yay) and which one he thinks she would like (like me one of the best ways to get to Grandma’s heart was through horses it seems). It’s about the people they both know and what they’re up to. It’s about any gossip she should know. Mostly though his talk was about how much he missed her and how he was looking forward to her being back home.

They are so romantic and sweet and I feel very blessed to have read them. I know life for both of them was also full of challenges. Both world wars, the depression of the 1930s (while they were newly married and having babies), the ups and downs of ranching, the impact polio had on their family, and just the regular stresses of life. And yet, here in the midst of it are these moments of tenderness.

It’s beautiful ❤️

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Anxiously awaiting her arrival

Waiting for baby! This little treasure is a letter my grandpa wrote to my grandma while she was in Calgary waiting for birth of their first child. My aunt wasn’t born until March 13, so my grandma had a bit of time waiting at this boarding place for her baby to come. I’m sure it was difficult on both of them (but extremely kind of my aunt to arrive just before calving started haha).

They must have been so excited. Hopefully I find another letter from after the baby was born!

Buster seems to have been the name of many of their dogs. My childhood companion on many of my adventures was their last Buster and I loved him dearly.

Jumping Pound

Mon, Feb 25th, 1935

Dear Edna

Here I am and it seems like old times writing you again. Only things are a little different eh.

I hope you are feeling fine and not so lonesome as I. Gee things sure are dull around here now. Talk about quietness. Even Buster’s lonesome every morning, he goes into your room to see if you are home and comes out again with a kind of a dejected inquiring look.

Annie went to the Old Timer’s in /Cochrane with Jack and Nan and the rest. Had a good time etc. the dance here for next Friday is to come off on Monday cause May Bowlen flirted with Frank Sibbald and got him to set the date to suit herself.

A social credit meeting is being held in the hall tomorrow night. I wish you were here and able to come. I don’t know who the speakers are.

The night I came home from town I got on my horse and rode to George’s with Archie so as to be able to ride to the Stoney Reserve next day. We left George’s at 7 o’clock in the morning and didn’t get home until 7 at night.

We went clear up to the Kananaskis where we went fishing two years ago and found one head of Sam’s cattle. It was running with some Indian cattle. There is a relief camp up there now making roads. I saw some nice little fir trees I’d like to bring home and transplant. Maybe next summer we can go up and get some.

Say, do you know what? Charlie has accepted my Dad’s offer on his place through Tom Cairns. The other fellows couldn’t collect enough cash. I don’t know whether Dad wants to close the deal or not. He is going up to see him tomorrow. Better keep this under your hat until things are official.

I have been riding all day – until half past three. Harold is feeding the cattle in Springbank.

How do you like your boarding place? I hope you are having a real holiday. I wish I went in on Sunday in a way as it seems so long till next Sunday unless “things” happen in the mean time.

I got the battery charged on the Delco again. I started to fix the chair and found one spring missing. Looked everywhere for it but “could no find” so I’ll look for one out of an old bed spring somewhere.

There is a letter from Jean and I am readdressing it to you so look for it too. I thought of opening it and phoning the news to you as I thought she might be possible going to Calgary during the weekend. But I hate opening letters for anybody.

Frank Sibbald just phoned and gee I was all aquiver as I thought it was a central ring. I sure with the suspense was over.

Well “sweetheart mine” I am plumb out of news so I guess I’ll have to quit anyway. I did pretty good for an old codger and here’s hoping you are fine.

From your old man

Percy

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A convocation of eagles

We were driving to town yesterday and looked at the slough on the way by to see if the swans were still here.

As an aside, a couple of weeks ago the girl and I were out in the yard when we heard what we thought was the strangest sounding clown car going by on the road. Turns out it was the honking of a flock of swans. Much different than the honking of a flock of geese these guys were – an elegant looking, but clown car sounding flock flying overhead. We are still laughing about it.

Anyway, we looked over and to our surprise and delight, instead of
swans there was a convocation of eagles. Is 4 enough for a convocation? Either way, they were magnificent! I love eagles and have been blessed with several eagle sightings this year. There are many interpretations of the significance of seeing eagles – to me they represent courage, strength, power, bravery, independence, and a connection to the divine. Added bonus is how amazingly beautiful they are.

How amazing is this???
God’s love and beauty
When I looked at this photo, I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what the eagle on the far right was doing.
The funky chicken???? What on earth??
Oh, never mind, it was just a crow flying in front of him.

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happiness

Compassionate friendships

The letters I have been reading have highlighted for me the deep, caring friendships that Grandma had with some of the women in her life. I wrote yesterday about her friendship with my Godmother, and how they bonded together after Uncle George died. There has been another set of letters I’ve found from Aunt Gertie that have helped me see that the kindness I remember emanating from Aunt Gertie really seemed to be a deep part of her personality – of who she was – and also how Grandma and Aunt Gertie (who lost her husband, another Uncle George, in the 1950s) shared a bond of friendship that I don’t think I ever appreciated.

Grandma and Aunt Gertie passed away exactly 2 weeks apart in April of 2004. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long ago, and also hard to believe that much time has passed. As the mom of an almost 20 year old, I feel that odd passage of time on many levels.

But way before that, when they were women living out in the country in a time when isolation was a way of life, they forged a friendship. I’d imagine it began during the time that Aunt Gertie stayed here with Grandma and Grandpa, before she married and moved onto have a family of her own. I only have half of the letters they sent to each other. I have to guess from things Aunt Gertie says to Grandma what it was that Grandma had written in her letters.

But there were times when Grandma had major life events (tragedies) occur and there would be a letter from Aunt Gertie giving love and support. But more than that, she showed deep compassion and understanding for whatever issue it was that Grandma was dealing with. She would open her heart and share deep emotions and private life events to attempt to help Grandma feel less alone and more loved.

From what little I know about Aunt Gertie’s life, she certainly had some struggles and challenges and heartaches to deal with. Yet whenever I would see her I was greeted with a big smile and made to feel welcome. It is the same sense I get of her from the letters I have found. It’s inspiring, the reminder to be kind, be compassionate, be thoughtful to others no matter what.

There are so few stories of women from the past, their histories being lost and the importance of their lives forgotten. I feel very honoured to have found the treasure of “voices from the past” for some of the women who came before me.

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