Letters From the Front

Dated: July 29, 1915

As regards Glasgow , I will relate this case as being one of the most extraordinary cases of telepathy I have yet experienced, and I have had several. I had not seen him for weeks and was beginning to wonder if he had blown himself up with one of his bombs. One night a small working party of eight of us were pro­ceeding up the main communication trench on the way to the front line. For some reason my thoughts turned to Pat and to wondering what had become of him, and I thought, supposing I meet him now in this trench, of doing which there was about one chance in a thousand. Well I just walked about five yards further and ran right into him also with a party of about eight. I only had time to touch his hand and to tell him I was only that moment thinking of him and we had passed. However, the next time we came out of the trenches I determined to try and find his billet and was astonished to find he had been billeted within a mile of me the whole time.

Things have been very quiet in this part of the line, but on Monday we got a little excitement. The previous day we had enjoyed watching the effects of shell fire on a farm house about one hundred and fifty yards from my dugout where we were in support. There is always a humorous side to everything even out here, and to see the fellows beating it away from that farm like fowls when a fox has suddenly appeared in their farmyard, was very funny. The Corporal of our section, a British Columbian born, laughed loudest of all. Well, they shelled it again the next morning, and everyone was either ignoring it or interestedly watching the effects again. Suddenly they elevated the range about one hundred and fifty yards and then the laugh was against us.

The first one dropped exactly opposite my dugout; I paced it afterwards and found it fifteen yards; the second one was within ten yards of it. Thirty seconds sooner and I should have been outside, as I had just been washing and stepped inside my dugout as the first one burst. They say the British army never runs when retreating, but the way we beat it from those dugouts was nothing slow; I was very décolleté at the time, but I didn't even stop to grab my cap.

The whole thing was really very amusing, but to understand the real humour of it one must know the exact circumstances and our position, which I fear it will take too long to explain. Our Corporal, who was laughing so loudly just previously, got a splinter in his shoulder. There were three or four got nabbed in our troop, but two of them walked away to get their wounds dressed. The most extraordinary escape of all was that of an old chap who shared the same dugout with me. When the first shell burst he was lying flat on his tummy reading, about seven yards from the dugout, and consequently nearest to the first shell. The fact of his being quite fiat at the time probably saved him. But it is all a game of chance, particularly in this long range shell fire, where one is continually in range and even civilians too, and yet shells may not come once in six months.

I was wondering what has become of Rebay. Did he ever get out of Canada last fall?