The Great Adventure


23 September 1914

Redmond College, Kingsport, Nova Scotia

Bonny Laddie,

Indeed, I would like to see you in a kilt. Though, all things considered, it's probably a good thing I haven't. Perhaps when you get home.

Our little Red Cross is off to a good start. So many girls showed up to our first meeting that we didn't have enough chairs and I had to stand on a table and shout to be heard. They've elected me President and Di is head of the hospital committee. I moved to make Nan secretary and now she's cross with me, but maybe keeping minutes will tire her hand out.

Our first task is sewing sheets. Hundreds upon hundreds of sheets. Kingsport hospital will have the best-stocked linen closet in North America and we'll still have enough to fill an entire transport ship for the English hospitals.

We're meeting on Friday in the Sophomore Class common room to make a little stitching party of it. Hopefully this one will be less eventful than the last. Emily Thompson and Laura Braithwaite got into a shouting match over some boy who's been writing to both of them and Hazel Marckworth spilled an entire pitcher of lemonade over the stack of hemmed sheets. I do what I can to keep the peace, but sometimes I think it would be easier if I just carried a switch with me and kept them in line like mules.

So you're off marching in circles and I'm here trying to keep the girls from killing one another while we sew miles of straight, white hems. I guess war isn't exciting after all.

I must go and study a little. It would be terribly embarrassing to have to resign my post as President because I flunked out of school. Remind me again why I'm taking chemistry?

Thinking of you always. Even more now, with the kilt.

Til all the seas gang dry,

Faith


2 October 1914

Québec City

Dear Nan,

I don't have much time to write. We are aboard the transport ship Scotian and leave in the morning.* I will write on board and send you a good, long letter once we arrive.

But before I go, I just wanted to send a line to tell you that I'm thinking of you always. As sorry as I am to be away from Kingsport this term, I am that glad to imagine you there, safe and busy. Say hello to Di and Faith for me — I hear that they are keeping you occupied, and I am grateful.

We took the train down from Valcartier and arrived in Québec City in a terrific downpour. You can't imagine the scene of loading all these ships. They have to bring them in close to the shore one at a time and then send them out to wait where they are out of the way. I'm sure we were quite a sight and sound as well — the boys sang "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" while we were on the move. It seemed an odd choice to me, but I guess most everyone knows the words — though the boys in my section did make certain adjustments to the lyrics that I dare not repeat here.

All day, I have had the words of the old Mariner's Psalm running through my mind —

Thy works of glory, mighty Lord
Thy wonders in the deeps,
The sons of courage shall record
Who trade in floating ships.

— and laughing to remember how Faith always insisted on singing "sheeps."

We are off now on the great adventure. I am not worried about the crossing and you should not be either. We are going in a vast convoy — thirty transport ships, accompanied by several of the big old cruisers, two battleships, and another half-dozen escort ships. Let a U-boat get within range of us and it will be sorry it did.

Such a vast operation — 30,000 men, 8,000 horses, 70 big guns, and hundreds upon hundreds of vehicles. I suppose a censor might black that out, but we are loading in plain sight of Québec City, and our going is no secret. As Aunt Ellen says, the Kaiser is a danger to the whole world, and we Canadians will do our bit to save Old England and France as well. I wonder what all the long-dead kings of France would make of their old enemies preparing to descend on French soil to defend, not to conquer. Nous allons défendre, et pas conquérir — does that look right to you?

They're beginning to collect the mail. I must sign off or you won't get this note at all. All my love, Nan. I'll write when we reach England.

Au revoir,

Jerry


2 October 1914

Québec City

Dear Faith,

You are taking chemistry because we were going to study together. I have certainly forgotten all I ever knew of it (if I ever knew any at all) and despair of my marks when I return to school after all this. You'll have to bring me back up to speed, or you may find me repeating a year of medical school, which will not suit either of us, I expect.

But let that go for the moment.

It occurs to me that you may not know the story of what happened to the blue-bordered handkerchief you lost the summer you were 15. Do you remember it? It was very fine linen, with two little bands of blue lace stitched around the hem and your initials in the corner. You lost it at church one Sunday.

I suppose I could tell you more about it now, but I think I will save that story for when I arrive safely in England. Do you have any guesses?

Don't worry about us, Faith. Our convoy has a strong escort. I'll write when we land.

I love you.

Tho it were ten thousand mile,

Jem

XXX

P.S. If Di writes home, tell her to tell Dad that we have all had our vaccinations. I know he was interested in that when I told him that they asked about it on the attestation form. No typhoid for us. I wrote to Mother and Dad, but I already sealed up the letter and I forgot to mention it. XXX**


*Unless/until kslchen tells me different!

**The 1914 Attestation Papers for the Canadian Over-Seas Expeditionary Force included the question "Are you willing to be vaccinated or re-vaccinated?" Say what you will about our old friend Dr. Almroth E. Wright, F.R.S., but he did get those boys their typhoid vaccinations.