Sept. 13/16 Dear Mother Just a wee note. I am "going over the parapet", and the chances of a "sub" getting back alive are about nix. If I do get back, why you can give me the horse laugh. If not this'll let you know that I kicked out with my boots on. So, cheer up, old dear, and don't let the newspapers use you as material for a Saturday magazine feature. You know the kind: where the "sweet-faced, grey-haired, little mother, clutching the last letter from her boy to her breast, sobbed, "'e was sich a fine lad,' as she furtively brushed the glistening tears from her eyes with a dish rag, etc. etc." I'm going to tell you this in case my company commander forgets. Your son is a soldier, and a dog-gone good one, too, if he does say it himself as shouldn't. And if he gets pipped it'll be doing his blooming job. In a way it's darned funny. All the gang are writing post mortem letters and kind of half ashamed of themselves for doing it. As one of our officers said: "If I mail it and come through the show, I'll be a joke. If I tear it up and get killed I'll be sorry I didn't send it." S'there y'are... [Published in the Manitoba Free Press, November 3, 1928]