BX November 13, 1914

Are Enjoying Life in Camp – Pte. Harry Van Fleet Writes Interesting Letter to His Parents

Mr. and Mrs. James Van Fleet, 128 Oxford Street, have received a very interesting letter from their son Harry, who is with the First Canadian Contingent in England, writing from Bustard Camp Salisbury Plain under date of October 29.

October 29, 1914
 
Dear Mother and Father,
 
Your ever loving letters' received O.K. and very pleased to hear from you all indeed. Well mother, it is very cold here on the plains and it looks more like a battlefield than a camp, as there are flying machines of all descriptions hovering above our heads all day on target practice with real shells bursting in the air. We arise at 5 o'clock in the morning and have 8 hours drill a day. We also have our Saturday afternoon off. We were inspected by Lord Roberts last Saturday afternoon, and General Alderson, who has been appointed general of the Canadian contingent. I have met a young man here (in the Y.M.C.A. tent just before writing) with 2 nurses and a priest who had been shot at the front having a shot in the calf of the leg and his ribs broken. He is perfectly well again and says he is leaving for the front again in the morning, (Friday); he is from the 18th Hussar Regiment. We do not know when we will leave, but we are all anxious to get there and clean up on those sausage-faced Germans. 

The 4th Battalion has the name of being the best trained men in the contingent. We don't say so ourselves but others do. We were on the boat one month all but one day, from the time we left Quebec until we arrived at Plymouth, England. We then left Plymouth, and went by train to a town named Livingston, and marched all night to get to the plains. It was about 6.30 or 7 a.m. when we reached our camp. It was great fun handling this English money, but I have got on to it now. I suppose the next will be French money. They make an awful fuss over us here, the girls give us rings, stick pins and English coins, also big red roses and Woodbine cigarettes which cost 1 penny a package with 5 in (2 cents in our money.)   It keeps us busy giving our names and addresses to them and reading the letters we receive from them, but still the boys don't forget their girls on the other side of the ocean. I have met a couple of old Brantford boys here; you will know one of them, (Eddie Boles.) 

I am going to London on Monday, which is only 70 miles, on a 5 days' leave, which we are all allowed. Well as I have no more news to tell you at the present time, I will now close with my very best regards to you all and the people of the Telephone City.

I remain your ever loving son,
Harry
 
P.S. - I have drawn a picture on everything I have of a telephone as my trade mark.

BX December 22, 1914

Seeing the Sights of London With a Brantford Soldier – Harry Van Fleet Writes Interestingly to His Parents of the Things He Saw in the Big City – Paid Visit to Wounded Soldiers in the Hospital.

Mr. and Mrs. J.C. Van Fleet have just received another interesting letter from their son Harry who enlisted in Brantford and is with the Canadian contingent at Salisbury Plain, England. In it he gives a description of his visit to London and the sights he saw there. The letter follows:

December 16, 1914
Bustard Camp, Salisbury Plain,
England

Dear Mother and Father,

Your most welcome letters of Nov. 14 received O.K. and was more than pleased to hear from you all indeed. We are having lots of wet weather here and lots of mud to play in – right up to our shoe tops. We have two pair of shoes, but they never get a chance to dry. Well mother, I saw the city I said I wanted to see. That is London, England, and it is some city. As you know, I’ve seen nearly every city from New York to San Francisco, both in the United Sates and in Canada, but London, England, is the city of cities. We, that is my comrade, Gordon Thompson, who comes from Simcoe, Ont., and I both received a pass on Saturday, Nov. 21, and caught a taxi cab, which charged us five shillings a piece that is $1.20 in our money, to go to Salisbury City to catch a train for London. Bob McCartney went as far as Salisbury with us, which is ten miles from our camp and we left him and went on to London, 70 miles by train, which brought us into Waterloo station at 8 o’clock Saturday night. I should judge it was about two hours’ run from Salisbury to Waterloo. We left the train and went to the Union Jack club, which is known as the soldiers’ and sailors’ home. It is just across from the Waterloo station. It is as nice a hotel inside, perhaps better, than any hotel in Canada. They only charged us a shilling (24 cents) for a nice bed and room and to tell you the truth, when we got in bed we didn’t know how to sleep, as you well know it was the first bed we had slept in since we left home that had feathers in it. As a fellow I met in the Union Jack club, who was a corporal and had been in the firing line and had just got out of the hospital said, it was just like rising out of h--- and ascending into heaven.

I had a long talk with this young fellow and he told me he was shot through one lung and again near his spine. He had seven wounds in his right arm from elbow to wrist, and as he had just got out of the hospital had 14 days furlough. Then he was to return to the front, for the second time. We had supper with him, then left him at 10 o’clock and took a walk and landed out in a place called Camberwell gate and road.

Most of the streets are called roads in London city. On Sunday morning we arose at 
8 o’clock and went for a stroll and happened to meet a gentleman who had just come from Canada and he took us to Leicester Square and Piccadilly and in the afternoon he took us up to White Hall Palace on the Strand and we saw them change the mounted guards. We went from there to the Square – Trafalgar Square – and heard the Irish Life Guard band and saw Nelson’s Monument. In the evening this Mr. H.F. Jones, the same gentleman who used to be on the Montreal Herald, showed us through the underground railway, from Charing Cross to a place called Holloway, then to his friends on Queensland Road. We came back after tea – get that, tea – that means supper in Canadian talk; out west it’s dinner. We had to change three times, underground all the way. They don’t stop as long as they do in Canada. All you do is jump on and off you go in a jiffy. They have some system here. Well we left our friend Mr. Jones, and retired for the night making an appointment to meet him at 9 a.m. the next day, to be shown through some more and better places of interest to us boys.

Well cutting my letter short, we met in the morning and went through the St. Thomas Hospital and saw the wounded. I left there with my pockets full of mail to post for the patients and went over the Westminster Bridge to Westminster Abbey, from there to Charing Cross post office on the Strand and posted the letters for the wounded boys, which I received in the hospital and then proceeded up the strand to the Waterloo Bridge and went through the law courts, where the lawyers wear white-haired wigs. From these we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral and saw Lord Roberts’ (Bobs) tomb, Nelson’s and other noble men’s last resting places. From there we went to the Newspaper Men’s Union hall for an hour’s pastime. Then proceeded on down the Strand to Trafalgar Square, through the picture of arts museum. There are most magnificent pictures. Some look like living models. Then we went to Madame Tussauds museum to see the wax work. It is beautiful work. You see all the famous men of the past. They even have a policeman inside the door which you would swear was alive, but he is only made of wax. Well we did nothing after that but walk around the Strand and see the sights of the hotel. Dr. Crippen stopped at (Hotel Cecil), and returned to the camp on Thursday morning.

We also saw the Tower of London at Tower Bridge where the German spy was shot about a month or so ago.

Well mother I will now draw to a close as the last post has just sounded 15 minutes before lights out, so will say good-bye for this time, sending my very best of love to you all. With a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all and to my old friends left behind me. I am your every loving and affectionate son.

Harry 

BX January 27, 1915

Brantford Boys Are Finding True Love In England – Pte. Harry James Van Fleet, Who is With the First Contingent, Tells of the Openhearted Welcome Extended to the Canadians by the English People

Brantford’s lads with the first Canadian contingent, at Salisbury Plain, were received with open hearts by the residents of England, according to Pte. Harry Van Fleet, who writes home that Brantford mothers need not be surprised if they find that many of their sons have met with their true love in the old land while in training. He also reports that the mud at Salisbury is mud no longer. It has been churned into cement, but cement, which does not get a chance to set. The following interesting letter has been received from him by his father and mother here:
    
January 10, 1915

4th Battalion, 1st Brigade, G. Co.
Bustard Camp, Salisbury Plain,
England
 
Dear Mother and Father,
 
Your letter of Dec. 29 received O.K., and was more than pleased to hear from you all indeed. Well mother, I made another trip to London, and also Bristol, and put in a pretty good time seeing the sights. I met Owen Moran, the one-time prize fighter in Lester Lounge at Piccadilly and he took me all down through Petticoat Lane and a place at Bishopsgate, called "Dirty Dick's" Place. I will tell you where we landed one night while out for a walk with a couple of friends of ours. We met a police man and he asked us if we knew where we were, I told him that I was making my way back to the Union Jack Club. "Well," he says, "you want to carry your knife opened around here as this is the German settlement of London."  I said, "I thought all Germans were in the klink."  "No" was his answer, "but they have to report twice a day.”  Well, anyway, we didn't get any farther on our way than two blocks, as they say here five minutes, or ten minutes walk up the road "Old Top, I say," anyway. We got out of there all O.K., but believe me we had both ends of our knives open until we hit the bloomin' old strand again.

Well, next morning, Christmas we took the 6.10 train from Waterloo station en route for Salisbury City, to make our way to Bristol. Now, here is where the joke comes in. We went to sleep in the train boarded at Waterloo – three of us, and of course you do not know what the coaches are like here. Well any way they look more like that old chicken coop in the back yard, hold about eight people and we, that is the three of us, went to sleep, as we had the compartment all to ourselves, and we never woke up until 11.15 a.m. Then I woke my two comrades and said "We must be in Ireland, so the next stop, I stuck my head out of the cabin door and asked the station master where we were, Ireland or Scotland?  He, "This station is Axminster,"  I asked him next, where Salisbury was and he answered "6 miles back," so I explained things to him and he sent us back on the train three hours later. Being it was Christmas day, all we could buy for dinner was 6 pence worth of cake - 12 cents in Canadian language. Well we landed back in the flooded city of Salisbury City and had a turkey supper with a gentleman and his family. The ladies father, who was 79 years of age, a fine old gentleman he was, too, said he never smoked a cigarette in his life, but would smoke one with me, as he was proud to meet a Canadian. He made me stay all night under a shingle roof and told me to come up and pay him a weekend visit. Now tell the mothers of Brantford to not be surprised if they hear from their sons saying they have found their own true love. Mine hasn't reached me yet, but I think that "Hippy" Adams has won the "Million Dollar Doll."

We are still in mud farm. They are going to give us life preservers next week. We already have bathing suits and stilts. Bill Babcock was telling me just now that they are going to take our Ross rifles away and give us clubs. I also hear that the Cockshutt Plow Company has received an order from Bustard Camp to send over a couple of hundred mud plows. Whoever in the world sent that order in?  Tell them to keep the plows, as the mud, has turned to cement, but doesn't get a chance to dry.
Well, as I am a man of very few words, I shall now draw to a close, with the very best of luck from all the old boys of Brantford to their friends left behind; and also the very best of success for the New Year, I remain your ever loving and affectionate son,
 
Harry

P.S. - Kindly thank the ladies of Brantford for the handkerchiefs of which we all received with great need and we are also in hopes of taking to the front with us in the spring and will try our best to bring back with us.

BX June 22, 1915

Makes Strong Appeal

A strong appeal for more men is made by Pte. Harry Van Fleet in a letter to his mother, Mrs. Jas. C. Van Fleet, 123 Oxford Street. The letter reads:

June 3, 1915

Dear Mother and Father,

Your most kind and loving letters received O.K. and also newspapers and pleased indeed I was to hear from you all. Well, mother this is the first chance I have had to sit down and write a letter, so will do my best to make it as interesting as possible ‘mid the noise of Jack Johnsons. We are back in billets again after a long spell in the trenches and are having a rest up and clean up. I am now attached to the second battalion and like it first rate. They are a pretty good bunch of boys in it, so am pleased to say I am getting along O.K. I met quite a few of the Brantford boys – Steve Cara, Bill Dawson, and they all look in the very best of health. I was talking to Sergt. Mounce – ex-Constable J. Mounce last evening for a while and he is looking in the best of health, also Tommy Walton and a few more of the old boys. We are having lovely weather right up to the time of writing. I was talking to Major M. A. Colquhoun back at the trenches last week, and he is the same looking man as ever. He has not changed at all. I suppose you read of our adjutant, Capt. Glover, being killed. He was as fine a young man as you would wish to meet and loved by all with whom he comes into contact. The captain whom I am now under, Capt. Richardson, of Kingston, is a man whom I certainly do admire – as cool as a cucumber, and fears nothing. The men will follow him anywhere. We were in Belgium a while back, but are now back in France again.

If ever there was a hell, this is it out here and the sooner she ends the better, and to win this war every able bodied man should be made to come out and do his bit and end it that much sooner. Until then there is no telling how much longer it will last. It is a shame to see the young men walking around England and the country up against what she is at the present moment. The Canadians are certainly doing their bit in this campaign and are going to do still more. Well, mother, I received a box of chocolates which were sent at Christmas time by the children of Brantford and which just reached here two weeks ago. We could do with plenty of tobacco and cigarettes out here as it is our only comfort. I received a parcel from my friend in Bristol, consisting of a fine big cake, milk chocolates, writing tablet, candles, soap and cigarettes which I enjoyed very much. Well mother, you will have to excuse the shortness of my letter as we can tell none of our past experiences as all letters pass the censor, so I will now draw to a close. Sending very best of regards to you all for this time, I remain your ever loving and affectionate son,

Harry
11627 Pte. H.J. Van Fleet,
2nd Batt. 1st Bde., British Expeditionary Force
No. 2 Co. No. 5 Platoon No. 2 section
1st Canadian Division (France in active service) 

BX July 24, 1915

“Clown” Princes Birthday Honored – Canadians Sent a Salute of .303 Bullets to the Band Which Was Celebrating the Event, the Celebration Coming to an End – German Band Replied With “O Canada”

In a newsy letter to his mother Mrs. James C. Van Fleet, 128 Oxford Street, Private Harry Van Fleet gives a graphic description of activities in the trenches. He speaks of the birthday festivities among the Teutons, in honor of the “Clown” Prince, which were unhappily interrupted by the Canadians. The letter deleted of personal matters follows:

July 7, 1915

Dear Mother,

I was sleeping in the hay-loft here when your last welcome letter was brought to me. We had just come out of the trenches after eight days in. We had a pretty quiet turn this time as the “square-heads” were about 200 yards off and that has got to be a long way, as the closer we get to them, the better we like it. We dug a trench while there. I was out on listening post between the lines and that is no place for anyone who has a cough. It’s great sport – a bomb in one hand and a rifle in the other, and believe me, if anyone of those baby killers had come near me it would have been “Good-night Steve” for him. We were relieved by the 48th Highlanders. It is great to see a kitten in the trench. We had three young ones in our dug-out, and believe me, if ever I am lucky enough to get through this with a full skin I will very likely make a dug-out in Brantford to live in, as a feather bed wouldn’t be the right thing to sleep in.

Well mother, you would have laughed last Saturday if you had been here. It was the “Clown” Prince’s birthday and they had the Germans to celebrate, so we opened fire on them so as to let them know that the next day was the Fourth of July. Take it from me their instruments must have got a few of our .303’s as their band ceased playing, then opened up with “O Canada” and “the Maple Leaf Forever.”  I am glad to say I am still in the ring and in hopes of staying there. My chum was buried by a “Jack Johnson,” but we have the new kind, the “Jess Willards.”

We are getting leave to go to England but I don’t expect to get my turn until sometime in September. Believe me; we certainly have had a lot of marches in France and Belgium. We are regular gravel-crushers, Waterous steam rollers have nothing on the Canadian infantry for smoothing out bad roads. They have lovely roads here, all cobble-stone, with big tall pine trees on both sides. At time of writing I can hear the noise of the big guns, also see a good many ruined houses in the distance. There are an awful lot of old fashioned Dutch wind-mills like you often see in paintings. I suppose you have read were we made a charge and captured four lines of trenches, but as luck would have it, we lost them again in a few minutes.

It certainly is hell here at times, if ever there was one. I have seen Massey-Harris binders out here. Hoping to hear from you and all my old friends in Brantford,

Harry
Second Battalion, First Brigade, 
Second Section, Fifth Platoon,
Private H. Van Fleet, No. 11627
C.E.F., First Canadian Division
On Active Service, France

BX August 21, 1915

Slept on Grave of Dead Chum For Five Nights – Some Gruesome Experiences of Pte. Harry James Van Fleet, Told of in an Interesting Letter to His Mother Here – What Service at the Front Really Means

To sleep on the grave of a dead comrade for five nights, to have his face severely cut with a bayonet, and while digging trenches, to jab the spade he was working with into the body of a dead soldier, are a few of the experiences that Pte. Harry Van Fleet, of this city tells of in the following interesting letter received by his mother, Mrs. James Van Fleet, 128 Oxford Street. 

The letter is one of the most interesting yet received at this office and the many friends of Pte. Van Fleet will no doubt be glad to read it:

Dear Mother,

I take great pleasure in writing you all a few lines, in hope that this will find you all well and doing well. Things are very quiet around here this morning just an occasional shell comes over now and then, but no harm done. We have been kept pretty busy at digging trenches, night and day, with snipers firing on us. One night, a week ago, we were out behind the first line digging a new trench and had just got started in to work when a heavy bombardment started from both sides, and we had to lie flat on our face, as the shells were bursting around us and shrapnel flying in all directions, but it was nothing to compare with the shelling we received at Ypres and Festubert and Givenchy. There were so many dead at Festubert that some of us had to sleep on our dead comrades graves. I slept on one grave for five nights, and in another place where we were making a dugout, while digging away in goes our spade in a dead one. We are in reserve at time of writing. Biff! Bang! Bong!  There goes one of our new shells over to Fritz. It is called the “Jesse Willard,” and by the time it lands there, some of those baby killers will look like Jack Johnson did after the cow-puncher got through with him. The boys all think that I’m an American and keep telling me I should be like the Yanks, “Too proud to fight.”  I’ve got a swollen mitt – got hit with a horseshoe on the knuckles – good luck, I hope. I guess I told you in my other letter about getting a jab with the bayonet. We were in the front line of trenches and I was sitting down spreading my apple and damson on a slice of bread when a sniper up and took a shot at the periscope, and it hit my bayonet instead. Down comes the rifle and up goes my bread, jam and knife. The point of the bayonet hit me in the head and came down across my ear and cheek, making a rather nasty cut. It seemed as if my face was torn open, but I am none the worse off for it, as I know just what it feels like, and the others don’t – that’s the only difference, so “we should worry.”  Well, mother, I think I shall now draw to a close in hopes that these few lines will find you all well, as they leave me. With my very best regards to all old friends in the Telephone City, I remain your ever loving and affectionate son,

Harry
No. 11627 Pte. Harry J. Van Fleet,
2nd Batt., 1st Bdge., No. 2. Co.,
No. 5 Platoon, 1st Canadian Div.
France

BX September 13, 1915

Harry Van Fleet In Trenches Met German From Vancouver – The World is But a Small Place After all, as Incident From the Firing Line Shows – Canadians Make Friends Everywhere Even With the Frogs and Mice Local Boy Says

Dear Mother,

Your letter on Aug 9 also postcard received on the 25th inst. O.K., and arrived in good time for my birthday, which was on Wednesday. I also received a letter from Campbell Smith in the same mail with a snap shot of the Brant Theater staff enclosed.

Well mother it is pretty quiet at the time of writing – just a few shots passing over my head now and then.  Sometimes they come pretty close to getting me, but luck seems to stick with me fairly well so far. We are in reserve now and expect to leave in a day or so for a six days rest up. They are shelling one of the “Allymen’s” aeroplanes over head so things are starting in for an evening performance again. They shelled us all afternoon, only one of our men was wounded – in three places by shrapnel. It is red hot whenever the shell bursts and flies in all directions, and the best thing is to fall flat on your face or crawl in a dug-out. We were out digging a new trench a short while back when our artillery started to bombard the Germans and the German’s artillery did the same to us. Shrapnel was dropping all around us and believe me we certainly did work at digging ourselves in.

Cut His Head Open

The corporal of our section was standing by me when a piece of shrapnel came down with a thump and cut his head open. I said, “Are you hurt Bill?”  His answer was, “I don’t know, but I hope it sends me to England.”  My wound is all healed up again, but quite a scar is left, which will always be with me whenever I go across my ear and cheek, that’s all. It is the souvenir I want to have to remember this war by. Of course I’ve got a few bullets and a pair of German field glasses which is enough to carry around. You should have heard us fellows give the big cheer when the word reached us that so many of the German ships were sunk. The Germans thought we were making another charge.

Exchange Messages

We talk to one another, sometimes where the trenches are only 35 or 40 yards apart and send messages over with a sling.  One message came over a fortnight ago. Get that fortnight stuff! That’s English. I mean two weeks ago that the Turks were asking for peace, and Fritz and Hans said that old Kaiser Bill would be doing the same and wanted to know if we weren’t the Canadians, and if any of us were from Vancouver, so I got up and yelled across “Yes, I came from Vancouver, Why?  Do you know Vancouver?”  The answer was “Yes, I waited table in the Astor Café.”  So I yelled back that I was clerking in the Carlton Hotel for over two years and he wanted to know my name, so I hollered back, “Van.”  He said, “Is that Harry Van Fleet?”  I said, “Yes who are you?”  “Never mind you’ll know when we meet again.”  I wanted him to come half way across and meet me, but nothing doing. Say mother send me some of the Canadian cigarettes and tobacco, also a Brantford Daily Expositor now and again. I hear the boys in the 4th receive tobacco, but none of it ever reaches me as nothing is too good for the boys out here. 

If some of the young men could only realize what a war like this is and could only see how their fellow creatures suffer at times and how they are shot down. Why it would make their blood boil. When you see your comrade shot down then you just feel as if you could charge the Germans yourself. I saw a little girl, about eight years of age, that was hit by a piece of shell at Ypres laying on the side of the road with her face cut open, and a little dog laying beside her. The poor child had been killed outright. I’ve even seen them shell our Red Cross ambulance with wounded being taken off the field, and the Gurkhas going along the road wounded, hopping on sticks cut from the tree. Whenever you shake hands with a Gurkha why he will kiss his hand and say, “good Canada’s.”

Fatigue Duty

Well mother it is morning again and just 8.30 and we were pulled out to do fatigue at 6.45 a.m. until 8.15 a.m. repairing a barricade which the Huns destroyed by shells yesterday, and my comrade is cooking my steak and bacon, while I finish my letter. Of course I’m so good at making tea that he leaves that part for me. You can imagine what kind of tea it is when we have to use the water out of a frog pond. Sometimes we catch 40 or 50 frogs and have a good meal, and they are very easily caught, as the Canadians are so well liked out here that the frogs will come up and eat right out of our hands. The same with the mice. Remember this is no fish story. No, it is a frog story!  We have built a miniature railway up to the firing line to carry rations and building material on. Well mother I will now draw to a close in hope that these few lines will find you all well, with love to you all, and my very best of regards to all old friends in the Telephone City. I remain, your ever loving and affectionate son, as ever,

Harry
No. 11627 Pte. Harry J. Van Fleet,
2nd Batt., 1st Bdge., No. 2. Co.,
No. 5 Platoon, 1st Canadian Div.
France

BX December 9, 1915

Gives Credit to Regular Army – Pte. Harry Van Fleet Writes Home Interestingly Of Trench Life – Two in a Dugout and That a Cramped One

Pte. Harry Van Fleet of the Second Battalion writes an interesting letter home to his sister, Miss Marjorie Van Fleet, 128 Oxford Street, telling of his life in a dugout on the firing line. He gives great praise to the men of the regular army who bore the brunt of the early fighting. He writes:

November 22, 1915

Dear Sister,

I take pen in hand to write you a few lines in answer to your loving and welcome letter of the 2nd inst. Was quite pleased to hear from you, indeed.  Well, I was laid up sick for a few days in the hospital. I left the front line of trenches with what they call trench feet and touch of bronchitis, but am better now and back to duty again. We are having cold weather here now and plenty of rain and mud, so we have been provided with long rubber boots and bear skin fur coats, so we do not mind it much. I look more like a Teddy Bear than a soldier of leisure. I am writing these few lines in my dugout and feel pretty well cramped up, as my comrade is an Irishman. We both sleep in the same dugout, which will only hold the two of us – the man from the county of Cork and myself, so we crawl in on our hands and knees when we go to bed or when Fritz starts to shell us. Poor Fritz, I guess he is more fed up than we are and they do not care much about fighting the Canadians. They would much rather run up against Chief Iron Tails (Indian Army) than to meet the boys from the backwoods of Canada. If you could only see the troops Canada has on this front. Why you would imagine that it was Canadians alone fighting this war out with Fritz, and if Canada only had the men why she could give Germany a good beating, and for volunteers, why Canada has turned out some of the best of fighters. People of Great Britain do not realize what the regulars had to put up with a year ago, when we first went to war with Germany, such as the Life Guards and Coldstreams and other regiments. Why picture for yourself a few men here, another handful on the others side of a hill trying to hold on to the last and big army of the enemy advancing upon them. They looked death in the face and knew what it meant to England and France once the thin line was broken, so like the men they were, death they took like men, and those are the men that deserve the credit of it all and should never be forgotten. I believe in giving credit where credit is due. Everywhere you go is nothing but graves, back of farms that are all shelled to pieces and along roadsides in trenches. I expect leave to England in a few weeks for a few days, so will send you some photos.

Harry
11627 Pte. Harry J. Van Fleet,
2nd Batt., 1st Brigade,
No. 2 Co., 1st Canadian Div.,
France

BX May 3, 1916

Would Rather Go Back To Trenches Than Have His Younger Brother Go, Writes Harry Van Fleet

An interesting letter has recently been received by Mr. and Mrs. Jas. Van Fleet from their son Harry who was wounded last December and has spent most of his time since in the hospitals, being at the time of writing in the hospital at Bath, Somerset, England.

After expressing the pleasure he felt at hearing from them and receiving some photographs, Pte. Harry James Van Fleet writes as follows:

Well mother, I go before another board of several doctors tomorrow, April 7, and will know which and what they will really do with me. It will either be my discharge to Canada or back to the trenches again, or a permanent staff job. I sincerely hope it will be the first or the latter, but if I have to go, why back to the trenches I’ll go, and live in hopes of returning as before. I would much rather go back and do my bit over again than to see my younger brother go.

Well mother, I will give you an idea of what kind of city we are quartered at. Bath city, Somerset, England, is a most beautiful and historic city with a population of some 50,000. It is one and one-half hours’ run by train to London city, and a half hour run to Bristol. It is built in a valley and we are in what is known as Prior Park college, which was used, or at least was a monastery before war broke out, and has been taken over by the Canadian government, and is now being used as the Canadian discharge and exercise depot for all casualties and men that are no longer fit for active service. I received a letter from Cam Smith of the Brant theatre and will answer in a few days. Tell E. Moule that I have received the parcel he sent me. I also received a letter from Jean Fisher, who is an old Brantfordite, and is now living in Oakland, Cal., saying she sent me some cigarettes in a parcel, in care of the war office, London. I wrote in regard to the same to them forwarded if any come.

Well mother, I will now draw to a close, hoping my letter finds you all well and in the very best of health, as it leaves me. I am feeling far better than when I left France, but my eyes are quite bad yet from the effect of the shells which we had shoved in our lines on Dec. 19. Give my best respects to all old friends in the Telephone city. Your ever loving and affectionate son,

Harry Van Fleet

BX March 29, 1917

Pte. H. Van Fleet’s Narrow Escape – Was Wounded and Partially Buried By a German Shell – Is At Boulogne

An interesting letter has been received from Pte. Harry J. Van Fleet, No. 11627, by his parents, who reside at 128 Oxford Street. Pte. Van Fleet left for overseas with the first contingent, and was wounded on Feb. 21, 1917, by shrapnel wounds in the right temple and left shoulder. He was also partly buried in this trench and it was with the greatest difficulty that he dug himself out, after which he was forced to run for about a mile through shot and shell to seek shelter. The letter follows is part:

My Dear Father and Mother,

I take pleasure in writing you one and all a few lines to let you know that I am still in the hospital recovering from my wounds. I am writing these few lines while in bed, although I expect to be up and about again in a few days, as my shoulder is much better. I was along with half a dozen of the East Surrey Regiment and King’s Royal Rifle boys when Fritz started shelling us, and I thought my time had come, as the shells were dropping like a hail storm. If it had not been for my steel helmet I would not be living to tell the tale today. I was partly buried but managed to dig myself out and run about a mile to the dressing station under shell fire. The concussion of it has affected my hearing a bit. I will not be able to make England this trip, as I expect be in the big push before long. I am in a lovely hospital right on the water of the channel and can see the boats going and coming every day to and from Blighty. I am in No. 12 General Hospital Boulogne and the nurses are real mothers to us. I expect to be discharged from the hospital to my base depot at La Havre in a week or so, I do not know whether I will be going with the miners again or not, or to my battalion until I reach the base again. That miner’s job is a fine job, digging through to Fritz front line and then having the pleasure of blowing him and his “kamerads” upski.

BX December 9, 1917

Tells Story of Passchendaele Ridge Fight – Pte. Harry Van Fleet Writes Interestingly from the Hospital – Real Fighting

Mr. and Mrs. Van Fleet, 128 Oxford Street, Brantford, have received the following letter from their son, Harry James Van Fleet, written from the Palace Military hospital, Gloucester, Glos., England, about the second week of November.

I dare say you will have been notified before this that I am in the hospital with trench feet and a slight shrapnel wound in the left arm. I went over the top at 6 o’clock in the morning of the 6th inst., when we captured Passchendaele Ridge. I was about half-way across No Man’s Land when a shell landed close to me as I was chasing a German stretcher-bearer out of his hole. A small piece of shrapnel hit me in the arm. But it was not bad enough to force me to leave the boys. I was acting as platoon runner along with my officer. When we reached Vegetable Farm and Fritzie’s pill-boxes, we started to dig in. Six German prisoners came running up in single file, the first of whom was an officer and the other five ranks.

The officer was my first man. They all kept their hands up and one by one I searched them. I obtained a purse with quite a few German coins and mark notes of this officer, and a Mauser revolver with two cartridge cases. All I got from the other five were a dagger and identification discs. Upon opening the officer’s purse I was surprised to find an iron cross, second class, silver with ribbons and certificate. I am enclosing a few things which are in German. It is likely you will be able to get some of the Fritzie’s around Brantford to read them to you. But that is not all. We just started to dig in when my chum, Bob Vingoe, from Sarnia, Ont., and I were told to go out and take up a bombing post. But poor old Vingoe got sniped beside me before we got very far, either through his shoulder or leg. I called the stretcher-bearers and they got him out safely. I had to go on with my bombs and take up the post. I just got planted in a big shell hole when I saw three Germans beating it back to their own lines. One was killed. So was the second. I next spotted a German officer running from the ruins of Vegetable farm. I challenged him to stop, but I up and wounded him in the back. I went over to him and he pleaded for mercy. I got his revolver and field glasses. We got back with our prisoners and put them in the shell hole and bandaged them. I gave him a drink of water then took his watch and chain and photographs, and what ice cream and boche money he had. Then I passed him back to the boys. We got enough German black bread and cigars to last us until we were relieved on the 9th and plenty of his water bottles full of coffee. 

I came through it all right with just a scratch, when my feet began to pain me and ache, and I could not take my shoes off in the danger zone reserve line. So when we got back to the huts one of the boys had to carry me about a mile and a half, and when I got into the hut my feet were swelling so badly I had to cut my boots and socks to get them off.

Now, mother, can you give me any news of Cousin David Van Fleet?  I found a belt which he had had as a German souvenir. On it was written “D. S. Van Fleet, 40th C.F.A., 305113.”  It had all the engagements on it in which he had taken part. I still have it here with me and will send it home, if I do not get my furlough to Canada.  I expect to be in the hospital two or three weeks, and then get sent to the convalescent home.

I will now draw to a close. Wishing you all a happy and prosperous New Year; also the best of good wishes to all my old friends in the Telephone City.