All the time we had been in retirement, we were not allowed to write letters or cards, and I began to fear that my people would be very anxious about me.  I had given cards to returning “strafers” to post, but I was not sure they had ever got out of Germany.  Many parcels had come for me from other friends, too, and the big problem before me now was to find some way to acknowledge them.  A card a week, and a letter twice a month, does not permit of a very flourishing correspondence.

A decent German guard consented to take Bromley and me to the building where the parcels were kept for men who were in punishment, and we, being strong in faith, took a wheelbarrow with us.  Of course, we had received a number of parcels through our friend the spy, but we hoped there would be many more.  However, I got only one, a good one from G. D. Ellis, Weston, England, and that saved me from a hard disappointment.  I saw there, stacked up in a pile, numerous parcels for Todd, Whittaker, Little Joe, and others, who were serving their sentences at Butzbach.  I reported this to our Sergeant Major, and the parcels were opened.  Some of the stuff was spoiled, but what was in good condition was auctioned off among us and the money sent to them.

A letter came to me from my sister, Mrs. Ralph Brown, of Buchanan, Saskatchewan, saying they were worried about me because they had not heard from me, and were afraid I was not receiving my parcels.  Then I decided I would have to increase my supply of cards.  The Russian prisoners had the same number of cards we had, but seldom wrote any.  Poor fellows, they had nobody to write to, and many of them could not write.  So with the contents of my parcels I bought up a supply of cards.  I had, of course, to write them in a Russian’s name, for if two cards went into the censor’s hands from M. C. Simmons, No. 69, Barrack A, Company 6, something would happen.

So cards went to my friends from “Pte.  Ivan Romanoff” or “Pte.  Paul Rogowski,” saying he was quite well and had seen M. C. Simmons to-day, who was grateful for parcel and had not been able to write lately, but would soon.  These rather mystified some of the people who received them, who could not understand why I did not write directly.  My cousin, Mamie Simmons, and Mrs. Lackie, of Dereham Centre, Ontario, wrote a letter back to the Russian whose card they had received, much to his joy and surprise.

One of my great desires at this time was to have a compass, for Bromley and I were determined to make another attempt at escape, just as soon as we could, and many an hour I spent trying to find a way to get the information out to my friends that I wanted a compass.  At last, after considerable thinking, I sent the following card to a friend of mine with whom I had often worked out puzzles, and who I felt would be as likely to see through this as any one I could think of.

This was the message: 

Dear Jim:—­I send you this card along with another to come later, which please pass on to Fred. In next parcel, send cheese, please.