Reprinted from The Winnipeg Tribune 5 Apr 41 https://www.newspapers.com/newspage/37352294/
"Soldiers Never Die?"
Ask Sapper R. Thompson of Calgary, Alberta. He is 65 years of age, has been in three wars, and has another under his belt. Invalided home after 14 months service overseas, in the present war, Sapper Thompson claimed proudly during a brief stop-over at the C.P.R. station Friday afternoon that he is the oldest man in the active army today. "That's just in years, mind you. I'm young in spirit," he added emphatically. But even his years sit lightly on his small, erect frame. Doffing his cap in a quick gesture, he revealed a thick, close-cropped thatch of sandy, hair. "Look at that. Not a hair gone from my head and not a grey hair on it."
"What service had he seen before this war?" He was almost disdainful. He served four years in the Great War and was wounded three times, and before that — here a calloused finger waved under the reporter's nose — before that he served from 1890 to 1902 in the South African War. Stepping back to see the impression that announcement made, he smiled grimly. Then the finger came into play again. "And I have two sons in the army, one son in the air force, and a grandson in the army," he added triumphantly.
"No Comparison"
Asked how this war compares to the other two he had known, his small, weather-beaten face sobered perceptibly. "There's no comparison," he said. "It's murder this time. You can't fight back. Thousands of civilians have been murdered in their beds."
When it was suggested a time would come for retaliation, he replied grimly. "Yes. There will come a time when we can fight back." He was thoughtful for a moment after that but snapped back to the present with peppery indignation when it was suggested his return to Canada was due to his age. "What would your guess be?” he demanded belligerently, snatching off his hat again to show his prized crop of hair, and fixing the reporter with a clear, steady gaze.
Good for Another
A careful underestimate placated him and he explained his return. His company of engineers had been repairing a bridge in the south end of London and a timber had slipped, fracturing several of his ribs.
"My breath catches when I try to march with lull equipment." he confided apologetically. "They tell me at Ottawa I'm through, but I figger I'll be good for another war yet."
Then the whistle sounded for the men to board the train. Catching the reporter's hand in a grip that left it throbbing, he dropped his gruff manner for a moment.
"Good luck to you son," he said in a kindly tone then hopped spryly up the steps of the coach.