Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/70
Sunday 28 viii '98 17 Woodville St.

My dearest friend,
I forgot to tell you the name of
the flower you enclosed in your last
letter but one. It was AGRIMONY, I think,
though no trace was left of its gold-cinctured
wand. You enclosed some also in your
last letter, but they were shrivelled:
colombers, - looking, however, like
hairbells (I fancy harebell and hairbell are
equally correct.)
What did you do on Saturday? It
was raining hard all the morning, and
parts of the afternoon; and I felt
decidedly unwell, weak, dull, without
appetite. Consequently I did not go out
except to post your letter; could only sit reading and writing - Sometimes
watching the clean poplar leaves
before the window moving in the stormy
wind. In the afternoon it became suddenly
and violently bright; and how lovely
must your wet field have looked in it! I

lazily talking to Gwili’s father and mother (who
know no English), smoking of course.
Gwili walked all the way back, - about
a mile or more; for he is in Caernarthen
shire, the other side of the river Lwchwr,
though in the same village. My cousin had
not returned from some visit, so I went back
with Gwili part of the way, after writing
II SPOAKS on the cart wheel outside the house
of a man who once said "he could speak
the two spokes" - English and Welsh! -
- What a burst of sunshine now!
It sets the big flies humming; the
hollyhocks and columbines shine
transpicuously just outside; and a
robin talks a little, I sit alone in
the stone kitchen, the door open so
that dead leaves blow in now and then, and bees
and wasps look in as they pass; I sit
alone, now and then giving a turn to
the suspended beef which is browning
and spinning before the fire at my side. -

left hand image

was busy at a paper I am writing to
send to the Speaker when I hear that
"Wayside Pleasure" certainly has appeared. It is a picture of twilight and night,
describing no particular scenery
but still introducing fragments of this
valley. In any case it would be
difficult to describe this valley, so like
hundreds of others; there is little character
about it, the mountains are like
big ant hills, though girdled indeed
by purple clouds of heather just now.
To brighten the picture I have imported
a Roman story to this land, a little
altered. The central figure is a girl,
whom I called Bronwen. She is a
prisoner with a hostile king, but has shown
such valour that he is going to liberate
her, and of the rest she may choose any
one; the whole thing was on this
choice. All the children, the prisoners, are
fair, save one; that one is the only one

right hand image

who dislikes Bronwen and whom he dislikes.
She chooses that one; for she might think
it spite, if she were (part ) over; while
the others new her love so well, they
would understand" Besides, as she says,
the others are already angels, this girl is
to be made one. Those left behind are
to be destroyed, you know. A host follows
her steps as escort home to where her
blind grandfather watches her return.
A very slight thing I dare say!
Beside this I did very little. I
read some Plato in Greek to ease my conscience;
I finished a volume of Les Miserables
after a bit of interest but no satisfaction;
and then writing down any seriousness.
You see, I went after that to Gwili's
and stayed until near ten, - after
a short slow walk in the pleasant
twilight that followed the rainy
day foretold all the sunshine of
today. I had supper there, then sat
The mere physical life more purely than most people can enjoy the life, the spirit. Oh! And freely an eye; let your hair fly; - ask somewhat warmer and you could bear your bosom to it all. Why do we seek the spirit, when, if we try, the body can be so cleanly and sweet and fair? I think it is because it is so much easier to think than to do, as we flatter ourselves, saying the mind is higher than the body; whereas the body never yet did anyone harm, but only the scheming mind; as Shakespeare says “There’s nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.” I am never tired of saying, we can never enough admire the outside of things. There’s a thought for you! I have just copied it out in my notebook. Shame!
Come then like this and live with me. Come tonight. No, little

- after that I sat and smoked a little while with my cousin down the road, Thomas Treharne Thomas, father of the handsome girl; then he escorted me up to my other cousin, here, Philip Henry Thomas, and we talked till midnight; and again when TTT had gone, PHT kept me up till one o clock showing me old gay or mournful photographs, some up to 35 years old, of relatives, or funeral remembrance cards in black and with stupid homemade verse:- I find a handsome woman, a sister of father’s father, named Harriet, has had two children, though never married; so you see we are a queer lot: why the father and mother of my handsome cousin had unfortunately buried a child before they were married, when they were 18: yet not even the pious think or say anything the worse of them here
Well, I got to bed at last; and now feel much better after a long quiet sleep till half past eight. Only I wish I had found a letter from you! Don’t talk of the Morality of indulging me in this way; morality has nothing at all to do with it; if you only thought carefully of it, this fact could be this - you are unconsciously feeling in the manner of people who talk of “giving themselves away”, which could only apply if I certainly cared nothing for you, while you care everything for me; so dont think about it. Surely it is your desire to please me and you do please me. Don’t I sometimes please you also? Reflect also that you enjoy writing to me. I have to make quite an effort to write. What Mrs Andrews called our bryony was nothing of the sort. Ours is
White bryony with angular flat leaves; what she had is leaved, as you say truly like dogwood, and the leaves at this time this year are often shiny and almost black; it is not comparable to the other, to ours.
I havent [illegible] here, or Hamlet, except in a complete Shakespeare. It is not worth while to send As You Like It, when you have plenty that is more useful, and you are returning so soon - when exactly?
I dont think the cutting of bracken will utterly destroy the flowers; for they can’t cut it very low down; besides, the flowers will spring up again. And wont you have fun with the brittle dry fronds in heaps? It smells sweetly too, and “looks well”.
Oh! That you were here on the windy mountains, little one! That I might see you in your peaceful strength, enjoying
no, we cannot be as children together
why should we? Why should we say "we
will lie side by side like children" ?
We will not! Kiss me now, as for
me, I kiss every inch of your lovely
flesh. Goodbye! I will tell you to
look ever at the setting sun that I
may enjoy the sight of your beloved
form the more, I will watch
you out of sight, I will cry
happily at your childish (illegible).
Goodbye. In life I am your own truest fondest
friend Edw, and you ever my
own sweet little one, Helen.
Goodbye .I am ever wholly yours.
Adieu.
E Carpenter Esq
Millthorpe, Holmesfield
near Sheffield
Interlacing straps across the front.