Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/73
2 IX 98 17 Woodville St

My Dearest Friend,
What a funny thing you are to
tell me that an outside world sorrow
kept you from writing and yet not to
name the sorrow! For could you not guess
that I should be irritated if not
distressed? Anyhow, all is well now; you say yourself you are writing quite free
from any pain. I am writing in a
hurried minute in a waiting room before
Gwili's train arrives from Amanford at 6.30.
It is a cold raw day; yet I have coughed
only a little and with no suffering at all
so if the sun were to shine tomorrow
I should be perfectly well to return.
______

3.IX.'98.
You see I could not finish
in time to post on Friday night
And now on Saturday morning I
am writing with still another letter

on my return? Say yes!
It is very sunny now & I am
going out.

Don't do anything but laugh at this
lazy good for nothing letter wlll you.
Pretend it is because we are in a crowd;
then we will make ourselves happy by
laughing when you run westward to
bed & I stand looking after you. We
are surely happy enough kiss. I indeed am quite happy. So goodbye. In life
I am your truest fondest friend Edwy, and your own sweet little one Helen, my anemone maiden. Sweetheart Goodbye.
Adieu.

I'm forgetting the
Envelope, but it doesn’t matter. What did you pay
for those frames to the
"Discobobes" & "Au Matin"?

of yours fresh in my mind.
It is a windy sunny day,
and my cough is less and less, but I don't
believe I can write a word, certainly
no word with any colour or warmth
in it.
I will just state some "trifles".
We return, D.V., on Wednesday,
by a train reaching Paddington at 6.40.
I could scarcely meet you that night;
for we shan't be home till 8. Neas &
Ernest join us at Neath, near Cwmavon
where they have been staying of course.
It is Saturday, so Gwili is
home, I enjoy of his society more than
before. His mother is very kind to
me and wants me to stay with her next
year! I shall see Elizabeth tomorrow.
Did I tell you of her crisp golden
hair in plenty, her plump blushing
cheeks abundantly freckled her blue eyes, and her
timid-stately carriage which is partly

laughable but mostly adorable; when she
talks her delicious cooing Welsh I
desire to kiss her on both cheeks,
only you won't let me, little one.
Mother returns on Tuesday.
I send Irene's letter, &
desire its immediate return.
Harry won't write, the
fat lazy beast. Why doesn't he.
Evidently, he didn't like my account
of Ino & Helle.
I have finished the article
which was to embody the episode
by Bronwen and the children of which
I told you - is nearly finished it.
the fact is I can't satisfy myself about
it, even after the pains over a
week. A page literally takes me a
day to write.
How much money have you
got?
May I buy a French book