Letter from Edward Thomas to the poet Gordon Bottomley. Sent from Wick Green, Petersfield, Hampshire. Archival ref: 424/1/1/1/10/165
Wick Green
Christmas 1911

My dear Gordon,

I am sorry to be sending you the
greeting today that ought always to have
reached you, especially as William
Dines who is spending Christmas here
was speaking of you as very ill. We
hope his news is very old: it came
through Guthrie. Of course, I owed you
& Emily one when I was at Laugharne.
I was away 7 weeks & when I was not
working at Borron I was out - chiefly in
rain. I kept quiet & free from
the blacks except when one of Helen's
letter days passed letterless. Also I
finished or brought to an end the
book on Borron. Then I couldn't rest
any longer in the place when I have
been writing the whole of the time I was
indoors & so I came home
on Tuesday, & am now watching &
being watched to see how much better I am.
I am a skeleton lightly bronzed in appearance.
But how are you? I am half glad
there is no letter from you today for the childish
reason that it means to excuse me; but
more than half sorry because it may mean
you are ill. Guthrie says nothing but
sends me a print of someone weeping.
Have you heard of the Poetry Review
editor by Harold Monro - a nice fellow
in
sympathy with advanced thought & has
published a book of verse? They are asking for an article by me on Davies
gratis. The usual thing. It will die at
the 5th or 6th number unregretted enough
by Poets whose circulation was guaranteed
by the Poetry Society to reach 1000. A
home for incurables, I feel sure, but it
gives Monro employment, &
sense of usefulness, the use of a typewriter
& possibly some pocket money, but I should
think not.
I have just offered to write for
Muthuen a book on the court life of
Charles II. Don't betray the subject in case
of rivalry. I shall be equally sure
whether he accepts the offer or not. I
love vainly opened books on Milton
& others & am hesitating about one on
Our Lord whose birthday we are celebrating
today.
How good the Sicilian coffee & Judith
are, almost Miltonic but with no
Miltonism except in the learned building of
the time.
Give me some subjects, please
I have exhausted the Dictionary of National
Biography almost. Suggest some
person not literary whom I might make
something of.
I shall send you my Hearn but
the Maeterlinck was not worth while.
He himself wrote me a comically
extravagant & complimentary letter. The man
is nothing but wind. His command of
language is dreadful.
Helen & I send you our love -
Emily & you - & wish we could
sometimes walk over the hills to you. I may
yet come your way to do my book on
Pater. I should like to contest it chapter
by chapter with you.
I am yours ever
Edward Thomas