Letter from Edward Thomas to his wife, Helen Thomas. Archival reference: 424/1/1/1/1/63
17 Woodville St.
11.viii.98
My dearest friend,

As you have probably seen - and heard! - I wrote a longish letter both to Mrs Noble and Irene, the latter being an afterthought. The result was I could not find time, and only a short time now, to write to you; but perhaps that tiny note I sent on Monday evening makes some amends. I have also had a proof from the Speaker to correct, which ought to appear on Saturday.

Now I am making a bit of stuffy leisure in the kitchen before tea, helped to be quiet by a silly headache, that would have its pleasures any where but here. The headache is a legacy of the absurd dream I had last night - I enlisted as a soldier etc. Now I am sweating horribly.

We are very lonely now; - Gwili gone, my cousin working all night and sleeping all days. Which reminds me, I am going to Amanford, where Gwili's school is, to meet him tomorrow and a welsh bard "Watcyn Wyn", at the latters invitation; then I shall return in the evening with Gwili to Pontardulais, where he stays, as every week now school begins, until first thing Monday morning. I think
I told you of the blank verses sketching Gwili's called
"Gwydian": he may finish it this week , and if so I shall
have a copy , which I will send you, should I
approve. I Can't write anything.

Later My headache is bad & I can do nothing
except write mechanically; so I have finished
copying "Ino & Stella" which I enclose. Please
return it as soon as you can ; saying how you
liked it, if at all; whether it was tame, insipid,
unpathetic etc. Please:

I have not heard from you, & the last post, at
5.30., has gone; I am much disappointed. Still I
will try to write tomorrow, if I hear from you; certainly
not unless. You surely aren't sulking. No; I
am sure you would not sulk - with me.

I will post this now, & then lie down.
It is a painful headache, but will soon be well.
Let us kiss together. Are still strong, happy &
beautiful? Let me see you white & swift before

me; for you do love me, don't you, sweet heart,
my own sweet little one? You were not in my
arms as you desired (you remember; as you
begged in your letter), but I called you sweet
little one, as I looked to the left & said
goodnight. Goodbye. In life I am your
truest fondest friend Edward & you ever
my own sweet little one, Helen, my anemone
maiden, anemone mémorisa. Sweet heart,
goodbye. Pardon me, too. This letter is cold
because I am cold, not because I do not
love you. Goodbye. All is well.

How forgetful you are! in more
than one thing, too.