Letter from Edward Thomas to the poet Gordon Bottomley. Sent from Berryfield Cottage, Ashford, Petersfield, Hampshire. Archival ref: 424/1/1/1/10/84
14.v[sic].07.

My dear Gordon,
It is a beautiful still evening
at 7 o'clock & I sit & look at the
most luxuriant beechen hill & coombe
in the world. I have no need to do
any more work today, because I did
1600 words of writing before 3.30,
after which I wasted 2 hours trying
to pay calls with Helen but finding my
victims out. Then I said 'don't' to
the children many times, & finally to
myself; then suddenly seeing how beautiful
it was, I thought I ought to enjoy it
& could not think how. I can't read for
pleasure. I tried pondering: it annoyed me,
& there was no end to it. It is no use
walking, for I do nothing but feed my eyes
when I walk, & it has at last occurred to
me that that is not enough, - a man
in the country must [sic] be a naturalist,
an historian, an agriculturalist, or a
philosopher, & I am none of these, I
have no 'interests' at all, & I know that
beauty can bore, even infuriate one
who is seldom passionate. So I am
writing to you which is obviously a
poor thing to do as it simply clarifies
my introspection a little but will not - I
know well - lead it anywhere. Oh for
a little money, to turn round for a year,
to make sure whether there is anything I
should want to do if I had not to do
reviewing. I tried to get my agent to
help me out of reviewing. But he
could only suggest fiction, which I can't
even begin to think of yet. I suggested
a book in the suburbs, but instead of

Berryfield Cottage,
Ashford,
Petersfield

my little 20 000 words he wants an
important work of 60 000 & I know
what that means & he wants a syllabus &
I don't know what that means. The
Jefferies has not been settled yet & I
am afraid of it. It is a silly thing to
do a bad life of a good man & I shall
have no leisure to try to do a good one.
I wish hadn't written this because it is not
clear enough to enable you to help, supposing
I can be helped. But I leave it, I think,
just because I don't like sending you a
very short letter & I don't like keeping
you waiting very long. Oh, my self
consciousness, it flows & flows & is
almost constant now, & I fear perhaps
it will reach the point of excess
without my knowing it.
I won't send you my anthology
until the 2nd impression because it is
full of misprints. I simply cannot
concentrate my mind on familiar poems
so as to detect misprints.
What you say about 'a new
movement of naturalism - naturalism
of feeling where Wordsworth was no more
than a naturalism of thought' I
believe is well worth thinking about,
& there meant to fit curious if it
to some purpose (having long thought
vaguely as you do); but positively only reviews & nature ever make me
think at all & that in a way beyond

my control - things occur to me
& I think for about the length of a
lyric & then down & blank &
something new - if the old
idea returns it will not grow, but is
only repeated. Perhaps we worry
less about conclusions, generalisations
nowadays, in our anxiety to get
the facts [sic] feelings down - just as
science piles up a million pebbles &
can't arrange them or even play
with them. I am by the way going to
plead for a little more playfulness &
imagination (if to be got) in
archaeology, topography & so on:
the way in which scientific people
& their followers are satisfied with
data in appalling English disgusts
me, & is never wrong.
About Jefferies - I never read
The Scarlet Shawl but is a yellow
back & said to be an entirely vain
attempt to write an ordinary novel
about lords. But there I
should like to look at it when I come
soon. By the way as Helen is
a daily schoolmistress from 9 till
10.30 she cannot get away until
August & will then most likely go

with the children.
I like the idea of blank
verse for your Gunnar play, but
then also I should like to see how
you would do prose to that extent.
I don't know why de le Mare
should not like you, by the way.
Yes; I only smoke about 1½
pipes of tobacco a day. Perhaps
I am a little hungrier, but I am
neither more joyful nor more wise.
It is past 8 & almost too
dark & there is little more time.
I use a stylographic pen now -
hence my handwriting.
I introduced Guthries'
landscape to a very clever acquaintance
of mine who has money & spends it
& most of his time in learning to draw.
He likes Guthries feeling immensely
but says he ought to try working
with a fine fountain pen on
smooth paper & give up his 'messy'
methods! But I imagine Guthrie
will have to be satisfied with his
results now, won't he?
Our love to Emily & you.
Ever yours
Edward Thomas.