Letter from Edward Thomas to the poet Gordon Bottomley. Sent from Bearsted Green, Maidstone, Kent. Archival ref: 424/1/1/1/10/11
Bearsted Green
n Maidstone

7.iii.04

My dear Gordon,

It is almost as long since you
heard from me as since I wrote to you, &
to me that is a very long time. For I
cared to write to you when I cared to be
able to write, & my pen refused to connive
at anything but the telegram style. Helen
has probably been sending you messages as
dismal as my thoughts, - not as dull, I expect.
I am hardly at all moved to write even now.
But two things conspire to produce this page.
First, I feel I must show you that I want to
write. Second, I began an essay on last
Friday night, & in a a way you were responsible
for it : in this way, that I have had
Arthur Ransome staying here & he left on Friday,
whereupon
the memory of his very pleasant company
persuaded me to soil a beautiful white stock
of paper again, the first (excluding 'Oxford')
for 15 months, with an essay; & if I hadn't
found that he was a friend of yours, I might
have failed to discover him. This reasoning
is good enough for an essayist. Ransome is a
remarkable boy. My only fear for him is that
he may become merely five years older than
he actually is; that he may become merely
old for his age. For he seems to be working,
as hard as if he liked it, at pure journalism,
tho it is quite clear that he has in him things

which can never be expressed in pur journalism &
may even be suppressed by it at his age. I
told him so. But of course there is no reason
why he should listen to me, who am an
obvious failure. I am. 'Oxford' hasn't done
me any service. I am not in the least in demand,
except in quarters where moderate work is wanted
for worse pay. And if I were in demand, I am
not in a position to supply. Infelix sum:
& I will drop the subject, & just ask you to admire
the brevity of those two words. I did not believe
myself capable of it.
Helen is away on the coast, at Walmer. She
has had a wretched time, tho I hope not worse
than I have had in consequence. For she fell ill,
just as I was [illegible] to work & enjoy at home again.
You know that I tried to live in London, to escape
the noise of the children? I escaped the noise &
fell upon horrible silences where people talked
abundantly indeed & to me, but said nothing to
break the silence of my soul: I was the victim
of a score of kind acquaintances & even
persons I had called friends for years. Work
abounded: I could have doubled my income. But
I fled & now I am beginning to hear music again,
& that is what I wanted to tell you, yet I
must not, for I am going to put it into
my essay & there you may hear it some day.
In health I am no better, tho I am a few pounds
heavier; nor am I less depressed, irritable,
but I hope I am getting used to it, which is nearly
as useful, tho not so pleasant, as getting rid of it.
I believe I shall never be happy unless I become mad.
By the way, I was twenty six last week. I
think that authors ages should always be given
to their readers; that is the best criticism.
With my love to you and your mother &
your Scribe. Edward Thomas