Edith to Stuart
19.12.17
My Belovéd,
Your note last night was just lovely, and thank you ever so much for it. I was particularly glad to read what you said about “all in all”, because several times I have been afraid that I did not come up to Harold’s picture. I don’t now believe that I do really, but I am glad you think I do, and I am trying the best I can.
I must go on with this in pencil, so please excuse it, for I cannot help it.
I was glad to read, too, that you liked the idea of polished floors, I was afraid that, perhaps, your great ambition, like my Dad’s, was to have a mice, thick carpet on your floor. I know Dad has wanted one for a long time, and I hope he is satisfied now that he has it. But I know that polished floors are the cleanest you can possibly have, and I should think they are cheaper than linoleum or carpet. I am only afraid that perhaps there is some difficulty in keeping them nice, as so few people go in for them. But they did not seem to be any trouble at school. At any rate, we can try, can’t we, Belovéd, and if our plans don’t answer well when carried out, we must just alter them till we find The Best Way. So much for the floors in our Home Beautiful. Next come the walls, and I will tell you what has always been my greatest ambition in that way, although I should think it is not often practicable except in one’s very own house. I should like, best of all, to have nice, clean, distempered, walls that can be washed. Failing this, I would have plain wall-papers, or papers with only very small patterns on them. I don’t know whether you have ever worried out problems in geometry on the wall-paper while you have been lying in bed. I have, and sometimes it is worse than nightmare. So – no large patterned papers in our Home Beautiful.
I hope, Dearest, I don’t frighten you when I write like this, you know, Mother says I shall want £1,000 a year, or something like it, to keep up my home. I expect I should, if it were really my Ideal Home. But I hope I am sensible enough to realise that I can not have all I want, nor, in fact, a great deal that I want. I don’t see that there is any harm in dreaming of these things, providing one can be content without them, and I think I can be, provided I have – you.
So, Dearest, I shall go on dreaming, and building up and Ideal Home in my imagination, just as a sort of picture which I shall do my best to copy. I will show you as much as I can of my picture, and you must show me as much as you can of yours, and then we must combine the two and – build.
Now I must say Goodnight and Goodbye. What you tell me about your supper, and the supper-thing and everything, makes me long more and more for our “Someday”. Still, I know you make the best of it, but I wish I could help you, so that the best might be a good deal better. “Carry on” for a little while, and then we shall be together, always.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
The Little Poem of Life
I:-
Thou:-
We:-
They:-
Small words, but mighty.
In their span
Are bound the life and hopes of man.
For first, his thoughts of his own self are full;
Until another comes, his heart to rule.
For them, life’s best is centred round their love;
Till younger lives come, all their love to prove.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 20 December 2009
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
18 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #53
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 18 1917
Sweetheart,
I don’t think that this is going to be a proper note; it may turn out to be, but it doesn’t feel so now. I want to tell you something which will not keep. You remember the letters I showed you that Harold wrote to me in the summer when he said “Get a girl” and what I should find; you remember what he said in his congratulatory letter, when you said I did not experience all that he said, I want to tell you just this; his words did not express one half of what I have found; you fill up all that wants filling up, you have turned life from a grey affair into happiness and strength; in fact, I could write many things but perhaps I may quote from those letters and say that in the best sense you are all in all.
Your ideas of the Home Beautiful show these things more and more; your ideas are beautiful and I know the results will be. They are just what I should like and I might go one further step and say that in addition to dark polished floors, I should like dark furniture, those round oak tables, in fact many of such things are as to be seen in your favourite shop, Baker’s. I think when the time comes you and I shall have to go there together and choose what we should like, but that must wait, although there is no reason why we should not put our dreams into some sort of tangible shape.
Dearest, I shall not attempt too many things, so do not worry about expressing your ideas of the perfect home. It is my duty both to country and family to garden now, and if as I do it, I think I am doing it to help you, to help us in our aims, it will make it pleasanter and I think I shall do it better. For the present, I think I can do little more, so I shall not attempt to fill any of those parts which you suggest.
I am pleased to have you say that you do find me affectionate; it may be Gladys did not, because she repulsed me. I hope you will always find me so, and as I said on Sunday, I hope we shall be “Sweethearts” “till death do us part”.
Goodbye, Belovéd, my Best of Women, how you conjure up happy thoughts of the days when the night will not end with Goodbye. I fear sometimes I am very very unworthy of you, your love and all your nobility, but I feel I am getting higher, and it is you who have raised.
Once more Goodbye and Goodnight; try to imagine I have said it as when I am with you and sleep and dream happily, Belovéd, the Best of All Women.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 18 1917
Sweetheart,
I don’t think that this is going to be a proper note; it may turn out to be, but it doesn’t feel so now. I want to tell you something which will not keep. You remember the letters I showed you that Harold wrote to me in the summer when he said “Get a girl” and what I should find; you remember what he said in his congratulatory letter, when you said I did not experience all that he said, I want to tell you just this; his words did not express one half of what I have found; you fill up all that wants filling up, you have turned life from a grey affair into happiness and strength; in fact, I could write many things but perhaps I may quote from those letters and say that in the best sense you are all in all.
Your ideas of the Home Beautiful show these things more and more; your ideas are beautiful and I know the results will be. They are just what I should like and I might go one further step and say that in addition to dark polished floors, I should like dark furniture, those round oak tables, in fact many of such things are as to be seen in your favourite shop, Baker’s. I think when the time comes you and I shall have to go there together and choose what we should like, but that must wait, although there is no reason why we should not put our dreams into some sort of tangible shape.
Dearest, I shall not attempt too many things, so do not worry about expressing your ideas of the perfect home. It is my duty both to country and family to garden now, and if as I do it, I think I am doing it to help you, to help us in our aims, it will make it pleasanter and I think I shall do it better. For the present, I think I can do little more, so I shall not attempt to fill any of those parts which you suggest.
I am pleased to have you say that you do find me affectionate; it may be Gladys did not, because she repulsed me. I hope you will always find me so, and as I said on Sunday, I hope we shall be “Sweethearts” “till death do us part”.
Goodbye, Belovéd, my Best of Women, how you conjure up happy thoughts of the days when the night will not end with Goodbye. I fear sometimes I am very very unworthy of you, your love and all your nobility, but I feel I am getting higher, and it is you who have raised.
Once more Goodbye and Goodnight; try to imagine I have said it as when I am with you and sleep and dream happily, Belovéd, the Best of All Women.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 22 November 2009
17 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #52
Edith to Stuart
17.12.17
My Belovéd,
You were pleased withy my last note, and I hope you will be with this one, - but I don’t know. I like what you said about the garden, but you must not turn gardener just because I want a garden. If you take that line, you may feel it necessary to become paper-hanger, carpenter, house decorator, sanitary-inspector, and several other things. Besides, I shall not like to tell you all the things I think about, for fear you will seriously consider putting them into effect at once. They are only ideas, and may possibly give place to far different ones in time. I did not wish to imply that I wanted an elaborate garden, in fact, I think a wild sort of one is much nice, provided the weeds are kept under. Here’s another little poetry piece about a garden:-
“See this my garden
Large and fair!”
Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
“’Tis not too long,”
His friend replied,
With truth exact, -
“Nor get too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side.”
Quick the reply –
“But see how high! –
It reaches up
To God’s blue sky!”
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher –
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.
You see, Dearest, however small our garden is, it will reach up to the sky, and God will reach down to our garden.
Now, you want something about the inside of the Home Beautiful, don’t you, Belovéd? But, please, before I go on, promise me one thing, - If there is anything you do not like, or with which you disagree, you will tell me; - because it is our Home we are building, and it must satisfy us both.
There are several ideals which I have at the back of my head when I think of the inside of our Home, but I think the chief ones are Beauty, Cleanliness, and Comfort first, because it depends on the other two. Beauty is hard to write about, hard to talk about, you can only see it, and feel it. That is why it must be difficult to furnish a house will, for until you see an article in the place it is to occupy, you cannot tell whether it satisfies your sense of the beautiful or not. I have often been disappointed in this way, - after, too, surprised by the way in which the queerest things “fit in”. But about the Cleanliness, I could write pages. I do not mean the cleanliness with which most people are content, but Cleanliness with a capital C, like you have in hospitals, no a speck of dirt anywhere. I wonder if you understand all that that means. It means that there must be no carpets, for how can anybody clean a carpet, no furry, woolly rugs, no dark covers of any kind, in fact no dirt collectors at all. Do you think it will be like a barn? Listen! This is what I thought about the floor for our sitting room, and for our bed-room – polished floors all over, with two or three rugs like I’ve seen in a book. They are nice and woolly-like, with pretty patterns on (one I saw had a picture of three dogs running away with three bones, - that was not pretty, but funny), but they are made of cotton, and can be washed. Do you like this. If not, please, please say so, and tell me what you would like.
I have not written much, but is time to stop. I wish I could go on, there’s such a lot more. But, one day, Dearest, you will see the real thing – all that we have planned, and dreamed of, and worked for, and you will be the King of it all.
Goodbye, my Dearest, my King of Men. When that time comes I shall not say “Goodbye”, but only – Good-night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
17.12.17
My Belovéd,
You were pleased withy my last note, and I hope you will be with this one, - but I don’t know. I like what you said about the garden, but you must not turn gardener just because I want a garden. If you take that line, you may feel it necessary to become paper-hanger, carpenter, house decorator, sanitary-inspector, and several other things. Besides, I shall not like to tell you all the things I think about, for fear you will seriously consider putting them into effect at once. They are only ideas, and may possibly give place to far different ones in time. I did not wish to imply that I wanted an elaborate garden, in fact, I think a wild sort of one is much nice, provided the weeds are kept under. Here’s another little poetry piece about a garden:-
“See this my garden
Large and fair!”
Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
“’Tis not too long,”
His friend replied,
With truth exact, -
“Nor get too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side.”
Quick the reply –
“But see how high! –
It reaches up
To God’s blue sky!”
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher –
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.
You see, Dearest, however small our garden is, it will reach up to the sky, and God will reach down to our garden.
Now, you want something about the inside of the Home Beautiful, don’t you, Belovéd? But, please, before I go on, promise me one thing, - If there is anything you do not like, or with which you disagree, you will tell me; - because it is our Home we are building, and it must satisfy us both.
There are several ideals which I have at the back of my head when I think of the inside of our Home, but I think the chief ones are Beauty, Cleanliness, and Comfort first, because it depends on the other two. Beauty is hard to write about, hard to talk about, you can only see it, and feel it. That is why it must be difficult to furnish a house will, for until you see an article in the place it is to occupy, you cannot tell whether it satisfies your sense of the beautiful or not. I have often been disappointed in this way, - after, too, surprised by the way in which the queerest things “fit in”. But about the Cleanliness, I could write pages. I do not mean the cleanliness with which most people are content, but Cleanliness with a capital C, like you have in hospitals, no a speck of dirt anywhere. I wonder if you understand all that that means. It means that there must be no carpets, for how can anybody clean a carpet, no furry, woolly rugs, no dark covers of any kind, in fact no dirt collectors at all. Do you think it will be like a barn? Listen! This is what I thought about the floor for our sitting room, and for our bed-room – polished floors all over, with two or three rugs like I’ve seen in a book. They are nice and woolly-like, with pretty patterns on (one I saw had a picture of three dogs running away with three bones, - that was not pretty, but funny), but they are made of cotton, and can be washed. Do you like this. If not, please, please say so, and tell me what you would like.
I have not written much, but is time to stop. I wish I could go on, there’s such a lot more. But, one day, Dearest, you will see the real thing – all that we have planned, and dreamed of, and worked for, and you will be the King of it all.
Goodbye, my Dearest, my King of Men. When that time comes I shall not say “Goodbye”, but only – Good-night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 15 November 2009
15 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #51
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 15 1917
Sweetheart,
I am very sorry I interrupted you in the writing of that last letter for it was one of the best. What it would have been had you really finished it I can hardly imagine, for as it was, it was a gem.
It helped me to see something that I can do to prepare for the days to come; I must learn to be a gardener. I have said I dislike it, I do, there seems so many other ways, better and more congenial, of spending time; I think, however, that as now my mind turns to Home-building, I must do what I can and I shall try in the limited time at my disposal to learn to do that which will give us what we both desire “The home Beautiful”. It seems to me, although I have not given it very much thought, that a garden is required for that outside beauty and possibly vegetable as well as flower garden. Perhaps next year, if my funds allow it, I may be able to combine the two on my allotment and when I have more time, increase my piece of cultivated ground. I may too, be able to do something at home and you will then be able to see what efforts I am making and what good may or may not result. As you prophesy, it may mean giving up some of our pleasant times, but you and I will, next summer, be on a footing different from that on which we were this year. You dream great dreams too, of the future home. No, I hope we shall not live alone always, and I hope that those children will not find me, as my brother and sister seem to have, one to be feared.
I have spent a happy evening yesterday and a happy day to-day. I could not but think, as we sat quietly at work last night, of Gladys and of how I bored her; I need not ask if I bored you. It was to me a further testimony of the depth, purity, and reality of our mutual love that we could spend a short time in such a way, and a happiness in that I found time could be spent happily like that, for, I suppose it will often happen, if our dreams come true, that evenings, many evenings will be spent in a similar way. The last few minutes were of course the best of all, but I think we should have marred the evening and its perfection if you had agreed to my other suggestion. I don’t know what or why it is, but there seems some blemish in it.
To-day too, has been very, very nice; there seemed to me to be a further help in the relationships between us; I hardly know what to call it and the best word I can think if is “camaraderie”. We seemed to talk more freely and you I thought, unburdened yourself more easily; was it imagination? And after we got home; those few minutes with you leaning on my shoulder and standing by me as I read, seemed just Perfection. I wonder if you knew or guessed how very much I then wanted to kiss you, my Dearest. Thank you for those words you showed to me; they were meant to cheer and help, were they not?
Although I sometimes feel that I have failed to create the home atmosphere I should have wished, I feel that it is not all my own fault and that really my opportunities have been few. After all, I have tried, but the forces against me have, at least for the time, prevailed, and it remains to be seen if ever it is, whether my efforts bear fruit here. Whatever happens, I shall have more experience for the time when you and I go home building.
That thought clings to me like a limpet and I have found it helps very much. It helps me to look forward happily to those days we hope to spend together, it helps me to bear the inconveniences and unpleasantnesses I must at home. I just won’t see more than I can help but look forward.
You half-reproached me once for not looking and being happy. Is there any improvement? If so, it is due to you; and although perhaps modesty will bid you deny it. I think common-sense will affirm it; for what else have I here to make me happy, if it is not you, my Best of Women?
As I think, comparing ourselves with others, I do not see how two could be happier together than we are and hope to be and as I form the best judgement I can of our characters it seems to me that we have between us, many of the qualities which go towards the making of a perfect Home.
A perfect home! – that is what I dream of so often. I want to do my share in the building of it and I want in the preparation time, to get ready for it, and so I am going to try to follow out the inspiration which you gave to me and endeavour to be a gardener, and one other thing, which is my independent idea although you agree with me, and that is to read the best of books, which, I agree, help one to live the highest life.
I must say Goodbye, my Dearest, my really Sweetheart, you who we hope will one day be – My Wife, for it is 12.20 a.m. It is very late, but you must forgive me; I wanted to write a long note without any restrictions of time and Gladys did not go to bed till 11.15, since when I have been writing, but must now stop.
Goodbye, Belovéd, goodbye, I wish I could write some nice things such as you will read in “Walter Greenaway” but although I cannot say it so nicely, you are to me all that is beautiful, pure, and good, you are to me My Perfect Woman.
Once more Goodbye, may God indeed be with you and may He grant us that happiness we so earnestly desire.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 15 1917
Sweetheart,
I am very sorry I interrupted you in the writing of that last letter for it was one of the best. What it would have been had you really finished it I can hardly imagine, for as it was, it was a gem.
It helped me to see something that I can do to prepare for the days to come; I must learn to be a gardener. I have said I dislike it, I do, there seems so many other ways, better and more congenial, of spending time; I think, however, that as now my mind turns to Home-building, I must do what I can and I shall try in the limited time at my disposal to learn to do that which will give us what we both desire “The home Beautiful”. It seems to me, although I have not given it very much thought, that a garden is required for that outside beauty and possibly vegetable as well as flower garden. Perhaps next year, if my funds allow it, I may be able to combine the two on my allotment and when I have more time, increase my piece of cultivated ground. I may too, be able to do something at home and you will then be able to see what efforts I am making and what good may or may not result. As you prophesy, it may mean giving up some of our pleasant times, but you and I will, next summer, be on a footing different from that on which we were this year. You dream great dreams too, of the future home. No, I hope we shall not live alone always, and I hope that those children will not find me, as my brother and sister seem to have, one to be feared.
I have spent a happy evening yesterday and a happy day to-day. I could not but think, as we sat quietly at work last night, of Gladys and of how I bored her; I need not ask if I bored you. It was to me a further testimony of the depth, purity, and reality of our mutual love that we could spend a short time in such a way, and a happiness in that I found time could be spent happily like that, for, I suppose it will often happen, if our dreams come true, that evenings, many evenings will be spent in a similar way. The last few minutes were of course the best of all, but I think we should have marred the evening and its perfection if you had agreed to my other suggestion. I don’t know what or why it is, but there seems some blemish in it.
To-day too, has been very, very nice; there seemed to me to be a further help in the relationships between us; I hardly know what to call it and the best word I can think if is “camaraderie”. We seemed to talk more freely and you I thought, unburdened yourself more easily; was it imagination? And after we got home; those few minutes with you leaning on my shoulder and standing by me as I read, seemed just Perfection. I wonder if you knew or guessed how very much I then wanted to kiss you, my Dearest. Thank you for those words you showed to me; they were meant to cheer and help, were they not?
Although I sometimes feel that I have failed to create the home atmosphere I should have wished, I feel that it is not all my own fault and that really my opportunities have been few. After all, I have tried, but the forces against me have, at least for the time, prevailed, and it remains to be seen if ever it is, whether my efforts bear fruit here. Whatever happens, I shall have more experience for the time when you and I go home building.
That thought clings to me like a limpet and I have found it helps very much. It helps me to look forward happily to those days we hope to spend together, it helps me to bear the inconveniences and unpleasantnesses I must at home. I just won’t see more than I can help but look forward.
You half-reproached me once for not looking and being happy. Is there any improvement? If so, it is due to you; and although perhaps modesty will bid you deny it. I think common-sense will affirm it; for what else have I here to make me happy, if it is not you, my Best of Women?
As I think, comparing ourselves with others, I do not see how two could be happier together than we are and hope to be and as I form the best judgement I can of our characters it seems to me that we have between us, many of the qualities which go towards the making of a perfect Home.
A perfect home! – that is what I dream of so often. I want to do my share in the building of it and I want in the preparation time, to get ready for it, and so I am going to try to follow out the inspiration which you gave to me and endeavour to be a gardener, and one other thing, which is my independent idea although you agree with me, and that is to read the best of books, which, I agree, help one to live the highest life.
I must say Goodbye, my Dearest, my really Sweetheart, you who we hope will one day be – My Wife, for it is 12.20 a.m. It is very late, but you must forgive me; I wanted to write a long note without any restrictions of time and Gladys did not go to bed till 11.15, since when I have been writing, but must now stop.
Goodbye, Belovéd, goodbye, I wish I could write some nice things such as you will read in “Walter Greenaway” but although I cannot say it so nicely, you are to me all that is beautiful, pure, and good, you are to me My Perfect Woman.
Once more Goodbye, may God indeed be with you and may He grant us that happiness we so earnestly desire.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
13 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #50
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 13 1917
Sweetheart,
When I wrote that note yesterday it was not my intention to give it to you last evening, but the idea came to me and I acted on it, especially as I felt I had not been my real self while I was with you.
I don’t see quite how we can yet fix on to anything definite for the future with its great uncertainty. I wonder sometimes if I have not sufficient faith and if I want to see too far ahead, not trusting sufficiently to Him Who has so far guided me well. Perhaps as time goes by, we shall both be guided to see just those things which we ought to do in preparation for the happy days which we hope will be our lot.
The fact that Corrie is going into the O.T.C.[i] will of course, further handicap me, but I do not regret it at all, as I feel I shall be failing to do what I ought if I put any hindrances in his way.
I must, however, try harder to be better in every way. I gave you some ideas of some of my weaknesses, and those I must endeavour to overcome and to add more polish to myself. I think I can help that by reading some of the best of books and in that choice you can, if you will, help me very much for my reading has been very meagre and limited.
This is very short but it will be just a “Goodnight” note, it will perhaps give you something extra to think of as you go to bed to-night. I wish I could help you more; it seems to me that I am continually asking of you, but am able to do very little for you in return.
I must say Goodbye to you my Belovéd, the Dearest and the Best; I felt almost bewildered by that thought last night as to what it will be if our love grows day by day for forty, fifty or may be more years; how happy then we ought to be! My Belovéd may all our dreams of happiness come true, and may we live together the best life it is possible for Man and Woman to live; I will try hard and I know you will, and I believe we shall get very near.
Goodbye, Belovéd, the Best of Women, Goodbye, Goodbye.
[i] Officer Training Corps
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 13 1917
Sweetheart,
When I wrote that note yesterday it was not my intention to give it to you last evening, but the idea came to me and I acted on it, especially as I felt I had not been my real self while I was with you.
I don’t see quite how we can yet fix on to anything definite for the future with its great uncertainty. I wonder sometimes if I have not sufficient faith and if I want to see too far ahead, not trusting sufficiently to Him Who has so far guided me well. Perhaps as time goes by, we shall both be guided to see just those things which we ought to do in preparation for the happy days which we hope will be our lot.
The fact that Corrie is going into the O.T.C.[i] will of course, further handicap me, but I do not regret it at all, as I feel I shall be failing to do what I ought if I put any hindrances in his way.
I must, however, try harder to be better in every way. I gave you some ideas of some of my weaknesses, and those I must endeavour to overcome and to add more polish to myself. I think I can help that by reading some of the best of books and in that choice you can, if you will, help me very much for my reading has been very meagre and limited.
This is very short but it will be just a “Goodnight” note, it will perhaps give you something extra to think of as you go to bed to-night. I wish I could help you more; it seems to me that I am continually asking of you, but am able to do very little for you in return.
I must say Goodbye to you my Belovéd, the Dearest and the Best; I felt almost bewildered by that thought last night as to what it will be if our love grows day by day for forty, fifty or may be more years; how happy then we ought to be! My Belovéd may all our dreams of happiness come true, and may we live together the best life it is possible for Man and Woman to live; I will try hard and I know you will, and I believe we shall get very near.
Goodbye, Belovéd, the Best of Women, Goodbye, Goodbye.
[i] Officer Training Corps
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 8 November 2009
12 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #49
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 12 1917
My Belovéd,
One disadvantage of our present system of note-writing is that there are, as now, sometimes two to answer, if any “answer” is required.
Monday’s note was especially nice; in addition to its other nice things there was a good display of sound common sense. Of course, I knew that you were the possessor of that gift but it is very pleasing to find it showing itself to such an advantage as then. You seem to have fathomed the whole difficulty of my past life and the cause of the present situation. No, Belovéd, I do not worry about the past, but I trust I may learn its lessons so as not to be at fault in our future.
Your words brought to mind your letter of the half term. I read it first when I was very tired both in body and mind and the first words that came to me were “Et tu, Brute”! I felt for a moment that you believed all the fault was mine and that you too distrusted me. But that quickly passed. Without any further words from you, I afterwards realized what you really meant, that ti was an effort to help me to make my life happier and everything smoother at home, and I thanked you for it. Now you have shown me still more that you think I have really tried to do my best in spite of things having apparently gone awry.
My Wife-to-be, may you always have that trust and confidence in me. Without it, Sweetheart, I feel we could never reach that at which we aim – the home to which those who know it may look as a pattern of perfection, of how parents and children may grow up in full companionship and happiness.
I am inclined to be impatient, my Dearest, when I am tired and compare my present home with that we hope to have; but it is only a passing phase, and the waiting until all is ready will make that time to come all the more perfect.
You said truly that nothing very definite has transpired about that home to which we look; no, it is true. I fear I am a dreamer, not quite practical enough, too much “up in the cloud” or as Harold would say “on a perch”, but I am hoping that soon I shall be able to say something definite and get something practical out of my many dreams.
I am so glad to know you find life so very much better and that you can look forward with so much calm. Dearest, I hope your thoughts may come true and that when you are ready to leave school, I may be ready to receive you.
Time is up and I have rambled a good deal touching first one thing and then another, and I am afraid this is very much lower than usual. But it is just “me” at the moment, tired, looking forward to seeing you to-night, looking still further further till I shall see you every night. Now Goodbye, thank you again and again for all you have been and are to me; you are indeed my Woman, she who fills up the gaps which want filling and who makes life beautiful. Once more Goodbye, Sweetheart, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DeaestBeloved 2009
Dec. 12 1917
My Belovéd,
One disadvantage of our present system of note-writing is that there are, as now, sometimes two to answer, if any “answer” is required.
Monday’s note was especially nice; in addition to its other nice things there was a good display of sound common sense. Of course, I knew that you were the possessor of that gift but it is very pleasing to find it showing itself to such an advantage as then. You seem to have fathomed the whole difficulty of my past life and the cause of the present situation. No, Belovéd, I do not worry about the past, but I trust I may learn its lessons so as not to be at fault in our future.
Your words brought to mind your letter of the half term. I read it first when I was very tired both in body and mind and the first words that came to me were “Et tu, Brute”! I felt for a moment that you believed all the fault was mine and that you too distrusted me. But that quickly passed. Without any further words from you, I afterwards realized what you really meant, that ti was an effort to help me to make my life happier and everything smoother at home, and I thanked you for it. Now you have shown me still more that you think I have really tried to do my best in spite of things having apparently gone awry.
My Wife-to-be, may you always have that trust and confidence in me. Without it, Sweetheart, I feel we could never reach that at which we aim – the home to which those who know it may look as a pattern of perfection, of how parents and children may grow up in full companionship and happiness.
I am inclined to be impatient, my Dearest, when I am tired and compare my present home with that we hope to have; but it is only a passing phase, and the waiting until all is ready will make that time to come all the more perfect.
You said truly that nothing very definite has transpired about that home to which we look; no, it is true. I fear I am a dreamer, not quite practical enough, too much “up in the cloud” or as Harold would say “on a perch”, but I am hoping that soon I shall be able to say something definite and get something practical out of my many dreams.
I am so glad to know you find life so very much better and that you can look forward with so much calm. Dearest, I hope your thoughts may come true and that when you are ready to leave school, I may be ready to receive you.
Time is up and I have rambled a good deal touching first one thing and then another, and I am afraid this is very much lower than usual. But it is just “me” at the moment, tired, looking forward to seeing you to-night, looking still further further till I shall see you every night. Now Goodbye, thank you again and again for all you have been and are to me; you are indeed my Woman, she who fills up the gaps which want filling and who makes life beautiful. Once more Goodbye, Sweetheart, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DeaestBeloved 2009
Thursday, 5 November 2009
12 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #48
Edith to Stuart
12.12.17
My Belovéd,
How can you think it is selfish to dream of the happiest days that are to come for use in the Home that is to be ours? Do we ever look forward to trouble, and trial, and hard work? Yet these things never fail to come to every home, and, if taken rightly, they are the making of the home. Do you not think that we shall be drawn closer, and closer, and closer, when we are called to share some deep sorrow together? But it would not be natural to look forward to the difficulties of the life ahead of us. That would only be adding to the burden of the present, instead of lightening it by anticipating future joys. We shall make time for as many as possible, for the beautiful things we enjoy on those excursions are God’s gifts, and it would be wrong to live heedless of them. But we shall find that there are many things to occupy our time, and we shall know, when the time comes, what is right for us to do. I think it more probable that we shall err on the other side. We do not intend to live alone, always, do we, Dearest? and when the family increases, work and responsibilities increase, too. We shall have to take care that we do not become “troubled with much serving”, so that we have neither time, nor inclination, for the things that really matter.
You certainly do most of the talking about the future, Dearest, and You are right in thinking that I could do a good deal, if once I started. I think I could write a book about it. I have a little book which is called “The World Beautiful”. Well, my book would be called “The Home Beautiful”, for our Home is going to be worthy of that name – beautiful outside, beautiful inside, and beautiful where you cannot see it, where you only feel it – beautiful in the Home Spirit. I’ll start at the beginning – It must be beautiful outside. No ugly, stick-out bit at the back, I would like a little garden in front, and another at the far back, where we could have yellow and white jessamine, lilies-of-the-valley, big yellow daisies, and a little lawn for you. I know you don’t like gardening, but I think we could manage this much, don’t you, Belovéd? Listen to this:-
“I know a little garden-close
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy dawn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.”
We will know that little garden-close someday, won’t we, Belovéd? and we’ll wander there, not all day, but part of the day. Now here’s some more about it;-
“A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Fern’d grot –
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not –
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
‘Tis very sure God walks in mine”.
Then, when we have made the outside of our Home beautiful enough for God to walk in the garden, we may be sure He will come farther, and swell inside with use.
Goodbye, my Dearest; the time will soon come when we shall go into the Home Beautiful together. Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
12.12.17
My Belovéd,
How can you think it is selfish to dream of the happiest days that are to come for use in the Home that is to be ours? Do we ever look forward to trouble, and trial, and hard work? Yet these things never fail to come to every home, and, if taken rightly, they are the making of the home. Do you not think that we shall be drawn closer, and closer, and closer, when we are called to share some deep sorrow together? But it would not be natural to look forward to the difficulties of the life ahead of us. That would only be adding to the burden of the present, instead of lightening it by anticipating future joys. We shall make time for as many as possible, for the beautiful things we enjoy on those excursions are God’s gifts, and it would be wrong to live heedless of them. But we shall find that there are many things to occupy our time, and we shall know, when the time comes, what is right for us to do. I think it more probable that we shall err on the other side. We do not intend to live alone, always, do we, Dearest? and when the family increases, work and responsibilities increase, too. We shall have to take care that we do not become “troubled with much serving”, so that we have neither time, nor inclination, for the things that really matter.
You certainly do most of the talking about the future, Dearest, and You are right in thinking that I could do a good deal, if once I started. I think I could write a book about it. I have a little book which is called “The World Beautiful”. Well, my book would be called “The Home Beautiful”, for our Home is going to be worthy of that name – beautiful outside, beautiful inside, and beautiful where you cannot see it, where you only feel it – beautiful in the Home Spirit. I’ll start at the beginning – It must be beautiful outside. No ugly, stick-out bit at the back, I would like a little garden in front, and another at the far back, where we could have yellow and white jessamine, lilies-of-the-valley, big yellow daisies, and a little lawn for you. I know you don’t like gardening, but I think we could manage this much, don’t you, Belovéd? Listen to this:-
“I know a little garden-close
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy dawn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.”
We will know that little garden-close someday, won’t we, Belovéd? and we’ll wander there, not all day, but part of the day. Now here’s some more about it;-
“A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Fern’d grot –
The veriest school
Of peace; and yet the fool
Contends that God is not –
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
‘Tis very sure God walks in mine”.
Then, when we have made the outside of our Home beautiful enough for God to walk in the garden, we may be sure He will come farther, and swell inside with use.
Goodbye, my Dearest; the time will soon come when we shall go into the Home Beautiful together. Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
10 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #47
Edith to Stuart
10.12.17
My Belovéd,
This is like a continuation of the last note, I wonder how much of that you understood. Not much, I guess. Never mind, I am going to try again.
You must not worry about the way in which I should spend my life if “the other thing should happen”. You have made such a great difference to me, and my life, that I no longer mind teaching the least little bit; in fact, sometimes I think it is quite as good as any other kind of work, except one (you know what that one is). Even if I did mind, I shall be quite free to choose my occupation at the end of that 3½ years, and I think Mother would always be glad to have me at home with her. Now Katie is gone to shop, I can think of that as a possibility, and it would be an excellent preparation for me. I have told you before, that this is what I should like to do. But now, I never think of leaving school until I can come to you, Dearest, so you must not worry about it any more. I am glad you told me, and I hope I have been able to show you that “All’s well”.
I don’t know why you thought your last note did not come up to the standard. I think it is even better than the others. I like especially about “the best home that ever was or will be”. But I must not write any more, for I think you would rather have this in the morning than at night.
So, Goodbye, my Dearest, Best of Men. Goodbye.
The common problem, - yours, mine, everyone’s,
Is – not to fancy what were fair in life
Provided it could be – but finding first
What may be, then find how to make it fair
Up to our means.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
10.12.17
My Belovéd,
This is like a continuation of the last note, I wonder how much of that you understood. Not much, I guess. Never mind, I am going to try again.
You must not worry about the way in which I should spend my life if “the other thing should happen”. You have made such a great difference to me, and my life, that I no longer mind teaching the least little bit; in fact, sometimes I think it is quite as good as any other kind of work, except one (you know what that one is). Even if I did mind, I shall be quite free to choose my occupation at the end of that 3½ years, and I think Mother would always be glad to have me at home with her. Now Katie is gone to shop, I can think of that as a possibility, and it would be an excellent preparation for me. I have told you before, that this is what I should like to do. But now, I never think of leaving school until I can come to you, Dearest, so you must not worry about it any more. I am glad you told me, and I hope I have been able to show you that “All’s well”.
I don’t know why you thought your last note did not come up to the standard. I think it is even better than the others. I like especially about “the best home that ever was or will be”. But I must not write any more, for I think you would rather have this in the morning than at night.
So, Goodbye, my Dearest, Best of Men. Goodbye.
The common problem, - yours, mine, everyone’s,
Is – not to fancy what were fair in life
Provided it could be – but finding first
What may be, then find how to make it fair
Up to our means.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 1 November 2009
10 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #46
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 10 1917
Best Belovéd,
What to write to-night I hardly know. My thoughts seem very vague and tangled, but what there is is about the future. Do I think and talk too much of those days to which I look so keenly? I wonder if I do. I dream and plan you know of Perfection. I hold out visions which seem too good to be realised and I wonder whether by doing such things I shall disappoint you very very much if they are not achieved either because they are perfect or because of the uncertainty of all things in the future. Please tell me just what you think, for I realize that these dreams, these thoughts may be pleasant and helpful even if they never materialize.
I wonder what you really think of the future. It seems to me that I do most of the talking on that subject, and I fear that my plans and ideas may be allowed by you to override your own which I am sure are better than mine. I am afraid mine are dreams; yours will be practical and also beautiful.
What would you like me to do with my life? I look forward, and for my own part I hardly know what to think. One result I want to achieve and that is happiness for both of us and I don’t see yet the best way. It seems to me we should be very very happy if I still remained at the press and we were to live in the country (say where I do now) and were able to spend my spare time in my home, free from such duties as those with which I have laden myself in the past; I dream for you and me by “our ain fireside” or on the water, or walking together, but – are these selfish dreams? Are there duties which I owe to others?
Don’t think me a prig if I say I feel I owe to God more than many others. You can see that I have more or less achieved in the last 6 years, what the world said was impossible; I feel it could not have been done without divine help and guidance, nor without Divine companionship; and it seems to me that I ought perhaps for that reason (as well as others) give my life to some sort of definite evangelical work. That is why I was rather please with the thought of which I told you. I know (and I don’t think my opinion is wrong) I am successful at my business and that being so I might turn it to good effect in the suggested direction. The idea of ordination recedes very much from the front place, but nothing definite takes it place. If you can and will, please tell me something of what you think, for although you say little I know you think much, and after all it is our life not mine.
Goodbye, Dearest, I am late again, so must not say much, but I think now of the days when Goodbye will not be used in its usual meaning, when you and I are together, with or own small maybe but happiest of homes, when you do not have work you dislike, but rather that which is a joy. Think on, Belovéd, be ever patient, the time will not be long. Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 10 1917
Best Belovéd,
What to write to-night I hardly know. My thoughts seem very vague and tangled, but what there is is about the future. Do I think and talk too much of those days to which I look so keenly? I wonder if I do. I dream and plan you know of Perfection. I hold out visions which seem too good to be realised and I wonder whether by doing such things I shall disappoint you very very much if they are not achieved either because they are perfect or because of the uncertainty of all things in the future. Please tell me just what you think, for I realize that these dreams, these thoughts may be pleasant and helpful even if they never materialize.
I wonder what you really think of the future. It seems to me that I do most of the talking on that subject, and I fear that my plans and ideas may be allowed by you to override your own which I am sure are better than mine. I am afraid mine are dreams; yours will be practical and also beautiful.
What would you like me to do with my life? I look forward, and for my own part I hardly know what to think. One result I want to achieve and that is happiness for both of us and I don’t see yet the best way. It seems to me we should be very very happy if I still remained at the press and we were to live in the country (say where I do now) and were able to spend my spare time in my home, free from such duties as those with which I have laden myself in the past; I dream for you and me by “our ain fireside” or on the water, or walking together, but – are these selfish dreams? Are there duties which I owe to others?
Don’t think me a prig if I say I feel I owe to God more than many others. You can see that I have more or less achieved in the last 6 years, what the world said was impossible; I feel it could not have been done without divine help and guidance, nor without Divine companionship; and it seems to me that I ought perhaps for that reason (as well as others) give my life to some sort of definite evangelical work. That is why I was rather please with the thought of which I told you. I know (and I don’t think my opinion is wrong) I am successful at my business and that being so I might turn it to good effect in the suggested direction. The idea of ordination recedes very much from the front place, but nothing definite takes it place. If you can and will, please tell me something of what you think, for although you say little I know you think much, and after all it is our life not mine.
Goodbye, Dearest, I am late again, so must not say much, but I think now of the days when Goodbye will not be used in its usual meaning, when you and I are together, with or own small maybe but happiest of homes, when you do not have work you dislike, but rather that which is a joy. Think on, Belovéd, be ever patient, the time will not be long. Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Saturday, 31 October 2009
8 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #45
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 8 1917
Belovéd,
It is 11 o’clock (“time I was in bed”, you will say) and I sit by the fire along. My thoughts go back to our walk and talk of this evening, which I hope you enjoyed as much as I did. It is pleasing to look into the future, to dream of the days which we hope to enjoy, and I believe it pleases you as well as it does me. You do not say much – but neither do I – you are too full I feel, but I think you like it very much.
I am afraid I hurt you a little perhaps when I speak of unpleasant possibilities, or at least you think me a pessimist but it is not so; I believe we shall both be allowed to enjoy to the full that wonderful, beautiful holy love which has come into our lives.
There is, however, the possibility of the other thing and should it happen, it may be less severe and cruel if you are in some measure prepared. One thing about it troubles me more than a little and it is this. Not as to how you will fee, that will be bad enough, but we shall always be united in spirit and you will look forward to our meeting again, but I am anxious as to how you would spend your life. There comes back to me very vividly how you said on that first Wednesday night “I just HATE” teaching and you said very vehemently; Dearest, we must do something if we can to avoid your life being spent like that.
I ramble, I fear, and do not write nicely, not even as well as usual, let alone p to my improvement, but forgive me for those thoughts have often been in my mind and perhaps now I have expressed them I may feel easier.
Three and a half years is the minimum of our waiting-time. Not too long I think, for I have to save and to do much before that waiting time draws to a close. I hope, however, you will be wrong and that it will not be the happiest time of your life; I am quite willing for it to be such till it is over but when that other time comes, that will, I hope be the best.
I am sure what I said to-night is right and that, for that life to be as perfect as possible. I must give all my time to it,, so that you and I may together build the best home that there ever was or will be. An ideal dream? Perhaps; but I think and hope we shall do our best to make that dream come true.
Can you imagine it, Sweetheart, a home where Love reigns supreme with you and me as its head and a bunch of happy children who can find their pleasures, hoys and happinesses at home with their parents? It’s great and wonderful, and fills me with an awe, which prevents me speaking as I would, but I expect your thoughts are very much like mine, and although the world would ridicule them, I believe they will help us to achieve that Prefect home at which we aim.
I tried to give you some little idea of how you have helped me, especially lately, but it is rather difficult to say anything definite, all I can say is that I am not where I was, but have advanced. I feel better mentally and spiritually, as well as physically and I have little doubt that it is you who have helped. Those evil thoughts against which I waged a long wearisome fight seem now to have quite gone, and in other ways too I am better; especially at home do I feel stronger and more able to resist the cutting words and pinpricks which are thrust at me. You know how depressed used to be for some 4 or 5 months; compare that with what I am now and you will see what good you have done to me.
I am glad that I, in my turn, have helped you but I fear it cannot in anything like the measure you have helped me; I often feel I am amongst much that is not quite straight, at least I am not in a Christian atmosphere and that I am bound to be tainted; I seem to be getting out of touch with the things of religion, but I don’t think the religion which is preached, is the Christianity of the Bible and I think I must work things out for myself a bit more.
This is rather a long rambling note, but I hope you will understand what I have been trying to say, how that you are to me the Best of Women, the purest, the noblest, the BEST of all; I chose you because you were such to me and you have been inspirer and help to me, and although you belittle yourself I know you will never fail me, but will continue to help me up and up until together we get near and nearer Perfect Love and Perfect Life.
Now, Goodbye and Good night. You are, I expect asleep as I write this for it is 11.45; I wish I could just give you another kiss and hug but the time is coming when I shall be able to, when we can go to sleep in each other’s arms to wake again to carry on our joint task. I want to talk more of that time soon and to ask your advice and opinion how best I can prepare for it, so you can think over an answer, and have it ready.
Once again, Goodbye – may God bless you and keep you and make all your life happy and pure and strong, all that is noble and best, and may He make me worthy of that wonderful beautiful love with you have given to me –
Goodbye, Sweetheart, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 8 1917
Belovéd,
It is 11 o’clock (“time I was in bed”, you will say) and I sit by the fire along. My thoughts go back to our walk and talk of this evening, which I hope you enjoyed as much as I did. It is pleasing to look into the future, to dream of the days which we hope to enjoy, and I believe it pleases you as well as it does me. You do not say much – but neither do I – you are too full I feel, but I think you like it very much.
I am afraid I hurt you a little perhaps when I speak of unpleasant possibilities, or at least you think me a pessimist but it is not so; I believe we shall both be allowed to enjoy to the full that wonderful, beautiful holy love which has come into our lives.
There is, however, the possibility of the other thing and should it happen, it may be less severe and cruel if you are in some measure prepared. One thing about it troubles me more than a little and it is this. Not as to how you will fee, that will be bad enough, but we shall always be united in spirit and you will look forward to our meeting again, but I am anxious as to how you would spend your life. There comes back to me very vividly how you said on that first Wednesday night “I just HATE” teaching and you said very vehemently; Dearest, we must do something if we can to avoid your life being spent like that.
I ramble, I fear, and do not write nicely, not even as well as usual, let alone p to my improvement, but forgive me for those thoughts have often been in my mind and perhaps now I have expressed them I may feel easier.
Three and a half years is the minimum of our waiting-time. Not too long I think, for I have to save and to do much before that waiting time draws to a close. I hope, however, you will be wrong and that it will not be the happiest time of your life; I am quite willing for it to be such till it is over but when that other time comes, that will, I hope be the best.
I am sure what I said to-night is right and that, for that life to be as perfect as possible. I must give all my time to it,, so that you and I may together build the best home that there ever was or will be. An ideal dream? Perhaps; but I think and hope we shall do our best to make that dream come true.
Can you imagine it, Sweetheart, a home where Love reigns supreme with you and me as its head and a bunch of happy children who can find their pleasures, hoys and happinesses at home with their parents? It’s great and wonderful, and fills me with an awe, which prevents me speaking as I would, but I expect your thoughts are very much like mine, and although the world would ridicule them, I believe they will help us to achieve that Prefect home at which we aim.
I tried to give you some little idea of how you have helped me, especially lately, but it is rather difficult to say anything definite, all I can say is that I am not where I was, but have advanced. I feel better mentally and spiritually, as well as physically and I have little doubt that it is you who have helped. Those evil thoughts against which I waged a long wearisome fight seem now to have quite gone, and in other ways too I am better; especially at home do I feel stronger and more able to resist the cutting words and pinpricks which are thrust at me. You know how depressed used to be for some 4 or 5 months; compare that with what I am now and you will see what good you have done to me.
I am glad that I, in my turn, have helped you but I fear it cannot in anything like the measure you have helped me; I often feel I am amongst much that is not quite straight, at least I am not in a Christian atmosphere and that I am bound to be tainted; I seem to be getting out of touch with the things of religion, but I don’t think the religion which is preached, is the Christianity of the Bible and I think I must work things out for myself a bit more.
This is rather a long rambling note, but I hope you will understand what I have been trying to say, how that you are to me the Best of Women, the purest, the noblest, the BEST of all; I chose you because you were such to me and you have been inspirer and help to me, and although you belittle yourself I know you will never fail me, but will continue to help me up and up until together we get near and nearer Perfect Love and Perfect Life.
Now, Goodbye and Good night. You are, I expect asleep as I write this for it is 11.45; I wish I could just give you another kiss and hug but the time is coming when I shall be able to, when we can go to sleep in each other’s arms to wake again to carry on our joint task. I want to talk more of that time soon and to ask your advice and opinion how best I can prepare for it, so you can think over an answer, and have it ready.
Once again, Goodbye – may God bless you and keep you and make all your life happy and pure and strong, all that is noble and best, and may He make me worthy of that wonderful beautiful love with you have given to me –
Goodbye, Sweetheart, Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
7 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #44
Edith to Stuart
7.12.17
My Belovéd,
You will be without a note tonight, and I am very sorry. I would bring this up to you when you leave the Press, but that would mean leaving mother alone, and you know she does not like that. However, I will get ahead in the week-end, so that you shall not be without one again, if I can help it.
Your sorrow about Dick is one in which I can sympathise. It is not very long since Dorothy Taylor did and I can well remember the strange feelings I had at that time. It seemed impossible, for quite a long time, to believe that she was really dead; I thought, at times, that if I went up to her room, she would surely be there in the bed. I had quite a shock the first time I went into the room afterwards, for in spite of the fact that I knew she was not there, there was something in me which expected to see her. But this is all about me, and I wanted to write about you. Dearest, you know what I would say, but I can’t. Although you said it was his Mother you thought about, I know there is a longing, “hungry” sort of feeling, deep down inside you, and you wish you could see him, speak to him, touch him, just once more.
I am going to write out to-night a little “poetry-piece”, which I often read when I think about Dorothy. I am afraid it only applies to a girl, but I think you would like to read it.
Now, to turn to other things, I must just remind you, Dearest, that the waiting is not all due to you. I have to serve at 3½ years more, so, even if you were ready, I should have to ask you to wait. We may have to wait longer, but we can think about that when the time comes. But I cannot see how public opinion could condemn you for asking me to do something which I cannot help doing. This is badly expressed, but you understand what I mean. The waiting time has been, and I am sure it will still be, the happiest time of my life. So, Dearest, don’t be afraid you are making it hard. Such times as Sunday evening make the time pass more quickly. They give something to look back to, and something wonderful and holy to look forward to. It was only for a few moments that I felt I could not wait. I think, however, that your suggestion that we should leave such things for indoors is a good one. I was glad you told me that you liked the first part of Sunday evening best. I liked it much the best. But I thought, somehow, it was the other you preferred, so I did not say. I wonder if you think me a turn coat; but I did not say before, which I liked best.
There are other things I want to say, but I must put them in the week-end letter.
Goodbye, my Belovéd, my Dearest, My Best of all men. Be happy, and keep happy, and get happier and happier, and someday, we’ll be happy together.
Good-night, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
7.12.17
My Belovéd,
You will be without a note tonight, and I am very sorry. I would bring this up to you when you leave the Press, but that would mean leaving mother alone, and you know she does not like that. However, I will get ahead in the week-end, so that you shall not be without one again, if I can help it.
Your sorrow about Dick is one in which I can sympathise. It is not very long since Dorothy Taylor did and I can well remember the strange feelings I had at that time. It seemed impossible, for quite a long time, to believe that she was really dead; I thought, at times, that if I went up to her room, she would surely be there in the bed. I had quite a shock the first time I went into the room afterwards, for in spite of the fact that I knew she was not there, there was something in me which expected to see her. But this is all about me, and I wanted to write about you. Dearest, you know what I would say, but I can’t. Although you said it was his Mother you thought about, I know there is a longing, “hungry” sort of feeling, deep down inside you, and you wish you could see him, speak to him, touch him, just once more.
I am going to write out to-night a little “poetry-piece”, which I often read when I think about Dorothy. I am afraid it only applies to a girl, but I think you would like to read it.
Now, to turn to other things, I must just remind you, Dearest, that the waiting is not all due to you. I have to serve at 3½ years more, so, even if you were ready, I should have to ask you to wait. We may have to wait longer, but we can think about that when the time comes. But I cannot see how public opinion could condemn you for asking me to do something which I cannot help doing. This is badly expressed, but you understand what I mean. The waiting time has been, and I am sure it will still be, the happiest time of my life. So, Dearest, don’t be afraid you are making it hard. Such times as Sunday evening make the time pass more quickly. They give something to look back to, and something wonderful and holy to look forward to. It was only for a few moments that I felt I could not wait. I think, however, that your suggestion that we should leave such things for indoors is a good one. I was glad you told me that you liked the first part of Sunday evening best. I liked it much the best. But I thought, somehow, it was the other you preferred, so I did not say. I wonder if you think me a turn coat; but I did not say before, which I liked best.
There are other things I want to say, but I must put them in the week-end letter.
Goodbye, my Belovéd, my Dearest, My Best of all men. Be happy, and keep happy, and get happier and happier, and someday, we’ll be happy together.
Good-night, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Monday, 26 October 2009
6 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #43
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 6 1917
Sweet-heart,
I am afraid this will be very short and perhaps not very nice, as a strain of sadness will possibly be in it. I have lost one of my few friends, and although we had little in common, he was dear to me, and my thoughts turn to him wounded and dying, and to his poor Mother who loved all her family so dearly; her sorrow must be very great.
There are a few things I want to say. First about the “irksome”; I did not think the experience was unpleasant at all, but was afraid it would make the waiting time seem too long. My Belovéd, it is a long time to ask you to wait and public opinion would, I think, condemn me for asking it, but I know now that I had to ask or (horrible thought) lose you, and I do not regret it. I want, however, to help you during that waiting time, to make it happy and pleasant, and that is why I was rather nervous last night. Perhaps it would be best to leave such things for indoors for occasions like Sunday evening, - they will be all the sweeter for being rare, but this is just my thoughts (not opinion) and the final decision I will leave to you.
The next thing is what I tried to say last night. I feel inconsistent; I write to you some of my thoughts and ideas of home life and yet I who have had the opportunity of putting such things into practice have failed to some extent. I think there is no denying that fact, but whether it is my fault or not, I cannot say; I think not altogether, but rather the circumstances under which we have lived. However, Dearest, failure or not, believe me I will try hard with you to make our home perfect especially on the spiritual side.
One more thing. Of course you will fall; because I think you perfect and no one is that, but the falling will not hurt or do any harm, what will hurt (but that will never happen) is when you give up trying, which I don’t think will ever be.
Now Goodbye, Sweetheart, the Best of All Women to me, dream happy pleasant dreams of the days to which we are both looking, be patient during the waiting time and then --- words fail me.
Once again, Goodbye – God be with you, Belovéd, and help you to all that is good and noble and pure, as I trust He will me, so that the end of our waiting may be just Perfection.
Once again Goodbye and thank you for all you are to me.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 6 1917
Sweet-heart,
I am afraid this will be very short and perhaps not very nice, as a strain of sadness will possibly be in it. I have lost one of my few friends, and although we had little in common, he was dear to me, and my thoughts turn to him wounded and dying, and to his poor Mother who loved all her family so dearly; her sorrow must be very great.
There are a few things I want to say. First about the “irksome”; I did not think the experience was unpleasant at all, but was afraid it would make the waiting time seem too long. My Belovéd, it is a long time to ask you to wait and public opinion would, I think, condemn me for asking it, but I know now that I had to ask or (horrible thought) lose you, and I do not regret it. I want, however, to help you during that waiting time, to make it happy and pleasant, and that is why I was rather nervous last night. Perhaps it would be best to leave such things for indoors for occasions like Sunday evening, - they will be all the sweeter for being rare, but this is just my thoughts (not opinion) and the final decision I will leave to you.
The next thing is what I tried to say last night. I feel inconsistent; I write to you some of my thoughts and ideas of home life and yet I who have had the opportunity of putting such things into practice have failed to some extent. I think there is no denying that fact, but whether it is my fault or not, I cannot say; I think not altogether, but rather the circumstances under which we have lived. However, Dearest, failure or not, believe me I will try hard with you to make our home perfect especially on the spiritual side.
One more thing. Of course you will fall; because I think you perfect and no one is that, but the falling will not hurt or do any harm, what will hurt (but that will never happen) is when you give up trying, which I don’t think will ever be.
Now Goodbye, Sweetheart, the Best of All Women to me, dream happy pleasant dreams of the days to which we are both looking, be patient during the waiting time and then --- words fail me.
Once again, Goodbye – God be with you, Belovéd, and help you to all that is good and noble and pure, as I trust He will me, so that the end of our waiting may be just Perfection.
Once again Goodbye and thank you for all you are to me.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Saturday, 24 October 2009
4 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #42
Edith to Stuart
30.11.17
My Belovéd,
You will be surprised to see the date at the top of this, but I feel I must just write a few lines to you tonight, although I have nothing to say. And shall I whisper to you the time? It is now twenty minutes past eleven, and I am in bed, and shall soon be asleep.
I love to think of the time when you will come home to tea with me, and you think about it, too. Tonight, when you spoke of it, you made me think of “Meg”, in “Little Women”. I suppose you don’t know her, so I will tell you about her to-morrow. Now, Goodnight, my Dearest, Goodnight.
4.12.17
My Dearest,
The first part of this note is very queer, and I thought at first I would not give it you. But I wrote it for you, so you must have it. Meg’s story is too long to write; perhaps we will read it together someday.
Your last two notes have, I think, been the best of all. I agree with all you say about the Home-building, and I hope the talk may come soon. To me, our Home is already a very real thing, and I think about it a great deal, perhaps more than I ought. Especially in Church, I find it difficult to concentrate my thoughts on the proper things. They will do off to that time which is coming, when we shall really be together in our own Home.
I did not mean that Sunday evening was in any way irksome. You know, Dearest, that it was not. In fact, it was almost perfect. It was as perfect as anything can be, now, until the endings of our evening can be different. I love to think how strong you are. I have known for a long time the strength of your character, but now you have shown me your bodily strength as well. I should not have thought it possible for you to do what you did. I only hope it gave you as much pleasure as it gave me. Women always admire strength in men, and, I think, always like to feel that they have master. At any rate, I do. You are my Master, and --- I love you.
Now, Dearest, I must just warn you that you are doing what you accused me of doing once. You are putting me on a pedestal. Thank you, Dearest, more, more than I can say for the words at the end of your note. They were beautiful, but, I am sorry to have to say it, they were too good. I am doing my best to live up to your Ideal, but, sometimes I am very much afraid of falling. What if I do, Dearest? I do not fear that you will cease to love me. I don’t believe you ever will. But, you know, Belovéd, you are really and truly so far above me, that your disappointment will be terrible, I am afraid, when you know me, as I really am. But ---
“Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
and makes the ivy climb the oak.”
So, Dearest, you have to help me up to that ideal of Womanhood, of which you see possibilities in me. With you ready to help, and me longing to climb, perhaps we shall succeed between us. I hope, and pray, that we may, because, you Best of men, you deserve the Best of Women for your companion. I fear that I shall never be that, the Best of Women, but, I will come as near as I can.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
E’en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine.
E’en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E’en so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit;
For I was flax, and He was flame of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine.
If all these glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all;
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world’s but theirs; but my Beloved’s mine.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
30.11.17
My Belovéd,
You will be surprised to see the date at the top of this, but I feel I must just write a few lines to you tonight, although I have nothing to say. And shall I whisper to you the time? It is now twenty minutes past eleven, and I am in bed, and shall soon be asleep.
I love to think of the time when you will come home to tea with me, and you think about it, too. Tonight, when you spoke of it, you made me think of “Meg”, in “Little Women”. I suppose you don’t know her, so I will tell you about her to-morrow. Now, Goodnight, my Dearest, Goodnight.
4.12.17
My Dearest,
The first part of this note is very queer, and I thought at first I would not give it you. But I wrote it for you, so you must have it. Meg’s story is too long to write; perhaps we will read it together someday.
Your last two notes have, I think, been the best of all. I agree with all you say about the Home-building, and I hope the talk may come soon. To me, our Home is already a very real thing, and I think about it a great deal, perhaps more than I ought. Especially in Church, I find it difficult to concentrate my thoughts on the proper things. They will do off to that time which is coming, when we shall really be together in our own Home.
I did not mean that Sunday evening was in any way irksome. You know, Dearest, that it was not. In fact, it was almost perfect. It was as perfect as anything can be, now, until the endings of our evening can be different. I love to think how strong you are. I have known for a long time the strength of your character, but now you have shown me your bodily strength as well. I should not have thought it possible for you to do what you did. I only hope it gave you as much pleasure as it gave me. Women always admire strength in men, and, I think, always like to feel that they have master. At any rate, I do. You are my Master, and --- I love you.
Now, Dearest, I must just warn you that you are doing what you accused me of doing once. You are putting me on a pedestal. Thank you, Dearest, more, more than I can say for the words at the end of your note. They were beautiful, but, I am sorry to have to say it, they were too good. I am doing my best to live up to your Ideal, but, sometimes I am very much afraid of falling. What if I do, Dearest? I do not fear that you will cease to love me. I don’t believe you ever will. But, you know, Belovéd, you are really and truly so far above me, that your disappointment will be terrible, I am afraid, when you know me, as I really am. But ---
“Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
and makes the ivy climb the oak.”
So, Dearest, you have to help me up to that ideal of Womanhood, of which you see possibilities in me. With you ready to help, and me longing to climb, perhaps we shall succeed between us. I hope, and pray, that we may, because, you Best of men, you deserve the Best of Women for your companion. I fear that I shall never be that, the Best of Women, but, I will come as near as I can.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
E’en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine.
E’en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E’en so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit;
For I was flax, and He was flame of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine.
If all these glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all;
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world’s but theirs; but my Beloved’s mine.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Thursday, 22 October 2009
3 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #41
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 3 1917
Belovéd,
You are quite right again; if such evenings as last night make you feel as you say, they are indeed dangerous, and we must not have them very often, for I must not make you “rebellious”; be strong, be patient, dear, the time for which we are waiting will very soon be here and then ---; I look back at the past 6 years and they have gone very quickly, and I don’t think we shall have to wait 6 years, but whatever the time may be, Belovéd, don’t let me do anything to make it irksome to you, and when I do, tell me as you have done to-day.
I was thinking of the future as I walked round Hinksey yesterday morning. The thoughts which came to me were something like these.
Until the last 3 months (perhaps 2 months or even less) I had but one aim, ordination and I think perhaps I allowed that o overshadow other things; Miss Packer suggested as much, too, and I am not sure that she is not right. But now, my point of view has changed, and I lean towards the idea of making a perfect home. Many, the majority, would say that I have put my hand to the plough and turned back but I don’t know that they are right. The other idea had never presented itself to me for myself, although I have for a long time held that such was the best thing a layman could do; you know by this time that I have always been led to believe that I was far too peculiar a person for any one to wish to share life with; but I was told wrongly.
Now that we have learned to love one another with what seems to me the deepest, purest, and whitest of loves, I must show I appreciate this Divine gift. I must do as I now feel I ought and what I think best for us both, help you or work with your “home-building”. I wonder if you understand me, Dearest, for this is all spontaneous and I write the words just as they come; calm meditated thought is perhaps clearer, but it is not ME (pardon!).
We will talk, perhaps, one day for after Christmas, I want to start working for that home; it seems a long way ahead with many uncertainties in between, but I feel that the God who has given us this love for each other will allow us to bring it to completion; that is one of the things I pray for daily and I feel sure it will come, and so am able to look forward hopefully.
Goodbye, Belovéd, there are many things I want to say, but it is very very difficult to find words just when I want to, it would not be possible to find them to tell you what you are to me, for it is not too much for me to say you are my ideal; that a woman could be as good, as true, as sensible,, as unselfish, as thoughtful and loving as you are, I used to doubt, but now that I know you, I realize that a woman can in reality possess those fine and noble qualities which I had thought they only possessed in theory, for I have seen them in you, who are to me perfections, the best, the whitest of all.
Goodbye, Sweetheart, look ahead happily and patiently; that ime will soon be here, my Dearest and Best.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 3 1917
Belovéd,
You are quite right again; if such evenings as last night make you feel as you say, they are indeed dangerous, and we must not have them very often, for I must not make you “rebellious”; be strong, be patient, dear, the time for which we are waiting will very soon be here and then ---; I look back at the past 6 years and they have gone very quickly, and I don’t think we shall have to wait 6 years, but whatever the time may be, Belovéd, don’t let me do anything to make it irksome to you, and when I do, tell me as you have done to-day.
I was thinking of the future as I walked round Hinksey yesterday morning. The thoughts which came to me were something like these.
Until the last 3 months (perhaps 2 months or even less) I had but one aim, ordination and I think perhaps I allowed that o overshadow other things; Miss Packer suggested as much, too, and I am not sure that she is not right. But now, my point of view has changed, and I lean towards the idea of making a perfect home. Many, the majority, would say that I have put my hand to the plough and turned back but I don’t know that they are right. The other idea had never presented itself to me for myself, although I have for a long time held that such was the best thing a layman could do; you know by this time that I have always been led to believe that I was far too peculiar a person for any one to wish to share life with; but I was told wrongly.
Now that we have learned to love one another with what seems to me the deepest, purest, and whitest of loves, I must show I appreciate this Divine gift. I must do as I now feel I ought and what I think best for us both, help you or work with your “home-building”. I wonder if you understand me, Dearest, for this is all spontaneous and I write the words just as they come; calm meditated thought is perhaps clearer, but it is not ME (pardon!).
We will talk, perhaps, one day for after Christmas, I want to start working for that home; it seems a long way ahead with many uncertainties in between, but I feel that the God who has given us this love for each other will allow us to bring it to completion; that is one of the things I pray for daily and I feel sure it will come, and so am able to look forward hopefully.
Goodbye, Belovéd, there are many things I want to say, but it is very very difficult to find words just when I want to, it would not be possible to find them to tell you what you are to me, for it is not too much for me to say you are my ideal; that a woman could be as good, as true, as sensible,, as unselfish, as thoughtful and loving as you are, I used to doubt, but now that I know you, I realize that a woman can in reality possess those fine and noble qualities which I had thought they only possessed in theory, for I have seen them in you, who are to me perfections, the best, the whitest of all.
Goodbye, Sweetheart, look ahead happily and patiently; that ime will soon be here, my Dearest and Best.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
3 December 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #40
Stuart to Edith
Dec. 3 1917
Dearest,
I must thank you for a most delightful and happy evening; it is useless for me to try to say how extra special nice it was, because I can’t, but it was one of the best, and although I don’t perhaps show you how I love you by passionate expressions, yet it goes very very deep, deeper than I should at one time have thought possible, too deep I am sure to be ever taken out. I could perhaps let myself go sometimes, as I did a little last night, but I am afraid of going too far and taking liberties. You are still, I feel and I hope I always shall, above me, to be reverenced, to be treated almost as something only; I cannot compare you with others, it is like comparing inferior metal to pure gold, for you are to me the purest, the noblest, the BEST.
I repeat myself (do I not?), but never mind; I am glad I feel so about you, whatever you think, for it makes me try always (or nearly always) to come up to where you are, and as I look ahead I feel I shall want you to help me a long way up.
A material home does not worry me, at all, for if I have been able to keep a home for sister and brothers, it seems a comparatively easy matter to keep one for ourselves (how do you like this thought?) and I don’t think the other side (shall I call it spiritual?) should cause me anxiety. As I look back I can see fairly well that distrust has helped very much our home difficulties, and I don’t see how it could be helped, for many many times have I found Gladys in debt; even in the last 12 months, I discovered she was owing more than £3.
But we shall not be like that, we shall as one, the breath, the fainted suspicion of distrust must not come between us. Please trust me always, I may do funny things at times but I love you very very much, when in doubt ask me or tell me somehow and I will try to drive it away.
Goodbye, Belovéd, my Dearest and Best, I expect I shall be late to-day, but I wanted to write all this; Goodbye you best and noblest of all, who have helped me so much, goodbye, goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Dec. 3 1917
Dearest,
I must thank you for a most delightful and happy evening; it is useless for me to try to say how extra special nice it was, because I can’t, but it was one of the best, and although I don’t perhaps show you how I love you by passionate expressions, yet it goes very very deep, deeper than I should at one time have thought possible, too deep I am sure to be ever taken out. I could perhaps let myself go sometimes, as I did a little last night, but I am afraid of going too far and taking liberties. You are still, I feel and I hope I always shall, above me, to be reverenced, to be treated almost as something only; I cannot compare you with others, it is like comparing inferior metal to pure gold, for you are to me the purest, the noblest, the BEST.
I repeat myself (do I not?), but never mind; I am glad I feel so about you, whatever you think, for it makes me try always (or nearly always) to come up to where you are, and as I look ahead I feel I shall want you to help me a long way up.
A material home does not worry me, at all, for if I have been able to keep a home for sister and brothers, it seems a comparatively easy matter to keep one for ourselves (how do you like this thought?) and I don’t think the other side (shall I call it spiritual?) should cause me anxiety. As I look back I can see fairly well that distrust has helped very much our home difficulties, and I don’t see how it could be helped, for many many times have I found Gladys in debt; even in the last 12 months, I discovered she was owing more than £3.
But we shall not be like that, we shall as one, the breath, the fainted suspicion of distrust must not come between us. Please trust me always, I may do funny things at times but I love you very very much, when in doubt ask me or tell me somehow and I will try to drive it away.
Goodbye, Belovéd, my Dearest and Best, I expect I shall be late to-day, but I wanted to write all this; Goodbye you best and noblest of all, who have helped me so much, goodbye, goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
2 December 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #39
Edith to Stuart
2.12.17
My Belovéd,
On Friday I started a note to you, but I cannot think just where I put it, so you must have that one next time. I feel I must write something to give you in the morning, but it must be very short, for it is past eleven.
Dearest, I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed this evening. I think it will always be one of the Red Letter Days. I do not think you took a liberty at all, because --- I am all yours. But, Sweetheart, I had a strange feeling, and I think you did, too, that it was dangerous, and must not be repeated often. I felt myself asking, “Why must we wait? Why must we wait?”
Of course, I know it is to our advantage all round, that we should wait. In fact, it is impossible for us to do anything else. But just for a little while, I felt very rebellious.
It seemed a long time ago. That I loved you so much I could not possibly love you any more. But I find, like you, that it grows. Each day, I feel that I love you more than before, and today, --- more and more than ever. And, Dearest, I like to come to your house so much. It is altogether different from you coming to our’s. I don’t know why, unless it is because it is your house, and may, perhaps, be ours someday.
Now, Dearest, I must say Good-night as it is nearly half-past-eleven, and I may hear something in the morning.
Good-night, my Dearest, I which I could make the weeks and months go faster and faster, (but I do not suppose they will be any too long for all we have to do.)
Once more, Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
2.12.17
My Belovéd,
On Friday I started a note to you, but I cannot think just where I put it, so you must have that one next time. I feel I must write something to give you in the morning, but it must be very short, for it is past eleven.
Dearest, I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed this evening. I think it will always be one of the Red Letter Days. I do not think you took a liberty at all, because --- I am all yours. But, Sweetheart, I had a strange feeling, and I think you did, too, that it was dangerous, and must not be repeated often. I felt myself asking, “Why must we wait? Why must we wait?”
Of course, I know it is to our advantage all round, that we should wait. In fact, it is impossible for us to do anything else. But just for a little while, I felt very rebellious.
It seemed a long time ago. That I loved you so much I could not possibly love you any more. But I find, like you, that it grows. Each day, I feel that I love you more than before, and today, --- more and more than ever. And, Dearest, I like to come to your house so much. It is altogether different from you coming to our’s. I don’t know why, unless it is because it is your house, and may, perhaps, be ours someday.
Now, Dearest, I must say Good-night as it is nearly half-past-eleven, and I may hear something in the morning.
Good-night, my Dearest, I which I could make the weeks and months go faster and faster, (but I do not suppose they will be any too long for all we have to do.)
Once more, Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 18 October 2009
30 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #38
Edith to Stuart
30.11.17
My Belovéd,
You will be surprised to see the date at the top of this, but I feel I must just write a few lines to you tonight, although I have nothing to say. And shall I whisper to you the time? It is now twenty minutes past eleven, and I am in bed, and shall soon be asleep.
I love to think of the time when you will come home to tea with me, and you think about it, too. Tonight, when you spoke of it, you made me think of “Meg”, in “Little Women”. I suppose you don’t know her, so I will tell you about her to-morrow. Now, Goodnight, my Dearest, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
30.11.17
My Belovéd,
You will be surprised to see the date at the top of this, but I feel I must just write a few lines to you tonight, although I have nothing to say. And shall I whisper to you the time? It is now twenty minutes past eleven, and I am in bed, and shall soon be asleep.
I love to think of the time when you will come home to tea with me, and you think about it, too. Tonight, when you spoke of it, you made me think of “Meg”, in “Little Women”. I suppose you don’t know her, so I will tell you about her to-morrow. Now, Goodnight, my Dearest, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Saturday, 17 October 2009
29 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #37
Edith to Stuart
29.11.17
My Belovéd,
Thank you very much for the note which you gave me this morning. I like it very much, in fact, I like it more than that, because I like all your notes very much, but this is one that is extra nice. It is not really very different from the others, only you had something different to say in it. My feelings, when Mrs Bennett gave us her gift, were very much like yours, but, perhaps not quite so marked, because I had felt so many times before. Her gift is not to me quite the first stone, because I already had several, although they were very small. Of course, it is the first one that has been given to us, but I have always regarded the others as being yours as well as mine. It is great and wonderful to think of ourselves as “Home-builders”. We are builders now, aren’t we? In fact, we have been builders for a long time. I think of it often through the day, and it is surprising how much it helps.
Do you remember last Thursday? I do. I love to think of those few minutes we spent together in the evening. Isn’t it strange how some little events stand out clearly from all others? I suppose I enjoyed those few minutes so much because I wanted you extra specially much, for I was feeling so miserable. One other time stands out as clearly, the very first Monday of all, in the boat. Oh, Dearest, I cannot tell you how I was felling that day; everything seemed as black as it could be. And then --- you know. It has all changed, for I had --- you. You did not say anything, but I knew almost as much then, as I did on that Wednesday evening. Monday left an impression almost, if not quite as deep as Wednesday. It was the First Day, and the beginning of it was very black for me. But the end ------------
“For clouds and darkness, and the still, small voice;
For sorrows bearing fruit of nobler life;
For those sore strokes that broke us at Thy feet;
For peace in strife; for gain in seeming loss;
For every loss that wrought the greater gain;
For that sweet juice from bitterness outpressed;
For all this sweet, strange paradox of life; ---
We thank thee, Lord”
Do you understand, Dearest?
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
29.11.17
My Belovéd,
Thank you very much for the note which you gave me this morning. I like it very much, in fact, I like it more than that, because I like all your notes very much, but this is one that is extra nice. It is not really very different from the others, only you had something different to say in it. My feelings, when Mrs Bennett gave us her gift, were very much like yours, but, perhaps not quite so marked, because I had felt so many times before. Her gift is not to me quite the first stone, because I already had several, although they were very small. Of course, it is the first one that has been given to us, but I have always regarded the others as being yours as well as mine. It is great and wonderful to think of ourselves as “Home-builders”. We are builders now, aren’t we? In fact, we have been builders for a long time. I think of it often through the day, and it is surprising how much it helps.
Do you remember last Thursday? I do. I love to think of those few minutes we spent together in the evening. Isn’t it strange how some little events stand out clearly from all others? I suppose I enjoyed those few minutes so much because I wanted you extra specially much, for I was feeling so miserable. One other time stands out as clearly, the very first Monday of all, in the boat. Oh, Dearest, I cannot tell you how I was felling that day; everything seemed as black as it could be. And then --- you know. It has all changed, for I had --- you. You did not say anything, but I knew almost as much then, as I did on that Wednesday evening. Monday left an impression almost, if not quite as deep as Wednesday. It was the First Day, and the beginning of it was very black for me. But the end ------------
“For clouds and darkness, and the still, small voice;
For sorrows bearing fruit of nobler life;
For those sore strokes that broke us at Thy feet;
For peace in strife; for gain in seeming loss;
For every loss that wrought the greater gain;
For that sweet juice from bitterness outpressed;
For all this sweet, strange paradox of life; ---
We thank thee, Lord”
Do you understand, Dearest?
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Friday, 16 October 2009
28 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #36
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 28 1917
Sweetheart,
I wonder what thoughts passed through your mind when you received Mrs Bennett’s gift. For myself, the seriousness and solemnity of our action and position seemed to come to me very strongly; it seemed to me, as it were the foundation stone, or at least the first stone in the building of the home which you and I are hoping for. Home-builders – how does that sound? I trust we may be successful and happy in that work, and that each will be able to supply the needs of the other.
Similar ideas ran through my mind at tea-time. You and I in our home; it moved me to the depths and I would have liked to have spoken some of the thoughts which were in my mind, but they seemed too deep to be dragged up, but I felt we knew each other’s thoughts and there was very little need for words.
Has your plan for making me happier succeeded? I think it has; for I have not felt that horrible depression which used to come so often, since I made a fresh start; friction and unkindness at home I have made up my mind not to notice, and as I am at home little I can easily ignore both.
It is you who have made this easy for me, you have made me brighter, you to have given me zest in my life, so that I feel now, instead of being overwhelmed by my work, that I can grapple with it and am master of it. Of course, I have many things yet to learn, but I feel myself capable of learning them.
You see I did remember the name, and isn’t it curious that my thoughts about it where just like yours? I think I told you your Mother used it once (the day you went to Tempsford) and it did not sound nice at all, but as I wrote it to you, it seemed to me just as it did to you “deep down and real and true”, and I am glad you liked it.
Twelve weeks have gone, gone like a flash, and we are nearer and dearer to one another than before. I have not the slightest hesitation now in saying “I love you”. I know I have made no mistake, and that is you for whom I have so long been waiting the fill up the gap; but you were worth waiting for!
I must not write more, except to say Goodbye to you, Belovéd, how I wish I could just say it to you, but I think of you always and you are the last in my thoughts every night, as you are first in the morning; the time is coming, and not so vary far away, when not only in thought but in person shall we be with each other night and morning.
Goodbye, my Dearest, help me to be all that you would have me be, all that is noblest and purest and best, help me to be fit to be your life’s companion. You that are to me all that is the very Best; no adjectives are adequate, not even superlatives, for in every thing, Belovéd, you are to me the very BEST. Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 28 1917
Sweetheart,
I wonder what thoughts passed through your mind when you received Mrs Bennett’s gift. For myself, the seriousness and solemnity of our action and position seemed to come to me very strongly; it seemed to me, as it were the foundation stone, or at least the first stone in the building of the home which you and I are hoping for. Home-builders – how does that sound? I trust we may be successful and happy in that work, and that each will be able to supply the needs of the other.
Similar ideas ran through my mind at tea-time. You and I in our home; it moved me to the depths and I would have liked to have spoken some of the thoughts which were in my mind, but they seemed too deep to be dragged up, but I felt we knew each other’s thoughts and there was very little need for words.
Has your plan for making me happier succeeded? I think it has; for I have not felt that horrible depression which used to come so often, since I made a fresh start; friction and unkindness at home I have made up my mind not to notice, and as I am at home little I can easily ignore both.
It is you who have made this easy for me, you have made me brighter, you to have given me zest in my life, so that I feel now, instead of being overwhelmed by my work, that I can grapple with it and am master of it. Of course, I have many things yet to learn, but I feel myself capable of learning them.
You see I did remember the name, and isn’t it curious that my thoughts about it where just like yours? I think I told you your Mother used it once (the day you went to Tempsford) and it did not sound nice at all, but as I wrote it to you, it seemed to me just as it did to you “deep down and real and true”, and I am glad you liked it.
Twelve weeks have gone, gone like a flash, and we are nearer and dearer to one another than before. I have not the slightest hesitation now in saying “I love you”. I know I have made no mistake, and that is you for whom I have so long been waiting the fill up the gap; but you were worth waiting for!
I must not write more, except to say Goodbye to you, Belovéd, how I wish I could just say it to you, but I think of you always and you are the last in my thoughts every night, as you are first in the morning; the time is coming, and not so vary far away, when not only in thought but in person shall we be with each other night and morning.
Goodbye, my Dearest, help me to be all that you would have me be, all that is noblest and purest and best, help me to be fit to be your life’s companion. You that are to me all that is the very Best; no adjectives are adequate, not even superlatives, for in every thing, Belovéd, you are to me the very BEST. Goodbye, Goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Thursday, 15 October 2009
26 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #35
Edith to Stuart
26.11.17
My Belovéd,
You spoke this morning as if you thought I did not care for your letters. That one to Lucy[1] was certainly very nicely worded and put together, but it was nothing like those you write to me. My letters are little bits of you, and just – perfect. I liked the new name in the last one, (Friday’s) very much. I wonder if you remember what it was? I expect not. But I like it, all the same. I thought I should not like it, because it is one that is used so lightly, but when I read it, I could just hear you saying it, and it sounded deep-down, and real, and true.
I have been reading Arthur Mee’s ‘Letters to Girls’. In fact, I am always reading them, because when I get to the end, I go back and start again at the beginning. But I have just finished the one “To the Girl who loves her Home”, and there are such nice bits in it that I thought I would write them out for. But I think it would be nicer to read the whole letter, and most of it applies to the Boy who loves his Home as well. I think you said Gladys had the book, but if you care to use mine --- it is yours.
I quite understand about yesterday, both the afternoon and the evening, and I think you did right in both cases. I really do not think Ivy wanted to go out, and if she did, she should have told me definitely on Saturday. Besides, I am not going to leave you at the last minute, like that. It is bad enough to have to leave you at all, and someday --- you know the rest, don’t you, Belovéd?
Good-night, my Dearest. I wish I could be with you now. You must be tired out to-night, after such a long day, and your rough walk home. I wish I could have met you when you went in – I will some day, perhaps. But now, I can only write it on paper. Good-night, My Dearest, Good-night, and here’s such a kiss for you, only you can’t feel it. Good-night, Belovéd.
The spikenard was not wasted;-
All down the tale of years,
The fragrance of that broken alabaster
Still clings to Mary’s memory,
As clung it’s perfume sweet unto her master.
Not less than Martha,
Mary served her Lord,
Although she but sat worshipping,
While Martha spread the board.
They also minister to Christ,
And render noblest duty,
Whose sweet hands touch life’s common rounds
To Fragrance and to Beauty.
[1] Lucy was a mutual friend of Edith’s.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
26.11.17
My Belovéd,
You spoke this morning as if you thought I did not care for your letters. That one to Lucy[1] was certainly very nicely worded and put together, but it was nothing like those you write to me. My letters are little bits of you, and just – perfect. I liked the new name in the last one, (Friday’s) very much. I wonder if you remember what it was? I expect not. But I like it, all the same. I thought I should not like it, because it is one that is used so lightly, but when I read it, I could just hear you saying it, and it sounded deep-down, and real, and true.
I have been reading Arthur Mee’s ‘Letters to Girls’. In fact, I am always reading them, because when I get to the end, I go back and start again at the beginning. But I have just finished the one “To the Girl who loves her Home”, and there are such nice bits in it that I thought I would write them out for. But I think it would be nicer to read the whole letter, and most of it applies to the Boy who loves his Home as well. I think you said Gladys had the book, but if you care to use mine --- it is yours.
I quite understand about yesterday, both the afternoon and the evening, and I think you did right in both cases. I really do not think Ivy wanted to go out, and if she did, she should have told me definitely on Saturday. Besides, I am not going to leave you at the last minute, like that. It is bad enough to have to leave you at all, and someday --- you know the rest, don’t you, Belovéd?
Good-night, my Dearest. I wish I could be with you now. You must be tired out to-night, after such a long day, and your rough walk home. I wish I could have met you when you went in – I will some day, perhaps. But now, I can only write it on paper. Good-night, My Dearest, Good-night, and here’s such a kiss for you, only you can’t feel it. Good-night, Belovéd.
The spikenard was not wasted;-
All down the tale of years,
The fragrance of that broken alabaster
Still clings to Mary’s memory,
As clung it’s perfume sweet unto her master.
Not less than Martha,
Mary served her Lord,
Although she but sat worshipping,
While Martha spread the board.
They also minister to Christ,
And render noblest duty,
Whose sweet hands touch life’s common rounds
To Fragrance and to Beauty.
[1] Lucy was a mutual friend of Edith’s.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
26 November 1917 Stuart to Edith Letter #34
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 26 1917
Belovéd,
I hoped that I should be able to make this an “extra nice” note, but “the best laid schemes of men and mice gang all agley”. Our little piece of self denial was unnecessary as they were all home by 8.45 and although I wrote to Lucy[1], I was not able to write to you, the atmosphere did not seem quite right, so I must do the best I can this morning.
You understood I think why I came home last night and I thank you for not pressing me to stay. You know that you are first, but that I felt it my duty to give my time then to my home; I must warn you, however, that I am apt to carry that idea of duty too far, so that when I do, please tell me so.
I have been following your advice and thinking about the last person I was with (generally you) and wondering what I could do better.
I hope you quite understood what I meant about Ivy[2]. If you didn’t, it hurt; but I wanted you, ever so much, even although I offered to give you up for that little time. Perhaps I ought not to make such offers? But I know I want you very much indeed and I am afraid of wanting too much and taking what belongs to other people.
This is not so nice as I should have liked but it is 8.20 and I must hurry to say Goodbye to you, my Belovéd, my Dearest; I wonder if you anywhere like imagine all the happiness and joy you have brought to me; how the gloom of the past and the fears of the future have been dispelled and how your love has done it. May I be worthy of all this, is my constant hope; you know that in spite of all my blunderings, roughness and I do love you most dearly.
Now once more, Goodbye, Belovéd, may all things be good with you. Goodbye, goodbye, my Dearest and my Best.
[1] Lucy was a mutual friend of Edith’s.
[2] Ivy Constable was Edith’s friend. She became God-mother to Edith and Stuart’s son.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 26 1917
Belovéd,
I hoped that I should be able to make this an “extra nice” note, but “the best laid schemes of men and mice gang all agley”. Our little piece of self denial was unnecessary as they were all home by 8.45 and although I wrote to Lucy[1], I was not able to write to you, the atmosphere did not seem quite right, so I must do the best I can this morning.
You understood I think why I came home last night and I thank you for not pressing me to stay. You know that you are first, but that I felt it my duty to give my time then to my home; I must warn you, however, that I am apt to carry that idea of duty too far, so that when I do, please tell me so.
I have been following your advice and thinking about the last person I was with (generally you) and wondering what I could do better.
I hope you quite understood what I meant about Ivy[2]. If you didn’t, it hurt; but I wanted you, ever so much, even although I offered to give you up for that little time. Perhaps I ought not to make such offers? But I know I want you very much indeed and I am afraid of wanting too much and taking what belongs to other people.
This is not so nice as I should have liked but it is 8.20 and I must hurry to say Goodbye to you, my Belovéd, my Dearest; I wonder if you anywhere like imagine all the happiness and joy you have brought to me; how the gloom of the past and the fears of the future have been dispelled and how your love has done it. May I be worthy of all this, is my constant hope; you know that in spite of all my blunderings, roughness and I do love you most dearly.
Now once more, Goodbye, Belovéd, may all things be good with you. Goodbye, goodbye, my Dearest and my Best.
[1] Lucy was a mutual friend of Edith’s.
[2] Ivy Constable was Edith’s friend. She became God-mother to Edith and Stuart’s son.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
23 November 1917 Suart to Edith - Letter # 33
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 23 1917
Sweetheart,
Did it hurt you? you ask. Not one little bit. For on this subject my thoughts are as your thoughts.
Let me take the first part of your note first. What you thought I said I did say but I think I said it verbally one evening when you came to see me when I was laid up. Since then I have thought a good deal more about things. My earlier thoughts were all based on the idea that I should be single. I never imagined that I should meet any one who would care for me as you do, or for whom I should feel such love as I do for you, and these facts rather alter the outlook. I should not hesitate now, I think.
It is kind of you to say I must not let you influence me, but that I cannot obey; I do not think I speak too strongly when I say you always influence me, and as I have said before, for good. I will give you an example of what I mean. In the past before I knew you and before we found each other, I was often troubled with thoughts of which I was much ashamed, they were bad and yet try as I would, they returned periodically. I don’t think they ever come now; when I fear they are about to, I just think of you and there is no room for anything else. I might give you other examples which would all show the same thing, that you have lifted me higher than I was before, that you have helped.
I wanted to write a lot more, there is so much to-day of which I could write, but time has gone and even now I am afraid I shall be late; so goodbye, Belovéd, my Dearest and Best, we are yet another day nearer to the time to which we look forward; I am, however, looking forward now to Christmas and the holidays, when I hope we shall have some happy times; perhaps as the time gets nearer, we can plan something, but now goodbye, tell me all that you think as I will try to tell you what I think, and then perhaps we shall get nearer that ideal we look for.
I want to be with you, but just think of me and remember I want to hug you as you read this, and that as the days go by, I love you more and more.
Goodbye, Sweetheart, goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 23 1917
Sweetheart,
Did it hurt you? you ask. Not one little bit. For on this subject my thoughts are as your thoughts.
Let me take the first part of your note first. What you thought I said I did say but I think I said it verbally one evening when you came to see me when I was laid up. Since then I have thought a good deal more about things. My earlier thoughts were all based on the idea that I should be single. I never imagined that I should meet any one who would care for me as you do, or for whom I should feel such love as I do for you, and these facts rather alter the outlook. I should not hesitate now, I think.
It is kind of you to say I must not let you influence me, but that I cannot obey; I do not think I speak too strongly when I say you always influence me, and as I have said before, for good. I will give you an example of what I mean. In the past before I knew you and before we found each other, I was often troubled with thoughts of which I was much ashamed, they were bad and yet try as I would, they returned periodically. I don’t think they ever come now; when I fear they are about to, I just think of you and there is no room for anything else. I might give you other examples which would all show the same thing, that you have lifted me higher than I was before, that you have helped.
I wanted to write a lot more, there is so much to-day of which I could write, but time has gone and even now I am afraid I shall be late; so goodbye, Belovéd, my Dearest and Best, we are yet another day nearer to the time to which we look forward; I am, however, looking forward now to Christmas and the holidays, when I hope we shall have some happy times; perhaps as the time gets nearer, we can plan something, but now goodbye, tell me all that you think as I will try to tell you what I think, and then perhaps we shall get nearer that ideal we look for.
I want to be with you, but just think of me and remember I want to hug you as you read this, and that as the days go by, I love you more and more.
Goodbye, Sweetheart, goodbye.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Monday, 12 October 2009
22 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #32
Edith to Stuart
22.11.17
My Dearest,
I feel that I must just write a few lines to you to-night, because I wrote such horrid things in that other note. When I was with you, I felt quite suddenly that it would seem to you, when you read the note, as if I doubted you. You know, don’t you, Belovéd? that I do not doubt you one little bit. Oh, I hope you believe this. I cannot think what made me write as I did. And that’s not true, for I do know all the time. There’s a short of demon gets inside a woman at times, and makes all things look black to her, and makes her wonder if life is worth while, if it is worth will the trouble and pain. You must not think that these fits last long, or that they are worth noticing. Only, while they do last, they make us do thing for which we are terribly sorry afterwards, and which we would give anything to undo. Your faint suggestion of a home without a Man in it was – terrible. But that will never be, will it, Dearest, while you can help it? I know it will not, so do not let those words of min hurt you any longer, for I am sure they must have hurt you. And I found in one of your notes to-night that one of my former ones hurt you very much. I wonder if I had better writing to you, for I write such terrible things, which I do not mean a bit.
Of course, Dearest, you may do what you want to do, only, if I am Queen, you are king, and the King is very far above the Queen. The true homage is from the Queen to the King, so, - I may do what I want to sometimes, mayn’t I?
Now, I must say Good-night. I have written all this in bed, so I am afraid it will be difficult to read.
Good night, Belovéd, and thank you for to-night. It was only a few minutes, but it was just what I wanted. Oh, I love you so much, and yet, I have hurt you again to-night. I feel it so strangely. I wish I could give you this now, at once. But it must wait until the morning.
So, Goodnight, My Belovéd, Goodnight.
Pray that you may reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Be the sweet, presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall you join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
22.11.17
My Dearest,
I feel that I must just write a few lines to you to-night, because I wrote such horrid things in that other note. When I was with you, I felt quite suddenly that it would seem to you, when you read the note, as if I doubted you. You know, don’t you, Belovéd? that I do not doubt you one little bit. Oh, I hope you believe this. I cannot think what made me write as I did. And that’s not true, for I do know all the time. There’s a short of demon gets inside a woman at times, and makes all things look black to her, and makes her wonder if life is worth while, if it is worth will the trouble and pain. You must not think that these fits last long, or that they are worth noticing. Only, while they do last, they make us do thing for which we are terribly sorry afterwards, and which we would give anything to undo. Your faint suggestion of a home without a Man in it was – terrible. But that will never be, will it, Dearest, while you can help it? I know it will not, so do not let those words of min hurt you any longer, for I am sure they must have hurt you. And I found in one of your notes to-night that one of my former ones hurt you very much. I wonder if I had better writing to you, for I write such terrible things, which I do not mean a bit.
Of course, Dearest, you may do what you want to do, only, if I am Queen, you are king, and the King is very far above the Queen. The true homage is from the Queen to the King, so, - I may do what I want to sometimes, mayn’t I?
Now, I must say Good-night. I have written all this in bed, so I am afraid it will be difficult to read.
Good night, Belovéd, and thank you for to-night. It was only a few minutes, but it was just what I wanted. Oh, I love you so much, and yet, I have hurt you again to-night. I feel it so strangely. I wish I could give you this now, at once. But it must wait until the morning.
So, Goodnight, My Belovéd, Goodnight.
Pray that you may reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Be the sweet, presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall you join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 11 October 2009
22 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #31
Edith to Stuart
22.11.17
My Belovéd,
The extra nice letter which I want to write to you seems doomed never to be written. I thought I should be able to write it to-night, for there is plenty of time, but I feel --- I can’t explain how, but tired. I thought several times today I could not stand up another minute. I waited about for a ‘bus to come home, until I could have been home, and the ‘bus passed me just before I got to the Bridge. But, you don’t want any grumbles, do you? so I will change the subject.
I have been reading through all your letters, trying to find something which I was sure you said in one of them, but I could not find it. If I had not been so sure, I should not have told you what I did last night. I thought you said in one of them that it would make no difference to your plans for the future whether they appealed to me very much or not, for you felt yourself bound to carry them out. I suppose you did not say this, for I cannot find the words, but, I hope, all the same, you will not let me influence you in any way to give up your plans, if you feel able to carry them out. And although, for some unknown reason, they do not appeal very strongly to me, yet that need not prevent us from being real partners. It is not your work, but you, that I want, and whatever you choose to do in the future, I shall know will be the best, and I will do all I can to help you in that work.
You said you were afraid if you were ordained, your work might interfere with your home life. Oh, Dearest, please, don’t allow it to. We hear so much of women driving their husbands away from their homes, because they are managed so badly, but I think there are just as many men who give their wives no encouragement in their work, and ruin their home-life because they take so little interest in it. We must not let this be the case with us. A woman was never meant to manage a home by herself, in fact, she can’t do it, not as it should be done. So, Dearest, if you have a home, I feel sure that your duty there comes before all else, and if you do not feel that you can put it first, you have no right to ask some one else to do what you feel unable to do. I hope, Dearest, you won’t think me hard in saying this, but I think we should both understand, from the beginning, that it will be as much as we can do between us to make our home what we want it to be. And I believe that if we succeed in making a Home, we shall have done the highest work possible, whether the Head of the House is a Clergyman, or --- anything else.
Now, Dearest, if this is a very hard letter, please remember that I am a bit tired. No, you need not, for that is no excuse for not writing you the very best possible letter, for that would not be so good as you deserve.
No, Goodnight, my Belovéd. May God bless you and keep you always – Goodnight.
Profit? --- Loss?
Who shall declare this good – that ill? –
When good and ill so intertwine
But to fulfil the vast design
Of an Omniscient Will? –
When seeming gain but turns to loss, -
When earthly treasure proves but dross –
And what seemed loss but turnes again
To high, eternal gain?
Wisest the man who does his best,
And leaves the rest
To Him who counts not deeds alone,
But sees the root, the flower, the fruit,
And calls them one.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
22.11.17
My Belovéd,
The extra nice letter which I want to write to you seems doomed never to be written. I thought I should be able to write it to-night, for there is plenty of time, but I feel --- I can’t explain how, but tired. I thought several times today I could not stand up another minute. I waited about for a ‘bus to come home, until I could have been home, and the ‘bus passed me just before I got to the Bridge. But, you don’t want any grumbles, do you? so I will change the subject.
I have been reading through all your letters, trying to find something which I was sure you said in one of them, but I could not find it. If I had not been so sure, I should not have told you what I did last night. I thought you said in one of them that it would make no difference to your plans for the future whether they appealed to me very much or not, for you felt yourself bound to carry them out. I suppose you did not say this, for I cannot find the words, but, I hope, all the same, you will not let me influence you in any way to give up your plans, if you feel able to carry them out. And although, for some unknown reason, they do not appeal very strongly to me, yet that need not prevent us from being real partners. It is not your work, but you, that I want, and whatever you choose to do in the future, I shall know will be the best, and I will do all I can to help you in that work.
You said you were afraid if you were ordained, your work might interfere with your home life. Oh, Dearest, please, don’t allow it to. We hear so much of women driving their husbands away from their homes, because they are managed so badly, but I think there are just as many men who give their wives no encouragement in their work, and ruin their home-life because they take so little interest in it. We must not let this be the case with us. A woman was never meant to manage a home by herself, in fact, she can’t do it, not as it should be done. So, Dearest, if you have a home, I feel sure that your duty there comes before all else, and if you do not feel that you can put it first, you have no right to ask some one else to do what you feel unable to do. I hope, Dearest, you won’t think me hard in saying this, but I think we should both understand, from the beginning, that it will be as much as we can do between us to make our home what we want it to be. And I believe that if we succeed in making a Home, we shall have done the highest work possible, whether the Head of the House is a Clergyman, or --- anything else.
Now, Dearest, if this is a very hard letter, please remember that I am a bit tired. No, you need not, for that is no excuse for not writing you the very best possible letter, for that would not be so good as you deserve.
No, Goodnight, my Belovéd. May God bless you and keep you always – Goodnight.
Profit? --- Loss?
Who shall declare this good – that ill? –
When good and ill so intertwine
But to fulfil the vast design
Of an Omniscient Will? –
When seeming gain but turns to loss, -
When earthly treasure proves but dross –
And what seemed loss but turnes again
To high, eternal gain?
Wisest the man who does his best,
And leaves the rest
To Him who counts not deeds alone,
But sees the root, the flower, the fruit,
And calls them one.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Saturday, 10 October 2009
21 and 22 November 1917 Stuard to Edith - Letter #30
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 21 1917
Dearest,
I expect you will think I am a very unstable sort of person for in spite of what I said in my last note I feel just as unsettled as ever; I think I ought not to have asked the question I did until I had definitely made up my mind.
I want very much to tell you what I think and to know what you think about the future, and I wonder if I shall be able to tell you to-night. Perhaps not, so I will try to write.
It was quite true when I said I feel drawn towards the work I should do or try to do if I were ordained, but work of preaching the Gospel, but I see as I ponder over it, there are many ramifications involved and I doubt whether I should fit in. I wonder also if I tried to do all that I should feel I ought, how it would affect you and our home life, whether I should put work first and so far first as to hurt the home life.
It is very difficult to look at the problem from all sides, to sum up the position, and to make a decision. Perhaps what I said last week was the wisest plan, to let things work themselves out, and as Miss Packer says, give more attention to things of the present and attempt to do them more thoroughly and better.
What do you think? Am I a fit and proper person to undertake this great and important work? Or, do you think I ought to continue in my present position, into which I was thrown as some would say by chance, but let us say, by the hand of Providence and where I have remained, in spite of efforts to get out, and have been extremely successful.
Nov 22, 1917.
Well, I was able to tell you something of what was in my mind, and right glad I am that I was; it is nicer to talk than to write and although it is difficult to talk on these subjects which go deep, yet I am going to try to make myself.
The previous part of this note will show you that I was very doubtful and you have no cause to mentally chastise yourself, as I am afraid you will, for having told me your opinion and offered your advice.
Belovéd, I always want your advice and opinion. You can see the matter from a viewpoint other than mine and by telling me what you think, I shall be getting a truer view. If you knew the innumerable mistakes I have made because I have had no one to whom to turn for sound advice, you would understand more of what your help really means.
It makes me feel very excited, Sweetheart, as I look ahead, as to what lies before us if I do stick to the Press. As I lay in bed last night, I was thinking and it seems our minimum time of waiting is some 3½ years and then --- As I said before I hardly dare think.
Now, Goodbye, my Belovéd. I wish I could find words to express all that you mean to me, to tell you how you have made me better in many ways and have given me happier and better thoughts; and now you are becoming just what I had hoped – my help-mate.
Please allow me to do what I want to sometimes, for you are to me all that is good and pure and holy. You are my Queen, I reverence you, and you must please allow me to pay homage sometimes.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 21 1917
Dearest,
I expect you will think I am a very unstable sort of person for in spite of what I said in my last note I feel just as unsettled as ever; I think I ought not to have asked the question I did until I had definitely made up my mind.
I want very much to tell you what I think and to know what you think about the future, and I wonder if I shall be able to tell you to-night. Perhaps not, so I will try to write.
It was quite true when I said I feel drawn towards the work I should do or try to do if I were ordained, but work of preaching the Gospel, but I see as I ponder over it, there are many ramifications involved and I doubt whether I should fit in. I wonder also if I tried to do all that I should feel I ought, how it would affect you and our home life, whether I should put work first and so far first as to hurt the home life.
It is very difficult to look at the problem from all sides, to sum up the position, and to make a decision. Perhaps what I said last week was the wisest plan, to let things work themselves out, and as Miss Packer says, give more attention to things of the present and attempt to do them more thoroughly and better.
What do you think? Am I a fit and proper person to undertake this great and important work? Or, do you think I ought to continue in my present position, into which I was thrown as some would say by chance, but let us say, by the hand of Providence and where I have remained, in spite of efforts to get out, and have been extremely successful.
Nov 22, 1917.
Well, I was able to tell you something of what was in my mind, and right glad I am that I was; it is nicer to talk than to write and although it is difficult to talk on these subjects which go deep, yet I am going to try to make myself.
The previous part of this note will show you that I was very doubtful and you have no cause to mentally chastise yourself, as I am afraid you will, for having told me your opinion and offered your advice.
Belovéd, I always want your advice and opinion. You can see the matter from a viewpoint other than mine and by telling me what you think, I shall be getting a truer view. If you knew the innumerable mistakes I have made because I have had no one to whom to turn for sound advice, you would understand more of what your help really means.
It makes me feel very excited, Sweetheart, as I look ahead, as to what lies before us if I do stick to the Press. As I lay in bed last night, I was thinking and it seems our minimum time of waiting is some 3½ years and then --- As I said before I hardly dare think.
Now, Goodbye, my Belovéd. I wish I could find words to express all that you mean to me, to tell you how you have made me better in many ways and have given me happier and better thoughts; and now you are becoming just what I had hoped – my help-mate.
Please allow me to do what I want to sometimes, for you are to me all that is good and pure and holy. You are my Queen, I reverence you, and you must please allow me to pay homage sometimes.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Friday, 9 October 2009
20 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #29
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 20 1917
My Best Belovéd,
It must be quite short this morning and before I begin what I “drafted” I must just say that you do not hurt me as you suppose, because I know that you love me, and anything which might hurt is simply forgotten in that overwhelming knowledge.
Now that I have done as I proposed and made a preliminary draft, I hope you will find this note a good deal better than some I have scribbled to you without giving them the thought and care which I ought to have done. Perhaps some have hurt because of the undeveloped thoughts or at least put crudely, but I will try to think first and write afterward, and so possibly save you the pain you know I would save you if I could.
I have been thinking again about the future, not only ours, but also my own and I have been trying to see what I ought to do. I think that after all I shall have to make every effort to be ordained; it seems to me to be the thing I ought to do; and what I feel I could do best is the work of some country district or may be in the slums, where one would not enter into the controversies so often met in locons, for which I am not capable, but where one could teach the simple truths of Christianity.
One thing, however, is not quite clear to me and I hope I shall not hurt you by asking a plain question. Are you with me in this? are you drawn to such work as I feel myself drawn, and do you think you could partner me in it. This is very important to me, but one which you perhaps think I ought to be able to answer myself, but I don’t know you yet; there are many depths I have not probed, but which no doubt I shall learn of later, as I realize more of the beauty and strength of your character and love.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 20 1917
My Best Belovéd,
It must be quite short this morning and before I begin what I “drafted” I must just say that you do not hurt me as you suppose, because I know that you love me, and anything which might hurt is simply forgotten in that overwhelming knowledge.
Now that I have done as I proposed and made a preliminary draft, I hope you will find this note a good deal better than some I have scribbled to you without giving them the thought and care which I ought to have done. Perhaps some have hurt because of the undeveloped thoughts or at least put crudely, but I will try to think first and write afterward, and so possibly save you the pain you know I would save you if I could.
I have been thinking again about the future, not only ours, but also my own and I have been trying to see what I ought to do. I think that after all I shall have to make every effort to be ordained; it seems to me to be the thing I ought to do; and what I feel I could do best is the work of some country district or may be in the slums, where one would not enter into the controversies so often met in locons, for which I am not capable, but where one could teach the simple truths of Christianity.
One thing, however, is not quite clear to me and I hope I shall not hurt you by asking a plain question. Are you with me in this? are you drawn to such work as I feel myself drawn, and do you think you could partner me in it. This is very important to me, but one which you perhaps think I ought to be able to answer myself, but I don’t know you yet; there are many depths I have not probed, but which no doubt I shall learn of later, as I realize more of the beauty and strength of your character and love.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Thursday, 8 October 2009
19 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #28
Edith to Stuart
19.11.17
My Dearest,
I am afraid I hurt you terribly last night, and not only terribly, but most unjustly. I tried to tell you that when I am hurt, it is my own fault. You see, a woman notices such tiny little things, and makes them into great ones, instead of taking no notice at all. Then, in a little while, something comes out, and she sees the reason for the action, or word, which did not please her, and then she is angry with herself for being so blind, so stupid. I am not even a woman yet, so I am more foolish still. You must try to forget what I said, Dearest, at any rate, forgive me for saying it.
I know that you would not do anything to hurt if you could possibly avoid it, and that only shows again that it is absolutely my own fault. So you see I cannot make the promise you want me to make, because when I think a bit I find there is nothing in the things I make so much of. Dearest, I am afraid I am rambling on again, and you won’t be able to understand a word of this. It is always the case when I have something I especially want to say. I wish, as you did last night, that you could get inside me, and then you would know what is there. Perhaps you will some day. At any rate I hope so.
Now, just one serious question. How many times have I hurt you? I am afraid you will not be able to answer that question, because I must have hurt you so often. I wanted to ask you many times last night, but somehow, it would not come.
Now, Good-night, my Dearest. Don’t think about the stupid, thoughtless things I say. Let them pass, if you can; or, if not, just think, “She’s doing her best to be better. I must wait patiently until she is better”.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
19.11.17
My Dearest,
I am afraid I hurt you terribly last night, and not only terribly, but most unjustly. I tried to tell you that when I am hurt, it is my own fault. You see, a woman notices such tiny little things, and makes them into great ones, instead of taking no notice at all. Then, in a little while, something comes out, and she sees the reason for the action, or word, which did not please her, and then she is angry with herself for being so blind, so stupid. I am not even a woman yet, so I am more foolish still. You must try to forget what I said, Dearest, at any rate, forgive me for saying it.
I know that you would not do anything to hurt if you could possibly avoid it, and that only shows again that it is absolutely my own fault. So you see I cannot make the promise you want me to make, because when I think a bit I find there is nothing in the things I make so much of. Dearest, I am afraid I am rambling on again, and you won’t be able to understand a word of this. It is always the case when I have something I especially want to say. I wish, as you did last night, that you could get inside me, and then you would know what is there. Perhaps you will some day. At any rate I hope so.
Now, just one serious question. How many times have I hurt you? I am afraid you will not be able to answer that question, because I must have hurt you so often. I wanted to ask you many times last night, but somehow, it would not come.
Now, Good-night, my Dearest. Don’t think about the stupid, thoughtless things I say. Let them pass, if you can; or, if not, just think, “She’s doing her best to be better. I must wait patiently until she is better”.
Goodnight, Belovéd, Goodnight.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
19 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #27
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 19 1917
Belovéd,
I wish I could write to you the letters I should like to write, or that I could express the thoughts which are so often in my mind, but above them all there predominates this one of “I love you” and yet words seem quite inadequate to express all that I feel and would say. I wish that I could show you more by my actions, all that you mean to me, how you have brought happiness to me, and a happiness which is daily increasing.
I am very sorry, my Dearest, that I hurt you at times; I was afraid you would very quickly find I was not the ideal you imagined me, I fear I am thoughtless and somewhat selfish and self-centred; I know that you forgive and I want you to help me to be better. I feel that you are so far above me in many ways and especially in the greatest of all, in character. You are to me, in spite of what you say to the contrary, all that is pure and noble and beautiful, and although perhaps you would not think it from my action, I might say I almost reverence you (I don’t think the word is too strong).
My life is, I am afraid, lived amongst people to whom the great and noble things of life mean little, their main object seems to make money not for themselves, ‘tis true, but I think this cannot but have a lowering influence; please help me with all your beautiful and noble thoughts and influences to come up higher.
I demand many things of you, don’t I? and offer little in return, but perhaps it will be to our mutual advantage. I look forward to those days when we shall be together, when our aims and thoughts shall be one, when we shall be in truth, and not only in words, “partners”.
I look forward, but I hardly dare think of those times; they seems too good, too ideal, and seem to take my breath away, but that they will come I have little doubt. I hope that, whatever the future may be and wherever it may be spent, I shall prove worthy of that confidence which you expressed in one of your notes; I have a long way to go, but please be patient with me; for I am trying my hardest to get up.
Now, Goodbye, Belovéd, never let me hurt you, if it is avoidable, and keep on helping me to be worthy of you, you Noble and Best of Women.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 19 1917
Belovéd,
I wish I could write to you the letters I should like to write, or that I could express the thoughts which are so often in my mind, but above them all there predominates this one of “I love you” and yet words seem quite inadequate to express all that I feel and would say. I wish that I could show you more by my actions, all that you mean to me, how you have brought happiness to me, and a happiness which is daily increasing.
I am very sorry, my Dearest, that I hurt you at times; I was afraid you would very quickly find I was not the ideal you imagined me, I fear I am thoughtless and somewhat selfish and self-centred; I know that you forgive and I want you to help me to be better. I feel that you are so far above me in many ways and especially in the greatest of all, in character. You are to me, in spite of what you say to the contrary, all that is pure and noble and beautiful, and although perhaps you would not think it from my action, I might say I almost reverence you (I don’t think the word is too strong).
My life is, I am afraid, lived amongst people to whom the great and noble things of life mean little, their main object seems to make money not for themselves, ‘tis true, but I think this cannot but have a lowering influence; please help me with all your beautiful and noble thoughts and influences to come up higher.
I demand many things of you, don’t I? and offer little in return, but perhaps it will be to our mutual advantage. I look forward to those days when we shall be together, when our aims and thoughts shall be one, when we shall be in truth, and not only in words, “partners”.
I look forward, but I hardly dare think of those times; they seems too good, too ideal, and seem to take my breath away, but that they will come I have little doubt. I hope that, whatever the future may be and wherever it may be spent, I shall prove worthy of that confidence which you expressed in one of your notes; I have a long way to go, but please be patient with me; for I am trying my hardest to get up.
Now, Goodbye, Belovéd, never let me hurt you, if it is avoidable, and keep on helping me to be worthy of you, you Noble and Best of Women.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
15 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #26
Edith to Stuart
15.11.17
My Belovéd
You must have misunderstood me last night, when I told you that your story hurt. It was not for myself that I was pained, but for you. Try to imagine how you would have felt if I had told that story to you. Would you not have been sorry? Would you not have wished that you had been near, to help me bear the heavy burden that had been laid upon me? Even when I told you that I was not happy at school, you were troubled, you sympathised; and that is as nothing compared to what you told me last night. You made me feel that it is time you began to live, not in the ordinary sense of the word, but in its real sense. You have had enough of Sorrow, now life should only mean Joy to you; and I wish with all my heart that I could put an end to your old life today, and that tomorrow, we could set out together on that new life, to which we look forward with such great expectations. But as that cannot be, we must do our best with the opportunities that we have and try to make life pleasant, in fact, really happy.
You said, last night, that you thought you ought to have told me before, I am sure you were quite right in not doing so. Suppose that on that Wednesday evening, the first Wednesday evening, you had told me your story before you told me --- the rest. I already knew that your life had not been a happy one, and I wanted to do all I could to make it happier in the future. So that it would have been very difficult to say “No”, to you, even had I wanted to. And, don’t you see, that if you had told your story first, it would have been still harder to say “No”. There would have been a feeling that I ought not to add one more sorry to your already heavy burden. On the other hand, as I was prepared to say, “Yes”, your story could not have made the least difference to me, in that way. Now, I wonder if I have made this quite clear, or if it is as badly expressed as some other things I have tried to say. At any rate, I must stop now. I hope you will understand and that you will be able to read this bad writing.
Now, Good-night, my Belovéd, and Good-bye. May God soon send to you the great Joy which I feel sure is waiting for your --- somewhere. Good-night.
Lord, when on my bed I lie,
Sleepless, unto thee I’ll cry;
When my brain works overmuch,
Stay the wheels with thy soft touch.
Just a quiet thought of Thee,
And of Thy sweet Charity, --
Just a little prayer, and then
I will turn to sleep again.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
15.11.17
My Belovéd
You must have misunderstood me last night, when I told you that your story hurt. It was not for myself that I was pained, but for you. Try to imagine how you would have felt if I had told that story to you. Would you not have been sorry? Would you not have wished that you had been near, to help me bear the heavy burden that had been laid upon me? Even when I told you that I was not happy at school, you were troubled, you sympathised; and that is as nothing compared to what you told me last night. You made me feel that it is time you began to live, not in the ordinary sense of the word, but in its real sense. You have had enough of Sorrow, now life should only mean Joy to you; and I wish with all my heart that I could put an end to your old life today, and that tomorrow, we could set out together on that new life, to which we look forward with such great expectations. But as that cannot be, we must do our best with the opportunities that we have and try to make life pleasant, in fact, really happy.
You said, last night, that you thought you ought to have told me before, I am sure you were quite right in not doing so. Suppose that on that Wednesday evening, the first Wednesday evening, you had told me your story before you told me --- the rest. I already knew that your life had not been a happy one, and I wanted to do all I could to make it happier in the future. So that it would have been very difficult to say “No”, to you, even had I wanted to. And, don’t you see, that if you had told your story first, it would have been still harder to say “No”. There would have been a feeling that I ought not to add one more sorry to your already heavy burden. On the other hand, as I was prepared to say, “Yes”, your story could not have made the least difference to me, in that way. Now, I wonder if I have made this quite clear, or if it is as badly expressed as some other things I have tried to say. At any rate, I must stop now. I hope you will understand and that you will be able to read this bad writing.
Now, Good-night, my Belovéd, and Good-bye. May God soon send to you the great Joy which I feel sure is waiting for your --- somewhere. Good-night.
Lord, when on my bed I lie,
Sleepless, unto thee I’ll cry;
When my brain works overmuch,
Stay the wheels with thy soft touch.
Just a quiet thought of Thee,
And of Thy sweet Charity, --
Just a little prayer, and then
I will turn to sleep again.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Monday, 5 October 2009
15 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Lettter #25
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 15 1917
Best Belovéd,
I have been turning over in my mind the story I told last evening and as I thought about it, it seemed to me it must have been very painful to you to hear such a story of shame and disgrace; I would that it were not true and that, for your sake, the past were unstained and unspotted, but painful though it was, my Dearest, I think it was right that you should know; and as I said last night, I wonder whether you ought to have known earlier, or at least whether I ought perhaps to have told your parents. I don’t think it would have made any difference, with you I know it would not, but it would with some people.
As to Saturday, I shall not be a little bit disappointed if we cannot go to Witney. I know you would not put it off if it could be helped, and if the cause is what I think it is, you are right in doing nothing which might be harmful to you; you know, don’t you, Belovéd, that that would hurt me too.
Time is gone, but I hope you were not very disturbed; it is after all the past, and it is all over; let us look forward to what the future holds in store, we have a long way to go yet, I hope and may all that way be happy for us.
Now, Goodbye, Belovéd, do not be hurt, for I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 15 1917
Best Belovéd,
I have been turning over in my mind the story I told last evening and as I thought about it, it seemed to me it must have been very painful to you to hear such a story of shame and disgrace; I would that it were not true and that, for your sake, the past were unstained and unspotted, but painful though it was, my Dearest, I think it was right that you should know; and as I said last night, I wonder whether you ought to have known earlier, or at least whether I ought perhaps to have told your parents. I don’t think it would have made any difference, with you I know it would not, but it would with some people.
As to Saturday, I shall not be a little bit disappointed if we cannot go to Witney. I know you would not put it off if it could be helped, and if the cause is what I think it is, you are right in doing nothing which might be harmful to you; you know, don’t you, Belovéd, that that would hurt me too.
Time is gone, but I hope you were not very disturbed; it is after all the past, and it is all over; let us look forward to what the future holds in store, we have a long way to go yet, I hope and may all that way be happy for us.
Now, Goodbye, Belovéd, do not be hurt, for I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Sunday, 4 October 2009
13 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #24
Edith to Stuart
13.11.17
My Dearest,
This must be the very briefest of notes, because time is short. Thank you very much for yours last night. I think I must have found it as soon as you put it in.
There is just one thing I want to say this morning, and then I must stop. Dearest, will you please not be very disappointed if I cannot come to Witney on Saturday. I hope I shall be able to, because I am looking forward to it so much. But you remember once before we arranged to go for a ride, and at the last moment, I could not come. I did not even know when I saw you in the morning that I should not be able to. You were very good then, and that was a long time ago. So I am hoping, in fact, I know, that you will forgive me if the same sort of thing happens again.
Now I cannot write any more, but I will write a long epistle this evening.
Goodbye, my Belovéd, Good-bye.
Two hands upon the breast, and labour’s done;
Two pale feet crossed in rest, the race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, all tears ease;
Two lips where grief is mute, and wrath at peace;
So pray we often-times, mourning our lot;
God, in His kindness, answereth not.
Two hands to work addressed, ay, for his praise;
Two feet that never rest, walking his ways;
Two eyes that look above, still, through all tears;
Two lips that breathe but love, never more fears;
So we cry afterward, low at our knees;
Pardon those erring cries, Father, hear these.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
13.11.17
My Dearest,
This must be the very briefest of notes, because time is short. Thank you very much for yours last night. I think I must have found it as soon as you put it in.
There is just one thing I want to say this morning, and then I must stop. Dearest, will you please not be very disappointed if I cannot come to Witney on Saturday. I hope I shall be able to, because I am looking forward to it so much. But you remember once before we arranged to go for a ride, and at the last moment, I could not come. I did not even know when I saw you in the morning that I should not be able to. You were very good then, and that was a long time ago. So I am hoping, in fact, I know, that you will forgive me if the same sort of thing happens again.
Now I cannot write any more, but I will write a long epistle this evening.
Goodbye, my Belovéd, Good-bye.
Two hands upon the breast, and labour’s done;
Two pale feet crossed in rest, the race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut, all tears ease;
Two lips where grief is mute, and wrath at peace;
So pray we often-times, mourning our lot;
God, in His kindness, answereth not.
Two hands to work addressed, ay, for his praise;
Two feet that never rest, walking his ways;
Two eyes that look above, still, through all tears;
Two lips that breathe but love, never more fears;
So we cry afterward, low at our knees;
Pardon those erring cries, Father, hear these.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Friday, 2 October 2009
13 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #23
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 13 1917
Dearest,
This must be very short this morning, but I hope it will be sweet. Do you like something even it is not very nice? I do; I like to read your thoughts whatever they are, for I want to know you perfectly and I want you to know me as well, and there will then be little chance of making a mistake.
I talk a good deal of making mistakes don’t I? but you must not think that I am in any way doubtful – I am not; I am as sure of myself as I am of you, I feel that our love is the deepest and the best that there could be. I pray that it may continue to be so that we shall, as the days go by, find out more and more of its depths and the blessings and happiness we may each derive from it.
The future seems to hold so much happiness in store that I am almost afraid to look forward to it. The thought came to me last evening after I had gone to bed, that if I decide eventually not to be ordained, we shall not have to wait very long. Only until your school career has finished, and is that 5 or 4 years? I see that possibly “Bill” may not be gone[1], but I fancy you will not mind that, but that will be for you to say and after all this is at present, only a dream.
I must leave off, as the “hooter” has gone and I must not be late; I have written now because I shall be very late to-night, too late to bring you any thing, and – would you not rather have it in the morning?
Good bye, Belovéd, be happy all day (I am so glad you like it better) – one day nearer.
Goodbye, my Dearest. You have helped me so much; may I be as much of a help to you.
[1] Maurice Ernest Mills 21 May 1905 to 17 June 1921, known as Billy.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 13 1917
Dearest,
This must be very short this morning, but I hope it will be sweet. Do you like something even it is not very nice? I do; I like to read your thoughts whatever they are, for I want to know you perfectly and I want you to know me as well, and there will then be little chance of making a mistake.
I talk a good deal of making mistakes don’t I? but you must not think that I am in any way doubtful – I am not; I am as sure of myself as I am of you, I feel that our love is the deepest and the best that there could be. I pray that it may continue to be so that we shall, as the days go by, find out more and more of its depths and the blessings and happiness we may each derive from it.
The future seems to hold so much happiness in store that I am almost afraid to look forward to it. The thought came to me last evening after I had gone to bed, that if I decide eventually not to be ordained, we shall not have to wait very long. Only until your school career has finished, and is that 5 or 4 years? I see that possibly “Bill” may not be gone[1], but I fancy you will not mind that, but that will be for you to say and after all this is at present, only a dream.
I must leave off, as the “hooter” has gone and I must not be late; I have written now because I shall be very late to-night, too late to bring you any thing, and – would you not rather have it in the morning?
Good bye, Belovéd, be happy all day (I am so glad you like it better) – one day nearer.
Goodbye, my Dearest. You have helped me so much; may I be as much of a help to you.
[1] Maurice Ernest Mills 21 May 1905 to 17 June 1921, known as Billy.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Thursday, 1 October 2009
12 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #22
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 12 1917
My Belovéd,
I hardly know what to write to you to-night, for I feel that I have reached that stage which you wanted me to reach; I am more happy than I have been for a long time, and, as I said this morning, feel as if I had thrown off a great burden. I do not know why it should be so, unless it is because of the decision I have made with regard to my home life.
Whether that decision is best and the right one is doubtful to me; it seems such an easy way out, but no other appears to be of any use, so perhaps no harm will be done by letting them have a fairly free hand; I certainly feel very much better which is something.
It makes me very happy too, to know what a difference I have helped to make in your life, to know you feel so much happier and that life is not the burden it was; I hope I may always retain and use that power of making you happy.
Such a result will be helped, I think, if you will keep “up to the mark” and tell me as you have already done of things which I may omit to do; I think you will do so, because it will help to reach that happy, perfect ideal to which we are both so keenly looking forward.
You know now that my ideas of the future are very hazy and that I have yet made no definite decision; what I really want to do is to help others as much as possible to what I feel is the best, and I am not sure how that can be reached.
As a parson in England, one seems bound with so many conventions and much “red tape” that one cannot work as one would; I think that is why I looked further and turned to the Mission Field, where it seems to me, there is the opportunity for spreading Gospel in its truth and not hidden under so many other things.
Do doubt I could do good work as a layman but there seems so little time for that. If I remain at the Press, my hours will never be shorter than now and so I wonder what it best. I feel certain I shall be shown presently; my duty for the present is to do my best for my brothers and sister; when that is done, then I shall expect to see the next step.
I must write no more except to thank you for those last words of trust and confidence, I hope you will always feel so and more so as time goes on.
Goodbye – I like that “God be with you” – Belovéd, goodbye till morning.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 12 1917
My Belovéd,
I hardly know what to write to you to-night, for I feel that I have reached that stage which you wanted me to reach; I am more happy than I have been for a long time, and, as I said this morning, feel as if I had thrown off a great burden. I do not know why it should be so, unless it is because of the decision I have made with regard to my home life.
Whether that decision is best and the right one is doubtful to me; it seems such an easy way out, but no other appears to be of any use, so perhaps no harm will be done by letting them have a fairly free hand; I certainly feel very much better which is something.
It makes me very happy too, to know what a difference I have helped to make in your life, to know you feel so much happier and that life is not the burden it was; I hope I may always retain and use that power of making you happy.
Such a result will be helped, I think, if you will keep “up to the mark” and tell me as you have already done of things which I may omit to do; I think you will do so, because it will help to reach that happy, perfect ideal to which we are both so keenly looking forward.
You know now that my ideas of the future are very hazy and that I have yet made no definite decision; what I really want to do is to help others as much as possible to what I feel is the best, and I am not sure how that can be reached.
As a parson in England, one seems bound with so many conventions and much “red tape” that one cannot work as one would; I think that is why I looked further and turned to the Mission Field, where it seems to me, there is the opportunity for spreading Gospel in its truth and not hidden under so many other things.
Do doubt I could do good work as a layman but there seems so little time for that. If I remain at the Press, my hours will never be shorter than now and so I wonder what it best. I feel certain I shall be shown presently; my duty for the present is to do my best for my brothers and sister; when that is done, then I shall expect to see the next step.
I must write no more except to thank you for those last words of trust and confidence, I hope you will always feel so and more so as time goes on.
Goodbye – I like that “God be with you” – Belovéd, goodbye till morning.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
8 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #21
Edith to Stuart
08.11.17
My Belovéd,
It is time to write to you once again. The days slip by so quickly, that no sooner is it morning, than the evening comes close upon it, and then it is morning again. This term is simply rushing by. Do you remember that I told you, the day before we started school, when we were on the river, that I was already looking forward to the Christmas holidays? That seemed like looking years ahead, then. But, now, the sixteen weeks are passing like a flash. Why? – You. Before we found each other, the hours in school seemed interminable, and I used to come home, really tired out, to drag through a long evening of preparation for the next day, which I knew would be as big a failure as the last. Then to bed, often to do what you used to do, cry myself to sleep, because I was so sick of it all. Can you imagine me doing that? I know a good many folks who would not believe it. But I have not had a real cry now for months, not since before the summer holidays, on a certain night when ___ no, I shall not tell you when, and you would never guess. Never mind, I think women are the silliest creatures on the earth. Now, instead of looking forward to a time five years distant, when I shall be able to leave school, and look forward, not more than one day, to the time when I’ll be with you next. And I believe that is what makes the days fly past so quickly. Of course, I look forward as well to that other time. I wonder if you have any definite ideas about that time. I used to have, before I heard from you yourself your hopes of being ordained. Then I imagined you still at the Press[1], and living in the same little house. But now, I can’t quite picture what it will be like, but I know it will be --- just right.
Now, I am afraid this is a very selfish note, all about myself. But I must not stop to write more, now. So, Good-night, My Belovéd, and – Good-bye.
[1] The Oxford University Press
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
08.11.17
My Belovéd,
It is time to write to you once again. The days slip by so quickly, that no sooner is it morning, than the evening comes close upon it, and then it is morning again. This term is simply rushing by. Do you remember that I told you, the day before we started school, when we were on the river, that I was already looking forward to the Christmas holidays? That seemed like looking years ahead, then. But, now, the sixteen weeks are passing like a flash. Why? – You. Before we found each other, the hours in school seemed interminable, and I used to come home, really tired out, to drag through a long evening of preparation for the next day, which I knew would be as big a failure as the last. Then to bed, often to do what you used to do, cry myself to sleep, because I was so sick of it all. Can you imagine me doing that? I know a good many folks who would not believe it. But I have not had a real cry now for months, not since before the summer holidays, on a certain night when ___ no, I shall not tell you when, and you would never guess. Never mind, I think women are the silliest creatures on the earth. Now, instead of looking forward to a time five years distant, when I shall be able to leave school, and look forward, not more than one day, to the time when I’ll be with you next. And I believe that is what makes the days fly past so quickly. Of course, I look forward as well to that other time. I wonder if you have any definite ideas about that time. I used to have, before I heard from you yourself your hopes of being ordained. Then I imagined you still at the Press[1], and living in the same little house. But now, I can’t quite picture what it will be like, but I know it will be --- just right.
Now, I am afraid this is a very selfish note, all about myself. But I must not stop to write more, now. So, Good-night, My Belovéd, and – Good-bye.
[1] The Oxford University Press
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
6 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #20
Edith to Stuart
6.11.17
My Belovéd,
You must be content with a very short note tonight. I seem to have made a failure of my attempts at writing lately, especially last Thursday. What a terrible shock you must have had when you read all that stuff! And don’t ever say again that your “power of expression is not so great as your power of thought”, because I do not seem to have any power of expression at all, or, at least, I have the power of expression just the opposite of what I want to. I did not mean a bit what you thought I did, but I shall not try to explain, because I should only get into a great muddle still. I will just say this, though; - that your answers show that you think almost as I do on the subject, and there I will let it rest.
Your three “wonders whether” were partly correct. I do love an Ideal, but the Ideal is You. Haven’t I sent you a little bit out of a book about the ideal people we love. I believe that there is an Ideal to which every person may attain, but it just depends on themselves whether they attain it, or just muddle on as common clay. But I am getting deep again, and shall make another great blunder, so I’ll stop.
I am truly sorry that last night’s note hurt you, and, if it would do any good, I would recall every word I wrote. But you have read it now, so it is too late. Please forgive me, Dearest, for my thoughtlessness. I seem to betting worse instead of better.
I told you why I wrote all that last night, and now, it seems a most unlikely reason. But for the same reason, because I love you, I am not going to write any more to-night, except a tiny poetry piece.
So, Goodnight, my Dearest, and Goodbye, until the morning.
Is your place a small place?
Tend it with care! ---
He set you there.
Is you place a large place?
Guard it with care! ---
He set you there.
Whate’er your place, it is
Not yours alone, but His
Who set you there.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
6.11.17
My Belovéd,
You must be content with a very short note tonight. I seem to have made a failure of my attempts at writing lately, especially last Thursday. What a terrible shock you must have had when you read all that stuff! And don’t ever say again that your “power of expression is not so great as your power of thought”, because I do not seem to have any power of expression at all, or, at least, I have the power of expression just the opposite of what I want to. I did not mean a bit what you thought I did, but I shall not try to explain, because I should only get into a great muddle still. I will just say this, though; - that your answers show that you think almost as I do on the subject, and there I will let it rest.
Your three “wonders whether” were partly correct. I do love an Ideal, but the Ideal is You. Haven’t I sent you a little bit out of a book about the ideal people we love. I believe that there is an Ideal to which every person may attain, but it just depends on themselves whether they attain it, or just muddle on as common clay. But I am getting deep again, and shall make another great blunder, so I’ll stop.
I am truly sorry that last night’s note hurt you, and, if it would do any good, I would recall every word I wrote. But you have read it now, so it is too late. Please forgive me, Dearest, for my thoughtlessness. I seem to betting worse instead of better.
I told you why I wrote all that last night, and now, it seems a most unlikely reason. But for the same reason, because I love you, I am not going to write any more to-night, except a tiny poetry piece.
So, Goodnight, my Dearest, and Goodbye, until the morning.
Is your place a small place?
Tend it with care! ---
He set you there.
Is you place a large place?
Guard it with care! ---
He set you there.
Whate’er your place, it is
Not yours alone, but His
Who set you there.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Monday, 28 September 2009
5 November 1917 Stuart to Edith- Letter #19
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 5 1917
Dearest and Best Belovéd,
I wrote a short note this morning but as I did not see you I thought it best to keep it; was I right?
I had thought over your last note and although I cannot pretend that this is a carefully considered or adequate answer , yet a few of my own thoughts will, I hope do no harm.
There are few to whom I would write on such a subject, but I think you will not allow anything I say to hurt you nor will you think I am setting up my opinion above others.
I was not able to follow your argument very clearly, but it seemed to me that you were trying to show that if a person is possessed of free will, he cannot live a life in accordance with the will of God. If that is what your idea was, I cannot agree with it at all, for I do not see that the two things are inconsistent.
It is admitted that we are all endowed with free will, but if a person chooses to do what he believes to be God’s will, I do not see that the power of free will is lessened. A choice has always to be made, between good and evil, duty and selfishness, and because a person deliberately chooses the right, I think it shows that he exercises his free will.
Perhaps I have not made it plain, you know my “power of thought is greater than my power of expression” but perhaps we may soon feel that we can talk freely on such subjects. I hope it may be so, for if I am ordained, I expect I shall often need your help; I look to you as my help mate in the work to which I hope to give what is left of my life, just in the same way as I hope to be able to help you, so that each may help to make up the wants of the other.
Ideal? I have always aimed at the ideal; there is no need for me to say – and often, generally failed. It may be possible the reason why to some extent I have not succeeded here at home as I should have like; I have perhaps aimed too high. But, Belovéd, I have aimed at the highest, that I might reach high.
I look forward and hope our life will be ideal, and that in whatever position we may be, we shall be happy: you have made me happier than you know, you have been several times the power which has held me to my duty.
This has been written in two parts and since writing the former, I have read last night’s note from you, but I have not yet carefully pondered it. It is good and kind of you to give me so much thought and I hope I may be worthy of all this attention. Among the thoughts which have passed through my mind since reading it, are, whether you love an ideal (and not me really), whether you hope I shall reach that ideal of yours, and whether you will find eventually I am but clay.
My dearest, you hurt ‘tis true, but I am glad you did, I am glad you had the pluck to write as you did and I will try to do what I can to follow out your ideas. We come back to the old point, don’t we? that the cause of what I consider my failure at home is myself, and the things I have neglected. Belovéd, I will try to be more thoughtful and considerate; please always keep me up to the mark, help me to reach the ideal you want me to attain.
Good bye, Dearest, one more day gone, goodbye, Belovéd, and good night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 5 1917
Dearest and Best Belovéd,
I wrote a short note this morning but as I did not see you I thought it best to keep it; was I right?
I had thought over your last note and although I cannot pretend that this is a carefully considered or adequate answer , yet a few of my own thoughts will, I hope do no harm.
There are few to whom I would write on such a subject, but I think you will not allow anything I say to hurt you nor will you think I am setting up my opinion above others.
I was not able to follow your argument very clearly, but it seemed to me that you were trying to show that if a person is possessed of free will, he cannot live a life in accordance with the will of God. If that is what your idea was, I cannot agree with it at all, for I do not see that the two things are inconsistent.
It is admitted that we are all endowed with free will, but if a person chooses to do what he believes to be God’s will, I do not see that the power of free will is lessened. A choice has always to be made, between good and evil, duty and selfishness, and because a person deliberately chooses the right, I think it shows that he exercises his free will.
Perhaps I have not made it plain, you know my “power of thought is greater than my power of expression” but perhaps we may soon feel that we can talk freely on such subjects. I hope it may be so, for if I am ordained, I expect I shall often need your help; I look to you as my help mate in the work to which I hope to give what is left of my life, just in the same way as I hope to be able to help you, so that each may help to make up the wants of the other.
Ideal? I have always aimed at the ideal; there is no need for me to say – and often, generally failed. It may be possible the reason why to some extent I have not succeeded here at home as I should have like; I have perhaps aimed too high. But, Belovéd, I have aimed at the highest, that I might reach high.
I look forward and hope our life will be ideal, and that in whatever position we may be, we shall be happy: you have made me happier than you know, you have been several times the power which has held me to my duty.
This has been written in two parts and since writing the former, I have read last night’s note from you, but I have not yet carefully pondered it. It is good and kind of you to give me so much thought and I hope I may be worthy of all this attention. Among the thoughts which have passed through my mind since reading it, are, whether you love an ideal (and not me really), whether you hope I shall reach that ideal of yours, and whether you will find eventually I am but clay.
My dearest, you hurt ‘tis true, but I am glad you did, I am glad you had the pluck to write as you did and I will try to do what I can to follow out your ideas. We come back to the old point, don’t we? that the cause of what I consider my failure at home is myself, and the things I have neglected. Belovéd, I will try to be more thoughtful and considerate; please always keep me up to the mark, help me to reach the ideal you want me to attain.
Good bye, Dearest, one more day gone, goodbye, Belovéd, and good night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Saturday, 26 September 2009
5 November 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #18
Stuart to Edith
Nov. 5 1917
My Belovéd,
I fear I have not prepared an answer to your last note, although I have been thinking very much about it. I do not quite follow your argument or line of thought, but it seems to me that you are seeking to point out that since we are endowed with free will, it follows that our will cannot be in accordance with the will of God.
I must admit I was not convinced. My thoughts ran something like this – We admit a person has free will, but if he chooses to serve God and to seek to do His will and pleasure, I do not think he loses his free will. Nor is it so with regard to any of the everyday things of life, he simply says that “in all these I choose to do what You would have me do” and he does it willingly. He has made a choice, willingly, and he has always to make the choice, between good and evil, duty and selfishness, and he chooses the good and wishes to do the right, but I do not think his free will is lessened.
Nor does it seem to me so in the case when we ask God to choose friends, position; we wish not to make the choice without His approval and so ask for His guidance; we need not have done so and therefore I think we can say it is done of our free-will.
I may not have made myself clear, because I have written hurriedly; one day perhaps we shall be able to discuss these things.
I can think of nothing nice to say this morning; it is all just “I love you, I love you”. I told you once and it is still true, that I was afraid of loving too much; I am afraid I shall neglect my duty to these at home, and to others.
What your father[1] says is so true, it grows and grows rapidly; I wonder where it will reach in the end.
I must say Good-bye, but not without writing “I love you” again, everyday there comes to me the thought you suggested – One day less to wait till Goodnight will not be Goodbye.
Good bye, Belovéd, Goodbye, Goodbye.
[1] Charles Henry Brown, 29 May 1858 to 24 August 1946 (Edith's father, Sheriff of Oxford 1923, Mayor of Oxford 1932)
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Nov. 5 1917
My Belovéd,
I fear I have not prepared an answer to your last note, although I have been thinking very much about it. I do not quite follow your argument or line of thought, but it seems to me that you are seeking to point out that since we are endowed with free will, it follows that our will cannot be in accordance with the will of God.
I must admit I was not convinced. My thoughts ran something like this – We admit a person has free will, but if he chooses to serve God and to seek to do His will and pleasure, I do not think he loses his free will. Nor is it so with regard to any of the everyday things of life, he simply says that “in all these I choose to do what You would have me do” and he does it willingly. He has made a choice, willingly, and he has always to make the choice, between good and evil, duty and selfishness, and he chooses the good and wishes to do the right, but I do not think his free will is lessened.
Nor does it seem to me so in the case when we ask God to choose friends, position; we wish not to make the choice without His approval and so ask for His guidance; we need not have done so and therefore I think we can say it is done of our free-will.
I may not have made myself clear, because I have written hurriedly; one day perhaps we shall be able to discuss these things.
I can think of nothing nice to say this morning; it is all just “I love you, I love you”. I told you once and it is still true, that I was afraid of loving too much; I am afraid I shall neglect my duty to these at home, and to others.
What your father[1] says is so true, it grows and grows rapidly; I wonder where it will reach in the end.
I must say Good-bye, but not without writing “I love you” again, everyday there comes to me the thought you suggested – One day less to wait till Goodnight will not be Goodbye.
Good bye, Belovéd, Goodbye, Goodbye.
[1] Charles Henry Brown, 29 May 1858 to 24 August 1946 (Edith's father, Sheriff of Oxford 1923, Mayor of Oxford 1932)
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
Friday, 25 September 2009
5 November 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #17
Edith to Stuart
5.11.17
My Belovéd,
You have been very much in my thoughts this week-end – partly, I suppose, because I have had so much time in which to think. I have been wondering whether it is wise to write as I am going to, but, after all, it is not of much use for me to think about you, and your difficulties, if I do not let you know some of the results of my meditation.
First and foremost, comes the question of your own personal happiness. I know you are not happy, not perfectly happy, are you, my dearest? There is none, or, at most, very little, of the “wild joy of living” in you. I can see this in many ways, even in the way in which you walk along the street and (may I make a confession?), I have been just a wee bit disappointed because I have not been able to make you happy, as other men have been made happy. I have been trying, and shall still try, to find the cause of my failure, and you may be sure that it will not exist for long, once I have found it. But, meanwhile, is it not possible that the ordinary happiness of men may be yours? All that you say about being a failure is untrue, and if you think about it, you will find that it is so. You admit yourself that you have succeeded in your business. You have kept together a home for Gladys and the boys, when many older men have been unable to keep things going. You have given Corrie and Reg as good a start in life as any boys have had. And yet you say you are a failure. Of course, your work is not perfect, because no man’s is, and listen to this:-
“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what’s a Heaven for?”
I wonder if you think too much about yourself. I do not mean in a selfish way, but rather in the sense of brooding over things you have done in the past, or might have done in the future, had circumstances been different. You have a good deal of time for such thoughts on your journeys to and from your work, and at other times. Now, if this is the case, will you just try this plan for a little while, and see how it acts? Whenever you begin to think about yourself, say, “No, I won’t”, and push those thoughts out of your mind. Then, begin at once to think about something else. May I suggest what? Just think about the last person you were with, and all that took place between you. Find out if there was any thing, no matter how small, which you might have done for that person, which you did not do, and make up your mind that, should such an opportunity occur again, you will not let it pass by. I do not advise this because I think you are lax in this respect, for I know (how often you have proved it to me) how much you consider other people, and are willing to help them. But as soon as you get your mind full of thoughts of others, there will be no room for those despondent thoughts about yourself, and you will be much happier.
How are you taking all this Dearest? Am I presuming too much? If I am, please, in kindness to me, do not read any further, but, if you are the least bit displeased, put this letter in the fire at once. If not, I can go on to say a little about Gladys. I do not know her very well, in fact, scarcely at all, so that I may be quite wrong in what I think about her. I must leave you to judge. You told me once that no-one had kissed you since your Mother died. Could Gladys say the same thing? Or could she say that neither of her brothers kiss her? I have been trying, Dearest, to imagine myself in Gladys’s place, and the more I think about her, the more I want to put my arms round her, and – cry over her. You see, I can understand better than you can what she has missed in love and companionship all these years. You have found it hard that you have had no one to love and care for you, and you are a man. How much harder must it be for a woman, to whom life, if it is worth anything, means love? I think, perhaps, you might have been a great comfort to one another, if only you had understood each other a little more. I see that you do not yet understand the working of woman’s mind. You remember our walk last Sunday week, when you waited for me to ask for something. I did not ask, and I did not receive. But the whole walk was one big longing, which prevented me from talking to you, (really talking, I mean,) and from enjoying the walk. In fact I was relieved to get home, although very much disappointed. Yet, you will say, it was such a little thing, and mine for the asking. Yes, but the things which seem small to a man, are very, very big to a woman, and the more earnestly she wants them, the more impossible is it for her to ask for them. Am I right, Dearest, in thinking that some such thing has happened between you and Gladys? Did you, right back in the beginning find that the responsibility thrown upon you was so heavy, that you had neither time nor spirit to keep up the little signs of affection between you and Gladys? Did you wait for her to make the advances, thinking that, when your long day’s work was finished, no more should be expected of you? I have shown you, that the more Gladys needed your love and not only your love, but the outward signs of it, the less likely would she be to show her need. So, Dearest, why not begin, at once, to establish between you those affectionate relations which should be between brother and sister. I do not mean that you should fall on her neck and kiss her; she would probably think you had taken leave of your senses if you did. But watch her carefully, and do for her any little thing which will save her trouble. Never let her go upstairs to fetch anything, if you can fetch it for her, and I am sure she will be grateful to you. Men do not know what a journey upstairs sometimes means to a woman who is not feeling exactly fit. You will find many little things you can do if you keep a good look-out for them, and sometimes, very occasionally take her some little thing just for herself, a special cake, or a bit of something in the chocolate line, even if this means you must let the plate go past you on Sunday – your money will have been put to a much better use. So, Dearest, let her see that you really love her, by the little things which you do for her, (and they are the most important,) and see if matters do not improve between you.
Now I really must stop, for I am afraid, even now, that you won’t find this tonight. Good-night, my Dearest, Good-night, and don’t be angry with me, for I would not have written all this if I had not loved you very, very much – Good-night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
5.11.17
My Belovéd,
You have been very much in my thoughts this week-end – partly, I suppose, because I have had so much time in which to think. I have been wondering whether it is wise to write as I am going to, but, after all, it is not of much use for me to think about you, and your difficulties, if I do not let you know some of the results of my meditation.
First and foremost, comes the question of your own personal happiness. I know you are not happy, not perfectly happy, are you, my dearest? There is none, or, at most, very little, of the “wild joy of living” in you. I can see this in many ways, even in the way in which you walk along the street and (may I make a confession?), I have been just a wee bit disappointed because I have not been able to make you happy, as other men have been made happy. I have been trying, and shall still try, to find the cause of my failure, and you may be sure that it will not exist for long, once I have found it. But, meanwhile, is it not possible that the ordinary happiness of men may be yours? All that you say about being a failure is untrue, and if you think about it, you will find that it is so. You admit yourself that you have succeeded in your business. You have kept together a home for Gladys and the boys, when many older men have been unable to keep things going. You have given Corrie and Reg as good a start in life as any boys have had. And yet you say you are a failure. Of course, your work is not perfect, because no man’s is, and listen to this:-
“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what’s a Heaven for?”
I wonder if you think too much about yourself. I do not mean in a selfish way, but rather in the sense of brooding over things you have done in the past, or might have done in the future, had circumstances been different. You have a good deal of time for such thoughts on your journeys to and from your work, and at other times. Now, if this is the case, will you just try this plan for a little while, and see how it acts? Whenever you begin to think about yourself, say, “No, I won’t”, and push those thoughts out of your mind. Then, begin at once to think about something else. May I suggest what? Just think about the last person you were with, and all that took place between you. Find out if there was any thing, no matter how small, which you might have done for that person, which you did not do, and make up your mind that, should such an opportunity occur again, you will not let it pass by. I do not advise this because I think you are lax in this respect, for I know (how often you have proved it to me) how much you consider other people, and are willing to help them. But as soon as you get your mind full of thoughts of others, there will be no room for those despondent thoughts about yourself, and you will be much happier.
How are you taking all this Dearest? Am I presuming too much? If I am, please, in kindness to me, do not read any further, but, if you are the least bit displeased, put this letter in the fire at once. If not, I can go on to say a little about Gladys. I do not know her very well, in fact, scarcely at all, so that I may be quite wrong in what I think about her. I must leave you to judge. You told me once that no-one had kissed you since your Mother died. Could Gladys say the same thing? Or could she say that neither of her brothers kiss her? I have been trying, Dearest, to imagine myself in Gladys’s place, and the more I think about her, the more I want to put my arms round her, and – cry over her. You see, I can understand better than you can what she has missed in love and companionship all these years. You have found it hard that you have had no one to love and care for you, and you are a man. How much harder must it be for a woman, to whom life, if it is worth anything, means love? I think, perhaps, you might have been a great comfort to one another, if only you had understood each other a little more. I see that you do not yet understand the working of woman’s mind. You remember our walk last Sunday week, when you waited for me to ask for something. I did not ask, and I did not receive. But the whole walk was one big longing, which prevented me from talking to you, (really talking, I mean,) and from enjoying the walk. In fact I was relieved to get home, although very much disappointed. Yet, you will say, it was such a little thing, and mine for the asking. Yes, but the things which seem small to a man, are very, very big to a woman, and the more earnestly she wants them, the more impossible is it for her to ask for them. Am I right, Dearest, in thinking that some such thing has happened between you and Gladys? Did you, right back in the beginning find that the responsibility thrown upon you was so heavy, that you had neither time nor spirit to keep up the little signs of affection between you and Gladys? Did you wait for her to make the advances, thinking that, when your long day’s work was finished, no more should be expected of you? I have shown you, that the more Gladys needed your love and not only your love, but the outward signs of it, the less likely would she be to show her need. So, Dearest, why not begin, at once, to establish between you those affectionate relations which should be between brother and sister. I do not mean that you should fall on her neck and kiss her; she would probably think you had taken leave of your senses if you did. But watch her carefully, and do for her any little thing which will save her trouble. Never let her go upstairs to fetch anything, if you can fetch it for her, and I am sure she will be grateful to you. Men do not know what a journey upstairs sometimes means to a woman who is not feeling exactly fit. You will find many little things you can do if you keep a good look-out for them, and sometimes, very occasionally take her some little thing just for herself, a special cake, or a bit of something in the chocolate line, even if this means you must let the plate go past you on Sunday – your money will have been put to a much better use. So, Dearest, let her see that you really love her, by the little things which you do for her, (and they are the most important,) and see if matters do not improve between you.
Now I really must stop, for I am afraid, even now, that you won’t find this tonight. Good-night, my Dearest, Good-night, and don’t be angry with me, for I would not have written all this if I had not loved you very, very much – Good-night.
(c) DearestBeloved 2009
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