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