9 October 1917 Stuart to Edith - Letter #5

Stuart to Edith
Oct. 9 1917
My Belovéd
You have, I expect, read my last night’s scribble and I wonder what you think. I wonder if in the morning you will say it was not nice or that it hurt. I fear you expected more than you really found, for I could see that I had pleased you by giving it to you.
What shall I write to-night? I hardly know. I fear this is not a good time for me to express anything nice, I feel too tired. It is after 11; I did my 2 drills and an hour’s Greek, besides some knitting at supper; I desire now more than ever to push on with the Greek so that I may not keep you (and myself) waiting longer than is necessary; I am sure the minimum will be quite long enough, it will be for me and I expect it will for you.
If I needed more inducement, I should be spurred on still more by what you told me about your school life. I don’t worry over it (I promised I would not) but I wish I could see some way in which to help you. Never mind, my beloved, hang on, keep on smiling, there are I feel sure great days before us yet, when all the sadness of the past will be forgotten.
I am half afraid to tell you the story of my past life; it is so full of pain and sorrow that I fear I shall sadden you very much for a time, but one day I will tell you all, and soon I hope, and you will understand even more why it is I am so different to other men of my own age, so older than my years.
Just before I met you at dinner time to-day, I had been re-reading your three messages and I was thinking of what you said about how you had “kept the lid on” and about what you must not do.
I too, had “kept the lid on”. Many a time as we sat over on the bank above Ferry Hinksey, I longed to take you and kiss you, but I dare not. I was not certain it would be right and I still kept myself under strict control. You remember I thought you referred to a certain night; the night of which I was thinking was when I nearly took your arm and, I will admit it, tempted you take mine. We neither fell, and I wondered again just where we were. If you would give me no more than friendship (and that was all I expected) I was willing to be satisfied – half a loaf is better than no bread to a starving man, and for years I was hungry for someone to love and to love me. In the past, I have often cried myself to sleep with the loneliness of it all, so you can see perhaps why I was willing to be satisfied with a little, and now you have given me all.
Oh, best beloved, what hopes I have for the future. May the wish you once expressed that we should never quarrel be fully realized. I wonder sometimes what will happen when our wishes and ideas clash (if ever they do) for we are both strong-willed I think, but I expect that, loving one another and knowing that the other is trying to do what is right, we shall come through safe and sound.
Now just a few words about the other subjects. When I said “You must not do that” it was not because it was in any way wrong, but because I felt it was a false position, it was as though a queen had kissed her subject’s hand, I felt you must not do homage (that was exactly my thought) to me, but that I ought to you – I wonder if you understand.
I found the following lines to-day – do you like them?

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.”

Now Good night; may God bless you always and make me worthy of you, my belovéd. (it is 11.45)

SM

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