"It is nice to be where nobody knows I am a bard."
“I have been talking to my Mother about going to America […]. There is a weak alternative too – if some branch of the army will take me in spite of my weak foot: I believe the Royal Garrison Artillery might. Frankly I do not want to go, but hardly a day passes without my thinking I should.”
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"My dear Eleanor, It seems hopeless to wait any longer for your parcel. I don't understand it unless one of our officers who has one every week from Fortnum and Mason took mine by mistake. I know he had 2 in one week. But if so it can't be rectified now. As a matter of fact these things all get pooled in the mess, except that I refuse to pool my apples.
I am back with 244 now and much prefer it. I am out more and have a greater variety of things to do, including using my voice in the open air. We have had one or two more lovely days, mild and clear too. Yesterday a west wind blew and the rooks in their nests made things more like normal. Today actually I heard a blackbird trying, but it has turned into a cold dull day with no particular charm. The orchard is all mud now except one corner where snowdrops are flowering. It was time I left Headquarters. In the shelling yesterday shrapnel came into the office and killed the old serjeant major who had been wanting to get back to his poultry – the war had snatched him away from it. The town has been a very hot place these last few days. I only hope I shall fare no worse than I have done. I wish I enjoyed it more or rather thought about it less both during and after." |
Eleanor Farjeon was a close family friend who corresponded with Edward on his poetry. Usually the first to see his closely-guarded work, he seems to have trusted her implicitly, and often adopted her suggestions for changes. She was devastated by his death on Easter Monday, 1917, writing this poem in response.
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Eleanor Farjeon, Easter Monday (In Memoriam E.T.)
In the last letter that I had from France You thanked me for the silver Easter egg Which I had hidden in the box of apples You liked to munch beyond all other fruit. You found the egg the Monday before Easter, And said, ‘I will praise Easter Monday now – It was such a lovely morning’. Then you spoke Of the coming battle and said, ‘This is the eve. Good-bye. And may I have a letter soon.’ That Easter Monday was a day for praise, It was such a lovely morning. In our garden We sowed our earliest seeds, and in the orchard The apple-bud was ripe. It was the eve. There are three letters that you will not get. Ⓒ Estate of Eleanor Farjeon |
Roedd Eleanor Farjeon yn ffrind agos i'r teulu a oedd yn llythyru ag Edward ynghylch ei farddoniaeth. Hi oedd y cyntaf fel arfer i weld y gwaith yr oedd yn ei warchod yn gaeth; mae’n ymddangos ei fod yn ymddiried yn llwyr ynddi ac roedd yn aml yn derbyn ei hawgrymiadau ar gyfer newidiadau. Roedd ei farwolaeth yn dorcalon iddi, ac ysgrifennodd y gerdd ‘Easter Monday’ mewn ymateb.
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In April 1917, Edward Thomas was killed in action on the first day of the Battle of the Somme.
Many have wondered at his decision to enlist. At 37, in poor health, and with three young children to support, he was exempt from conscription. Yet he was also suffocated by family life, and plagued by depression and self-doubt concerning his literary abilities. Joining the army was a successful attempt to seek personal and literary salvation. Ever uncomfortable in the family home, he seemed to become a natural father figure to the troops, as condolence letters to Helen bear testament. |
Ym mis Ebrill 1917, lladdwyd Edward Thomas ar faes y gad ar ddiwrnod cyntaf Brwydr y Somme.
Mae llawer o bobl wedi pendroni ynghylch ei benderfyniad i ymuno â’r fyddin. Ac yntau’n 37 oed, yn wael ei iechyd, a chyda thri o blant ifanc i’w cynnal, nid oedd gorfodaeth arno i ymuno. Ac eto, roedd bywyd teuluol yn ei lethu ac roedd iselder a hunanamheuaeth am ei allu llenyddol yn fwrn arno. Roedd ymuno â’r fyddin yn ymgais lwyddiannus i geisio achubiaeth bersonol a llenyddol. Ac yntau wastad yn anesmwyth yng nghartref y teulu, daeth i fod yn rhyw fath o ffigur tadol naturiol i’r milwyr, fel y gwelir yn y llythyrau o gydymdeimlad at Helen. |
9 April 1917
Dear Mrs Thomas, It is a great trial to me to write to inform you that your husband was killed this morning. As I have been very closely associated with him since we first met at Trowbridge, I thought it would be well to take upon myself the duty of letting you know of his death. It happened this morning, by shell fire, in the observation post. I think, before anything else, I have to express you the great debt of gratitude I owe to your husband. He has been so much my support through this difficult – and to me, uncongenial, - work; and has been so wise and kind in the help he has given me. His friendship has meant a great deal to me. I don’t know whether you would want me to say this, - but it seems to me he has got on splendidly, - magnificently, - in the army; - as well as much younger men who have just the knack. And I am sure his other gifts, and the depth and strength of his character, have been greatly valued by all of us who were at work with him. I claim, at least, his friendship; and just now I am terribly lonely out here without him. I hope I may not have given you needless pain by anything I have said. But will you accept my most sincere and earnest sympathy in your sorrow. I shall be very glad to look after your husband’s personal effects. I am, yours very sincerely, John M. Thorburn |
10 April 1917
Dear Mrs Thomas, You will have heard by now from Mr Thorburn of the death in action of your husband. I asked him to write immediately we knew about it yesterday, but delayed writing myself until the funeral from which I have just returned. I cannot express to you adequately in words how deep our sympathy is for you and your children in your great loss. These things go too deep for mere words. We, officers and |
men, all mourn our own loss. Your husband was very greatly loved in this battery, and his going has been a personal loss to each of us. He was rather older than most of the officers and we all looked up to him as the kind of father of our happy family. He was always the same, quietly cheerful and ready to do any job that was going with the same steadfast unassuming spirit. The day before his death we were rather heavily shelled and he had a very narrow shave. But he went about his work quite quietly and ordinarily as if nothing was happening. I wish
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I could convey to you the picture of him, a picture we had all learnt to love, of the old clay pipe, gum boots, oilskin coat, and steel helmet. With regard to his actual death you have probably heard the details. It should be of some comfort to you to know that he died as a moment of victory from a direct hit by a shell, which must have killed him outright without giving him a chance to realise anything – a gallant death for a very fine and gallant gentleman.
We buried him in a little military cemetery a few hundred yards from |
the battery, the exact spot will be notified to you by the parson. As we stood by his grave the sun came out and the guns around seem[ed] to stop firing for a short time. This typified to me what stood out most in your husband’s character, the spirit of quiet, sunny, unassuming cheerfulness. When I get to England again I shall be happy to come and tell you anything more you’d like to know. My address is The White House, Heath End, Farnham, Surrey, and I will write you in case you would like to see me.
Yours very sincerely, Franklin Lushington |
From Gunner C. Taylor, 10 June 1917
Dear Mrs Thomas, I was so pleased to hear from you[,] I hope this will [find] you a little easier in your sad bereavement of your dear husband[.] I was so glad to hear that Corporal Heath came and saw you[,] he told me he would[.] I am quite sure he did not suffer[,] for he was killed instantly[.] He was respected by one and all of the Battery[,] and me[,] being his servant[.] We had many a nice talk together and he always was so kind to me in every way[.] I though [sic] as much of him as if he was a brother[.] I know quite well what it is to lose our loved ones that are so near and dear to us all[,] and there is no one that can tell only those that have[.] Your dear husband was very fond of the garden[,] and me and him used to have such nice talks about the time to plant and how to do it[,] as I have ¼ of an acre at home and my dear wife is managing it as best she can while I am away[.] I cannot appreciate the photo of your dear husband enough[,] I shall treasure it[.] [It] is just like he was with us[.] I hope and trust he is gone to a better place where there will be no more sorrow nor pain[.] I hope and trust when the War is over to see you and tell you everything[,] I am enclosing my home address[.] Accept my deepest sympathy to you and your dear children for I know what it is to be parted from our loved ones[,] as I have a dear wife and 2 girls[.] All good wishes to you all. Yours sincerely, 110704 Gunner C. Taylor, 244 Siege Battery. |
Edward Thomas' belongings, returned to Helen from France: (l-r) officer’s button, badge, clay pipes, silver tobacco box, and pocket watch, thought to have been stopped from the shock of the shell blast that killed him.
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Eiddo Edward Thomas, a ddychwelwyd i Helen o Ffrainc: botwm swyddog, bathodyn, catiau clai, blwch tybaco arian ac oriawr boced; credir bod yr oriawr wedi cael ei stopio gan sioc ffrwydrad y siel a’i laddodd.
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As a writer, his work went largely unacknowledged, until his adoption of the poetic form during the war years. A few days before his death, a Times Literary Supplement review stated, “he is a real poet, with the truth in him”.
100 years later, Thomas’ centrality to new forms of nature writing is widely acknowledged. |
Fel awdur, bach iawn o gydnabyddiaeth a gafodd ei waith, hyd nes iddo fabwysiadu’r ffurf farddol yn ystod blynyddoedd y rhyfel. Ychydig ddyddiau cyn ei farwolaeth, meddai adolygiad Times Literary Supplement, “he is a real poet, with the truth in him”.
Ganrif yn ddiweddarach, caiff canologrwydd Thomas i ffurfiau newydd o ysgrifennu am natur ei gydnabod yn helaeth. |