"I only wish my head were cooler and clearer, to see you the better."
Helen Thomas speaking in 1967, aged 90, about her earliest memories of Edward Thomas.
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Helen Thomas yn siarad yn 1967, yn 90 oed, am ei hatgofion cynharaf o Edward Thomas.
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From the age of 16, Edward made frequent visits to writer and critic James Ashcroft Noble, who mentored the young man and helped connect him with publishers. During these visits, he spent increasing amounts of time with Noble’s confident, bohemian daughter, Helen. She was soon the recipient of frequent, passionate love letters. The final page of this letter, recorded as ‘unfinished’ when it was published in R. G. Thomas’ Selected Letters (1995), was recently discovered during cataloguing. It ends with the words:
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O 16 oed, bu Edward yn ymweld yn fynych â’r awdur a’r beirniad, James Ashcroft Noble, a wnaeth fentora’r gŵr ifanc a helpu i’w gysylltu â chyhoeddwyr. Yn ystod yr ymweliadau hyn, treuliodd fwy a mwy o amser gyda Helen, merch hyderus a bohemaidd Noble. Cyn hir, roedd hi’n derbyn llythyrau caru mynych, angerddol. Cafodd tudalen olaf y llythyr hwn, y dywedwyd ei fod yn ‘anorffenedig’ pan gafodd ei gyhoeddi yn Selected Letters (1995) R. G. Thomas, ei ddarganfod yn ddiweddar yn ystod gwaith catalogio. Daw i ben gyda'r geiriau:
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“...you are beautiful. I am a fond soul, certain of nothing but your sweetness of soul. Why then should I bother about this thing fame? I can never have it. Of you I can be sure. Yet I allow the thing to usurp portions of my time and heart. I owe all to you, and yet will not give you all, such is my unwisdom. Yet I do love you, Helen. O for one day of you – pretty one, pure one, kind one. What time we shall have yet; what triumphs; what pains; what heaven. Need I say I love you. Oh Helen! You intoxicate, stagger, smite me: I can be fooled almost with your superiority to me; I am made a worm by thinking of you. Dearest friend; rich soul; and you are a woman, and love me: how strange it is, and how unearthly. If it were not that I loved you and knew you loved me, I should be mad.” |
However, the same letter betrays Edward’s literary self-doubt and anxiety, aged just 19.
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Fodd bynnag, mae’r un llythyr yn datgelu hunanamheuaeth a phryder llenyddol Edward, ac yntau’n ddim ond 19 oed.
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"My head is so full of littleness; now I think of history and coin an ‘idea’, now I think of what is about me and stupidly write in my notebook, and nothing ever long; in fact, a sort of madness. I want an object which shall concentrate my life, gather up the flailing edges and trailing ends, and purge away a good deal, too. For I find myself with a lot of minor interests, encouraging now one, now another, and not really developing any. My writing vexes me, too. I don’t know what my papers are coming to, except prose fancy. If I ever had any power of description, it is entirely gone now, not a particle left. I am become a mere word spinner – almost always."
Helen’s love and admiration for Edward never wavered. Her memoirs, written as a form of therapy in the years following his death, are suffused with recollections of summer days, walking for miles, talking endlessly about everything and nothing. Their lives are anti-suburban, deeply rooted in the natural world. It is during one of their long walks on Hampstead Heath that Helen becomes pregnant, while Edward, aged 21, is still a student at Oxford. Safodd cariad ac edmygedd Helen tuag at Edward yn gadarn erioed. Mae atgofion am ddiwrnodau o haf, cerdded am filltiroedd, siarad yn ddi-baid am bopeth a dim byd yn treiddio trwy ei chofiannau, a ysgrifennwyd fel math o therapi yn y blynyddoedd yn dilyn ei farwolaeth. Mae eu bywydau yn wrth-swbwrbaidd, wedi’u gwreiddio’n ddwfn yn y byd naturiol. Yn ystod un o'u troeon hir ar Hampstead Heath y mae Helen yn beichiogi, tra bod Edward, sy’n 21 oed, o hyd yn fyfyriwr yn Rhydychen. |
The free-spirited and unconventional Helen, now a governess for the Logan family, is unwilling to marry, but is convinced by friends to do so. The couple set about the arrangements for ‘the ceremony - or whatever you call it’ in a businesslike manner. A letter from Edward discussing their plans contains panicky financial concerns, indicated by his decision to cycle the 70 miles from Oxford to London to save the train fare, and doubt over who to borrow money from to pay for the registry office.
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A hithau bellach yn athrawes i’r teulu Logan, mae Helen, cymeriad anghonfensiynol sy’n gwrthod cydymffurfio, yn amharod i briodi ond caiff ei darbwyllo gan ffrindiau i wneud hynny. Mae’r ddau yn mynd ati i wneud y trefniadau ar gyfer ‘the ceremony - or whatever you call it’ yn ddiffwdan. Mae llythyr gan Edward yn trafod eu cynlluniau yn cynnwys pryderon ariannol llawn panig, fel y gwelir yn ei benderfyniad i seiclo’r 70 milltir o Rydychen i Lundain i arbed talu am docyn trên, ac amheuaeth ynghylch pwy y dylai ofyn iddo am fenthyca arian er mwyn talu am y swyddfa gofrestru.
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“I think I shall cycle, for we really can’t afford fares. Would there be any reason against our sleeping together at the Logans’? The ceremony – or whatever you call it will take place on the morning after I arrive. Why is the fee so much as £2? Will it be by special licence, and can Mrs Logan be witness? I don’t know from whom we can borrow £2.”
Four years later, the poverty-striken couple had moved house several times. Their latest home on Bearsted Green was condemned as unfit for habitation by the doctor after their daughter Bronwen nearly died of pneumonia. Edward, suffering bouts of illness and finding life with his family chaotic, starts to live away from home for long periods. In letters written to Gordon Bottomley, he confesses his discomfort with domestic life.
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Bedair blynedd yn ddiweddarach, roedd y pâr tlawd wedi symud tŷ sawl gwaith. Barnodd y meddyg fod eu cartref diweddaraf ar Bearsted Green yn anaddas i fyw ynddo ar ôl i Bronwen bron â marw o niwmonia. Ac yntau’n dioddef pyliau o salwch a methu dygymod ag anhrefn bywyd gyda’i deulu, mae Edward yn dechrau byw oddi cartref am gyfnodau hir. Mewn llythyrau at Gordon Bottomley, mae’n cyfaddef ei anesmwythyd â bywyd y cartref.
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“I can’t write. For today I leave home and tomorrow I start life in London lodgings. I found that my work – even my bad reviewing – was suffering more and more from a silly but unavoidable nervous interest in the children’s movements in and out of the house, and equally silly but unavoidable interference in little household things, and a continual wearing irritation. This affected my temper and I thought it wise to try the effect of a change.”
Though incompatible with his need for silence and reflection, Edward loved his three children, Merfyn, Bronwen and Myfanwy, writing to them regularly during his periods away from home, and dedicating poems to each of them. Known as the ‘Household Poems’, they articulate a dream of the countryside he would bestow upon each child. A fourth poem, dedicated to Helen, has far sadder sentiments of loss, regret, and conviction that his depression has infected their marriage.
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Er eu bod yn anghydnaws â’i angen am ddistawrwydd a myfyrdod, roedd Edward yn caru ei dri phlentyn, gan ysgrifennu atynt yn rheolaidd yn ystod ei gyfnodau oddi cartref, ac ysgrifennu cerddi i bob un ohonynt (uchod, o’r chwith i'r dde: Merfyn, Bronwen a Myfanwy). Dan yr enw ‘Household Poems’, maent yn mynegi breuddwyd am y wlad y byddai’n ei chyflwyno i bob plentyn. Mae pedwaredd gerdd, wedi’i chyflwyno i Helen, yn cynnwys teimladau llawer tristach o golled, edifeirwch ac argyhoeddiad bod ei iselder wedi difwyno’u priodas.
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And you, Helen, what should I give you? [...] I would give you back yourself, And power to discriminate What you want and want it not too late, Many fair days free from care And heart to enjoy both foul and fair, And myself, too, if I could find Where it lay hidden and it proved kind. |
Letter to Myfanwy (aged 6) from France, 29 Dec 1916. The letter mentions Eleanor Farjeon, a close family friend who helped Edward edit and distribute his poems to publishers. "My dear Myfanwy,
I am so glad you haven’t got that nasty tooth any longer, and I hope you don’t dislike the dentist who took it away. But you did enjoy your Christmas, didn’t you? I know I did. I mean I enjoyed your Christmas and mine too. When I got here I found two more presents, a pocket writing case from Uncle Oscar and a piece of cake from Eleanor. Did Mother tell you I wrote a poem about the dark that evening when you did not want to go into the sitting room because it was so dark? Eleanor perhaps will type it and then I will send you a copy. I am going to be very much alone for a few days, because the man who sleeps in my room is going home to Scotland. I think I shall like being alone. On Monday and Wednesday we are going to shoot with real guns." Llythyr at Myfanwy (6 oed) o Ffrainc, 29 Rhagfyr 1916. Mae’r llythyr yn crybwyll Eleanor Farjeon, ffrind agos i'r teulu a helpodd olygu ei gerddi a’u hanfon at gyhoeddwyr. |