S. S. Malwa
3. March 1914
My dear Gertrude

We just climbed into the ship and go on tomorrow towards Aden leaving Khartoum & Cairo behind us – and what is weighing on me, leaving behind also the last chance of any news of you – I did hope foolishly perhaps to hear something of you since you started on the great adventure – trekking eastwards – good luck go with you – and safety and pleasure of new horizons and of going on & on –

But are you well – sterimashay – which being interpreted means may you never be tired –

Well of my doings – I have seen K & the Sirdar many times & may have my hand to play and things to do – except that already they have begun to fight.

What years it seems since England and since I stayed with you at Rounton! No, what’s the good of thinking of that – its still longer till I see you again –

Can I get what I want for £10,000 a year? Without an agent, in the middle of war – I don’t know – God is great –

What are you doing? Are you at Hayil? Sitting perhaps coffee drinking talking of a united Arabia with the great sheikhs? or writing the diaries the seed of books? or just jogging wearily on & wandering whither?

Coming down the Nile I talked of you to the Asquiths & Garstang – which was pleasing to me – We were all agreed that are great & wonderful – for the rest I listen – once the thing is started – to them impervious, without saying much, tasting that way an intimacy all my own –

I took a liking to Violet Asquith - & was able to put Garstang of Meroe on to a bilingual stone at Ascam – They’ve found this year at Meroe a stone in an unknown tongue, possible that of Ascam – whereby they now fight or thereabouts – Miss Asquith was amusingly derisive of Sudan officials sapless & undried – losing youth & health & this delightful world – but as we all have to lose it why not take equally whatever the way may be – a priest death a bed death a straw death a cow death suits not me – I used to think like that but now I don’t care at all.

I write words because we must say something or stop and close and feel lonely – or lonelier – But really I don’t want to say anything at all, but just to be in peace – it is some dim cult of serenity that I make, some little curl of altar smoke blown over Arabia – all that terrible way to your tent door –

And a fat man sings nicely into his girl’s eyes & they scrub away the coaling dust, and the world goes on at Port Said – But it is only the things we think that matter, only the incense & the curls of smoke, - only serenity – neither your adventure nor my adventure as they come to us sharp & fierce, but only you and I unmoved unaltered by them with serenity about us. They are dust & heat and interest of the journey –

Dick.