[22 July 1918] July 22 Tehran [(Teheran)] or rather Gulahek Belloved Father. I have not written to you since Kermanshah [Bakhtaran]. It is most curious to be writing once more from here - most certainly no one could realize the beauty and delight of Gulahek until they have spent 2½ years in Mesopotamia. But let me quickly begin at the beginning. I spent a delicious afternoon at Kermanshah with Col. Willcox and another man from Baghdad visiting the Sasanian [sic] reliefs at Taq i Bustan [Taq-e Bostan]. They are carved on a great cliff from the foot of which a spring runs into a wide stone tank and so away through cornfields between hedges of poplar trees. The harvest was being reaped and was lying partly on the threshing floors; clear streams interrupted our path at every moment and the rock cut kings and gods looked down upon it all. Next day I motored to Hamadan, 10 hours over a rough road and a very high pass. I stopped by the way to see the rock cut inscription of Darius where the reading of cuneiform began. It was a long day, the country mostly barren and the hills always devoid of all vegetation. Hamadan lies at the foot of Mount Elvend [Alvand, Kuh-e] and its gardens and cornfields stretch far up the hillside and down into the plain. The snow still lay in patches on the hilltops. I stayed with the manager of the bank, Mr MacMurray, and his charming wife. As I arrived General Dunsterville who is the commander in Persia, drove in from the north, to lodge also with the MacMurrays. He is, you know, the original of Kipling's Stalky and - another interesting detail - you realize that Hamadan is Ecbatana? The MacMurray's house is a paradise, standing above the town in a big garden full of roses, and divinely cool and fresh. I talked most of next morning - or a good deal of it - to General D. and in the afternoon went out with General Wanchope and others from Baghdad first to see the relief kitchens where the starving population are fed and next to the ancient mound on which the palace of Ahasuerus, whoever he was, and others stood. The famine has been terrible everywhere owing to the depredations of Turks and Russians. We are still feeding 14,000 people a day in Hamadan, but with the harvest coming in prices are falling and conditions improving. I left next morning and motored 140 miles to Qazvin where again I stayed with the Bank Manager, Mr Hart. These long days over bad roads are extraordinarily tiring and I spent a good deal of the following day asleep, but in the afternoon went out with Mr Hart to see the most attractive bazaars and mosques. Fred Cockerell who is A.P.M. here came to dinner and was less aggressive than in Baghdad. I brought General Wanchope on with me to Tehran and he too is staying with the Marlings. What it was like after the dust and heat to get into the Gulahek garden with its huge plane trees and running water, I can't describe and after 4 days of it I am feeling a wholly different person. The Marlings are kinder than you could believe - I had intended staying 5 days, but we are going this week onto the tops of the mountains to camp and my visit will consequently spread itself out over another week. That, however, is nothing to the visit of the Grand Duke Dmitri who came for 2 nights and has stopped a year. He is the man who was supposed to have killed Raspotin [i.e. Rasputin] and, though he did not actually kill him he was in the house at the time, took the blame and was exiled by the Emperor, whose cousin he is. He is about 23, attractive, with very charming manners and as little abreast of the modern world as you might expect a Romanof to be. I spend delicious days doing nothing, I ride before breakfast with Sir Walter Barttelot, the military attaché, whom I knew in Baghdad, and for the rest of the day sit in the garden and talk to anyone who comes. Yesterday a large party of us had a wild and most enchanting picnic. We started out after dinner, walked for 2 hours or more up a gorge in the mountains, incredibly beautiful in the moonlight, supped among poplar trees near a Persian village, wrapped ourselves in blankets and slept till dawn by the edge of the stream and after a cup of tea walked home, getting in at 7. Usually there are people to dinner - Persians, colleagues, officers from Baghdad; except for the officers it's the old familiar diplomatic life - Sir Charles Marling looks horribly tired and worn out. He talks of going on leave in the autumn, which I hope he will be allowed to do. She is charming and the nicest of hostesses. One of the secretaries is the Astell boy, our neighbour at home.
I feel it's almost wicked to be so lazy, but once one comes on leave it's best to be lazy isn't it. When I first arrived I never stopped sleeping. It's so divinely cool - I'm conscious every moment of the day of the joy of it. Ever your very affectionate daughter Gertrude