May 1 (1915) My dear. Today, at last, we have the account of your splendid achievement. Herbert R. says it’s one of the very finest things that has ever been done, & when I hear (as I did last night from Sir V.C — he’s back) of the forebodings which were felt in Egypt, I begin to realize what it must have been. You said it was a big lob — as soon as you may tell me about it, oh please tell me. The men must have fought superbly — oh my dear, my dear I long to hear of it. Since I’ve heard nothing of you I conclude you are all right & I’m cheerful again, after some days of wild anxiety. Please send me even the briefest word whenever you can, so that I may know it’s well with you. It’s dreadfully hard to bear. Yet I don’t run ahead of my misfortune — I try not to. What a week it has been with the story of the St Julien battle & of the Dardanelles landing. The Canadians are haloed, & my battalion has done its good part but with tremendous loss — 5 officers killed, we now hear & I don’t yet know how many wounded. Mrs Darwen [sic), the mother of Erasmus Darwen [sic] whom we all loved, came to see me today. He fell while we were driven back, & he lies there — they had to leave him. Yesterday I lunched with Mr Buckler to meet Sir W. Ramsay — broken with grief at the loss of his son Louis. You remember, the naturalist boy who was with me in the Kara Dagh? I never made much of him, but he died most gallantly. — It’s a year ago today since I rode into Damascus — a year is it, or a century? It’s like remembering a former existence. Yet not quite that, for the thought of you links it all together. I was too anxious to listen to anything Sir V.C. was saying last night. One thing I know — but you know it too — The Italian agreement is definitely concluded. How long they’ll take before they act on it, that neither you nor I can say. I feel to have been so broken by the emotion of this week that I can’t write. May 1 (1915) My dear. Today, at last, we have the account of your splendid achievement. Herbert R. says it’s one of the very finest things that has ever been done, & when I hear (as I did last night from Sir V.C — he’s back) of the forebodings which were felt in Egypt, I begin to realize what it must have been. You said it was a big lob — as soon as you may tell me about it, oh please tell me. The men must have fought superbly — oh my dear, my dear I long to hear of it. Since I’ve heard nothing of you I conclude you are all right & I’m cheerful again, after some days of wild anxiety. Please send me even the briefest word whenever you can, so that I may know it’s well with you. It’s dreadfully hard to bear. Yet I don’t run ahead of my misfortune — I try not to. What a week it has been with the story of the St Julien battle & of the Dardanelles landing. The Canadians are haloed, & my battalion has done its good part but with tremendous loss — 5 officers killed, we now hear & I don’t yet know how many wounded. Mrs Darwen [sic), the mother of Erasmus Darwen [sic] whom we all loved, came to see me today. He fell while we were driven back, & he lies there — they had to leave him. Yesterday I lunched with Mr Buckler to meet Sir W. Ramsay — broken with grief at the loss of his son Louis. You remember, the naturalist boy who was with me in the Kara Dagh? I never made much of him, but he died most gallantly. — It’s a year ago today since I rode into Damascus — a year is it, or a century? It’s like remembering a former existence. Yet not quite that, for the thought of you links it all together. I was too anxious to listen to anything Sir V.C. was saying last night. One thing I know — but you know it too — The Italian agreement is definitely concluded. How long they’ll take before they act on it, that neither you nor I can say. I feel to have been so broken by the emotion of this week that I can’t write. [Unfinished, presumably because GB heard the news of DW’s death.]