Oct 21. Baghdad. Darling Mother. I must write a word to yourself - I really hadn't time last mail to do anything but give a sketch of our moves. Thank you so much for your note of Oct 1 and still more for your letter of Oct. 6 with its long postscript to me myself. I do so love to think that you liked me to come in to the library in the mornings even though I was interrupting you horribly. You know I feel as if I had never known you really before, not in all these years. It was perhaps because of the general crisis we were going through and my immense admiration for your courage and wisdom. But whatever it was I feel certain that I have never loved you so much, however much I may have loved you, and I am so thankful that we were together last summer and that we both have the sense of its' having been a wonderful experience. So it was, wasn't it darling.
After all I think that the prospect here is very favourable. I am amazed to find how calmly the people are taking the delay about Mosul [Mawsil, Al]. There is quite a different atmosphere and I begin to think I need not have come back; it would all have gone quite well without me. But I could not know and there may still be before us times of tension.

The French are in a very bad way in Syria and I privately don't believe that their day there will be prolonged. But I hope the earthquake, which is rumbling under their feet, won't wholly materialize till we get our northern frontier settled. It would be too much if we had to tackle the Syrian question as well - but some time or other we shall have to tackle it as I have always said, haven't I. Only it's going to be sooner than I thought.

I've told Father all about Sylvia's malady. But for that it is enchanting to have her. I'm longing for her to be about again and taking part in everything. She is the most delicious companion. Ever, dearest, your very loving daughter Gertrude.

Are you at Rounton? You wrote from there and said nothing about going back to London.