“….If
I'm not back in time, you'd better get someone to help you with the
digging,' he says. He reads me some of the poems he has written that I have not
heard - the last one of all called Out in the Dark.
And I venture to question one line,and he says, 'Oh, no, it's right, Helen, I'm
sure it's right.' And I nod because I can't speak, and I try to smile at his
assurance.
I
sit and stare stupidly at his luggage by the wall, and his roll of bedding,
kit-bag, and suitcase. He takes out his prismatic compass and explains it to
me, but I cannot see, and when a tear drops onto it, he just shuts it up and
puts it away. Then he says, as he takes book out of his pocket, 'You see, your
Shakespeare's Sonnets is already where it will always be. Shall I read
you some?' He reads one or two to me. His face is grey and his mouth trembles,
but his voice is quiet and steady. And soon I slip to the floor and sit between
his knees,and while he reads his hand falls over my shoulder and I hold it with
mine. . . . . .
I've
always been able to warm you, haven't I?'' Yes, your lovely body never feels as
cold as mine does. How is it that I am so cold when my heart is so full of
passion?' 'You must have Bronwen to sleep with you while I am away. But you
must not make my heart cold with sadness, but keep it warm, for no one else but
you has ever found my heart, and for you it was a poor thing after all. . . . .
So
we lay, all night, sometimes talking of our love and all that had been, and of
the children, and what had been a miss and what right.We knew the best was that
there had never been untruth between us.We knew all of each other, and it was
right. So talking and crying and loving in each other's arms we fell asleep as
the cold reflected light of the snow crept through the frost-covered windows.
A
thick mist hung everywhere, and there was not sound except,far away in the
valley, a train shunting. I stood at the gate watching him go; he turned back to
wave until the mist and the hill hid him. I heard his old call coming up to me:
'Coo-ee!' he called. 'Coo-ee!' I answered, keeping my voice strong to call
again. Again through the muffled air came his 'Coo-ee.' And again went my
answer like an echo.'Coo-ee' came fainter next time with the hill between us,
but my 'Coo-ee' went out of my lungs strong to pierce to him as he
strode away from me. 'Coo-ee!' So faint now it might only be my own call flung
back from the thick air and muffling snow. I put my hands up to my mouth to make
a trumpet, but no sound came. Panic seized me,and I ran through the mist and
the snow to the top of the hill, and stood there a moment dumbly, with straining
eyes and ears. There was nothing but the mist and the snow and the silence of
death.Then with leaden feet which stumbled in a sudden darkness that overwhelmed
me I groped my way back to the empty house.”
Before
leaving for war as narrated by wife Helen Thomas.
World
Without End (1931)
Edward Thomas was killed by a
shell in the battle of Arras on Easter. World war 1,1917.
Close
up:
"Development can never be in isolation."
~ Bhagwad Gita
"Development can never be in isolation."
~ Bhagwad Gita
