I liked Thurlow so much. Whatever Edward's failings, I must say he has an admirable faculty for choosing his friends well... But seeing Thurlow for a short time made me feel rather sad, for the nicer such people as he are, the more they serve to emphasize in some indirect way, the fact of your immense superiority over the very best of them!

I saw that Thurlow had been wounded - I suppose in the recent fighting at Ypres. I have almost loved him since his little letter to me after Roland died, and I can't tell you how anxiously I hope that he is not badly hurt.

I have just been to see Thurlow at Fishmongers' Hall Hospital, London Bridge. He is only very slightly wounded on the left side of his face; fortunately his eyes, nose and mouth are quite untouched. In fact he says he won't even have a scar left, and the wound is healing with a depressing rapidity. The dressing was only strapped, not even bandaged, on. But he was in bed, and says he had not even been allowed to walk to the bathroom until today, so I think he must be suffering from shock as well, although he says nothing about it. He did not look ill at all, only a little tired. He was apparently wounded in the bombardment, before all the trench fighting began. He thinks hardly any of his battalion are left now.

I don't know whether he was at all pleased to see me. we were both very shy - at any rate I know I was, and shyness always makes me speak quite lightly about things of which I think anything but lightly, and I think it makes him too. we might have been less shy had we been alone, but there was another officer there all the time, a school friend of his who had come to see him too, and it is always slightly embarrassing to carry on a conversation in the presence of a silent third person...

I only stayed with him about half-an-hour; he was very interesting to talk to and I like him very much, as you know, but I felt sure he would much rather talk to the school friend than to me, and visiting hours at a Hospital are of course limited. He thinks he will be off duty about another month, and of course doesn't know whether he will return to the 10th. He might get sent to the 11th just as much.

I have been to see Thurlow twice since I last wrote to you.... Both times I found him most interesting; we had quite long discussions and I think he has quite got over his shyness of me... On Thursday and today he was up, sitting before a gas stove, with a green dressing gown on and a brown blanket over his knees. He seems to feel the cold a great deal, which must be owing to the shock, and also for the same reason his nerves are very bad, so he has been given two months sick leave.

But he said today that he would come up to town when he is able to walk about all right, and take me to a convert, I don't think he can dislike me, as he doesn't strike one as being the kind of person who would pretend to want to see someone he didn't.

Of course he doesn't want to go back a bit, but since he has to go, he's got the same feeling as he had before, that he wants to go out quickly and get it over. He says he finds the anticipation so much worse than the things themselves, whatever they are. He says he is not a bit of a success out there because he is so afraid of being afraid, and he hates the way all his men's eyes are fixed on him when anything big is on, partly to see how he will take it, partly because they are afraid of anything happening to him. He says he objects to war on principle, and is a non-militarist very strongly at heart. I think it was very brave of him to join almost at once as he did... It is easy to see he is suffering from shock; he looks rather a ghost now he is sitting up, talks even more jerkily than before, and works his fingers about nervously while he is talking.

I went with Thurlow to a most delightful concert at Queen's Hall last Saturday. I enclose the programme in case you would like to see it; just throw it away if it makes you too homesick for the bygone days. There are times, I know, when in order to fight or work in this war, one must forget all the previous things apart from it that have been and may be again. But I think when one is strong enough to endure the memory it is better to remember for one's own sake...

He is very nice when he talks about Roland; he seems to have a natural tact and sensitiveness which prevents him from ever making a jarring remark, though I am sure he would not think he was tactful if you asked him if he was. He looks much better, but seems very depressed with himself as an officer.

Since my last letter much has happened - we have been to the war again and the weather treated us abominably: however our battalion did well taking an important Hun trench - we didn't go over the top but had to clean up and hang on to the trench. Luckily we had no officer casualties though there were many among the men. But as our number of officers is at present the irreducible minimum perhaps this accounts for it.

At present we are sitting in a dugout. Brilliant frosty morning: much aerial activity: one Boshe brought down quite near here. A bit of a strafe on during the night and we were so pricelessly warm here that I was positive we should have to stand to or something equally beastly. However we didn't have to so slumbered fitfully on.

I have had a note from Edward today to say that Victor Richardson is at Rouen and badly wounded. Awfully sorry and I can only hope he will soon get over it and that by time you get this you will have had better news of him. It was a very brief note from Edward and yet terribly concise.

After tea tonight wanting to be alone.... I walked out along a high embankment and everything was fresh and cool quite in contrast to the heated atmosphere of our dugout. As I looked westward I saw just below me in front of the embankment the battered outline of Hun trenches with two long straggling communication trenches winding away into some shell torn trees: the setting sun reflected in the water at the bottom of many crump holes making them look masses of gold...

Everything seems very vague but none the less certain here and I only hope I don't fail at the critical moment as truly I am a horrible coward: wish I could do well especially for the School's sake.

You will have heard by this time, I expect, of the death of poor Geoffrey Thurlow, and as you and he seemed such great pals - I feel you will like to know how he lost his life. The hun had got us held up and the leading battalions of the Brigade had failed to get their objective. The battalion came up in close support through a very heavy barrage, but managed to get into the trench - of which the Boshe still held a part. Our C.O. was wounded and taken prisoner early in the fight so it fell to my lot to take over command of the battalion. Everything was in a state of uncertainty... I sent a message to Geoffrey to push along the trench and find out if possible what was happening on the right. the trench was in a bad condition and rather congested, so he got out on the top. Unfortunately the Boshe snipers were very active and he was soon hit through the lungs. Everything was done to make him as comfortable as possible, but he died lying on a stretcher about fifteen minutes later.

I only heard this morning from Miss Thurlow that Geoffrey was killed in action on April 23rd - a week ago today - and I sent you a cable about noon... Always a splendid friend with a splendid heart and a man who won't be forgotten by you or me however long or short a time we may live. Dear child, there is no more to say; we have lost almost all there was to lose and what have we gained? Truly as you say has patriotism worn very very threadbare.

I have so often felt before that Geoffrey would go but it is very hard when it comes; he never cared for war or any form of militarism and I don't think he ever wished to die that way. But his standard of life approached so nearly in my opinion the ideal and he was far removed from anything approaching worldliness that I am sure he will be quite alright.

As soon as the cable came saying that Geoffrey was killed, only a few hours after the one saying that Victor was hopelessly blind, I knew I must come home. It will be easier to explain when I see you, also - perhaps - to consult you about something I can't possibly discuss in a letter. Anyone could take my place here, but I know that nobody else could take the place that I could fill just now at home....

I can't tell you how I shall miss Geoffrey - I think he meant more to me that anyone after Roland and you. as for you I dare not think how lonely you must feel with him dead and Victor perhaps worse, for it makes me too impatient of the time that must elapse before I can see you - I may not even be able to start for two or three weeks. Geoffrey and I had become very friendly indeed in letters of late, and used to write at least once a week... After Roland he was the straightest, soundest, most upright and idealistic person I have ever known.