22 September 1922

6 Pond Street, Hampstead, London

My dearest Father,
Yesterday, with a box of late flowers from Wood Hay, came a letter from you written to the girls, and posted, I think, at Marseilles. I was so very interested to hear of your news, and, oh, how I envied you the sun and fine warm weather as I looked out of my window at the cold, murky regular wintry day! Once I get through with this treatment, I shall certainly fold my tent like that famous Arab. England has so many charms - friends, for instance, and the real charm of being in a country where one's own tongue is spoken. But the climate spoils everything. It is a perfectly infernal climate. I have such a cold that at this moment I feel more strongly than ever on the subject. But, literally, since you left we have had in London one fairly fine day with a piece of blue in the sky. I shall be glad when little Wilfred is settled in the sunshine of Otaki or thereabouts. I am sure she is not suited to the raging elements.  [To Harold Beauchamp, 27 September 1922.]