4 March 1922

Victoria Palace Hotel, Paris

I had 2 letters today from Father enclosing letters from my cousins who live down the Sounds - all about hay and crops as high as the fences and perfect tirades about the spots on butterflies' wings and the colour of foxgloves. One of these letters was from a woman who has nine children - my uncle Stanleys wife. The other from a woman who has about £150 a year all told to live on with her husband. Such people are the salt of the earth. The longer I live the more I realise that any life but a life remote, self-sufficient, simple, eager, and joyful, is not worth living. Cities are ashes. And people know it. They want the other thing; they feel their own ‘poverty' in their several ways. It is sad. However the only way to help others is to live a good life oneself Its a roundabout way but I see no other. But these Beauchamps down the Sounds are right. They are inheriting the earth. How I wish I could drive off in a little spring cart & have tea and scones with them & hear about Norman and Betty and Jess and the rest. I hope your May doesn't go in for town life and trying to be a social success in Bulawayo. I hope Roger gets a real chance. Youll have to gallop off there one day and look after him if you love him. Dont you feel that?
This is just a little chat with you. Now I must work. I have masses to do.
Keep well!
              Yours ever
                 K.M.[To Ida Baker, 2 March 1922.]