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tried my French on the mother and bombarded the others out of a phrase book with subtile converse like ‘Good morning: are you well: we are well: is the child well: it is fine: it is wet: is it wet etc.’ Of course they are not gentlemen; but very respectable and intelligent bourgeois.

      Young Kirk was employed at his camp the other day in unloading a train of seriously wounded soldiers from the front: from whom he learned that the newspaper stories of German atrocities (mutilation of nurses, killing wounded etc.) were not in the least exaggerated.

      The Gastonian arrangement continues to give every possible satisfaction that anybody could ask for: and the country is lovelier than ever. The theatrical lady is still here, so that when young Kirk comes down from his camp to spend the week end, we are quite a pleasant sized party. I am off to bed now, so good night.

      your loving

      son Jack

       TO ARTHUR GREEVES (W/LP IV: 222-3):

      [Gastons

      20 October 1914]

      My dear Arthur,

      Many thanks for the letter, which I hope is becoming a regular ‘institution’, and apologies for my comparative slackness in replying. When I read your description of the boring evening I thought for a while of writing you a letter full of ‘war’–to hear your views afterwards. But, to be serious, what would you? Is the trivial round of family conversation ever worth listening to, whether we are at war or no? I can promise you that it is not at Little Lea and if Bernagh is different it must be an exceptional household. The vast majority of people, too, whom one meets outside the household, have nothing to say that we can be interested in. Their circle of interests is sternly practical, and it is only the few who can talk about the really important things–literature, science, music & art. In fact, this deadly practicalness is so impressed on my mind, that, when I have finished Loki, I am resolved to write a play against it.

      The following idea has occurred to me: in Irish mythology the ruling deities are the light & beautiful Shee: but, we are told, before these came, the world was ruled by the Formons, hideous and monstrous oppressors. What are the exact details of the struggle between the two parties I do not know. But it ought to make a good allegorical story, in which the Formons could be taken as typical of the stern, ugly, money grubbing spirit, finally conquered by that of art & beauty, as exemplified by the lovely folk of the Shee. However, of course, this is only a castle in the air.

      I sympathize with your difficulty in drawing a horse, as I have often made the attempt in the days when I fancied myself in that line. But of course that counts for nothing: as the easiest of your sketches would be impossible for me. But there are heaps of pictures in which you need not introduce the animal. I hope the music has started in real earnest by now. The longer I stay at this place, the better I like it. Mrs. K., like all good players–including yourself-is lazy and needs a lot of inducement before she performs.

      yours sincerely

      C. S. Lewis

       TO HIS FATHER (LP IV: 234):

      [Gastons 25?

      October 1914]

      My dear Papy,

      Last week I went up to town with Mrs. K. and the theatrical lady to the Coliseum to see the Russian ballet, which was very good: but the rest of the show seemed to me to be neither better nor worse than an average bill at our own old Hippodrome.

      your loving

      son Jack

       TO ARTHUR GREEVES (W/LP IV: 233-4):

      Gt. Bookham

      Wednesday 28 October 1914]

      Dear Arthur,

      You ask me what a shee is: I reply that there is no such thing as ‘A’ Shee. The word (which, tho’ pronounced as I have spelled it, is properly in Irish spelled ‘Shidhe’) is a collective noun, signifying ‘the fairies’, or the gods,–since, in Irish these powers are identical. The common phraze ‘Banshee’, is derived from ‘Beän Shidhe’ which means ‘a woman of the Shee’: and the gods, as a whole, are often called ‘Aes Shidhe’, or ‘people of the S.’ The resemblance between this word ‘Aes’ and the Norse ‘Aesir’ has often been noted as indicating a common origin for Celtic & Teutonic races. So much for the etymology. But the word has a secondary meaning, developed from the first. It is used to indicate the ‘faery forts’ or dwelling places of the Shee: these are usually subterranean workings, often paved and roofed with stone & showing an advanced stage of civilization. These can be seen in a good many parts of Ireland. Who really built them is uncertain: but scholars, judging by the rude patterns on the door posts, put them down to the Danes. Another set say that they were made by the original inhabitants of Ireland, previous even to the Celts,–who of course, like all other Aryan people primarily came from Asia.

      I am sorrey that my epistle is rather late in arrival this week: but what with people bothering from Malvern, and letters to be written home, I have not had many free evenings. I feel confidant of your always understanding that, when my letters fail to arrive, there is a good, or at least a reasonable explanation. Now that I have threshed out the question of Shee, and apologized, I don’t know that there is much to write beyond hoping that ‘Loki’ is proceding expeditiously in music & illustration.

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