led right into a small village, a very old one, nestling underneath. It was a pleasant lonely day so I dreamed dreams and sketched sketches. It was good to sketch my petals in this rare English sun. This was the first peaceful solitude and meditation for many a month. In London it is busses busses busses, tubes tubes tubes people people and choking air. Even the sun at its clearest is hazy. And one is conscious of "the market place" "the money changers" "the prostitutes". Dissipation and drunken gluttony is always in evidence. Coarse features, coarse language. There are fine people too and fine things but it is altogether in such a mixed pattern that most of the time it is like pressing the keys of the 12 tones at once. It is too thick. Too thick. In Bournemouth the air is clear. It is clean but crowded with escapists in hotels, hotels, hotels. At least there are young ones to be seen enjoying their little square of sand and sea. And they always inspire. It is good to look into eyes that trust; whose cunning and devices are devoted to little things. But sanctuary for a few hours of speculation, communion with nature
Aldwinckle, Eric, Letter, 18 May 
Creative Dialogue Across the Ocean: Eric Aldwinckle’s Letters to Harry Somers
18 May 
McMaster University Libraries
Copyright, public domain: McMaster University owns the rights to the archival copy of the digital image in TIFF format. Reproduced with the kind permission of Margaret Bridgman.