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Yes, yes, you may very well gloat, Mother; I have finally elected to take your advice, and "take the waters". You may commence your cackling the moment you read these lines; I shall wait for you to be done.

My weakness of the chest is still only mildly vexing; it has not worsened; do not think for a minute that I am growing more concerned for my health. I am sure you will worry regardless, as you have ever since word of that fainting-spell reached you. I maintain, now as then, that it was merely the inclemancy of the weather and an ill-fitting suit that caused it, but I know you shan't listen to me.

As it happens, a very good friend of mine happens to hail from Malvern. I did not realise because we often have more important things to discuss, such as racing results, whom owes the other a round, and which of us is the better shot. But over a game of cards, it happened to come up that he is originally from Malvern, and therefore a visit would be most pleasing. This is what really induced me to "take the waters." It has nothing whatever to do with your turgid and tiresome missives, mother, you needn't think that, nor hold it over my head when I am next in Budleigh.

However I was induced to come here, I am already quite entranced by the place. The station is a marvel of modern enginerring, with gay wrought-iron canopies that bespeak well of our most modern era, and charming flower arrangements in buckets- the sort of country station that one sees on the posters. I doubt Temple Meads will ever have the same honour!

Yet for all the rural character of the station, the place feels decidedly modern- there are a great many gas-lanterns dotted through the town, and well-maintained, too. A common enough sight in the city, of course, but there's something about seeing them amid nature that puts one in a fantastical mood- as though two very different worlds are being combined together.

Tbe journey from the station to the hansom took but a few minutes, but as we set off I could feel the city world evaporating, being replaced with something ancient, deeper, and- oh, let me just write what I am feeling, blast it- almost magical.

There. I trust I've made it up to you. No-where else in the world would I confess such silly nonsense. The boys at the College would laugh me out of town!

At any rate, we have had little time for fairyland at present- my chum and I repaired to the Unicorn up by the Belle Vue for libations. He warned me about the water-cure, that it is not for the faint of heart, and I replied, of course, that it should be all your fault if the cure proves worse than the disease, I shall be fully sure to note it in my last will and testament.

I am writing this at his home before bed, not too much the worse for drink! I shall be sure to write again soon.

Love,

Geoffery.

Dearest Mother,

The morning brought with it a brilliant sunlight, the merry sounds of calling birds, and a wonderful surprise. My chum's house is atop a rise called the Wyche (charmingly evocative) and when I awoke this morning and threw back the curtains, I was afforded the most marvellous view over the hill-side. Beyond a spray of trees, the earth falls away and discloses a vast expanse of chequerboard fields dotted with slate-roofted cottages, smoke merrily rising from their chinmey-pots. One feels that there is a whole, hitherto unseen reality that has been revealed by the dawn. In the distance, the evergreen hills keep watch.

I did not, I must confess, pay much attention during the English master's lectures at my old school, but it is the sort of view that is inclined to stir a man to poetry. I played about with some verse, but came a cropper upon trying to find a rhyme for 'beautiful.' I'm sure cleverer dicks than me have given it a go, however.

We had tea on the terrace, warmed gently by the sunrise- it was jolly fine, importanted from Kowloon- and discussed our plans for the day. I am quite keen to learn some of the history of the place, and my chum tells me that they are "well-dressing" to-day. I protested that I had brought my Saville Row togs, but he then clarified that it was some sort of local tradition, to do with actual artisan wells. The locals decorate them every year, and I thought, what a jolly way to take in the town!

So we have spent the day today wandering about, walking from well to well to well- I have quite lost count, though I am assured there are over one-hundred- and taking in the pretty bunting, flower bunches, and corn-dollies that adorn each one. They seem to hide everywhere-in odd corners quite off the beaten track, at sharp intersections of flinty hills near steeply winding tracks- why, there is another one, and the Bakers' Guild have sewn mock-loaves to go about it and pinned a wheatsheaf to the covering.

It has really.been quite invigorating. The paths and tracks around Malvern are fairly well-sloped, and wander up into hillside quite without warning, and even in the centre of the town by the Priory there are heavy-set steps to descend and ascend. I daresay the air in Malvern is a damned sight fresher than city air, and I can taste the difference when we are higher up.

Speaking of the Priory , it is quite the land-mark in and of itself! I'm told it was one of the earliest buildings to be built. It cuts a fine figure, its lofty bell-tower standing proudly amid the aster and ash trees that guard its grounds. The bells chime most merrily, complimenting the pleasant cawing of the crows which are found in abundance. We enjoyed the most lovely picnic in the grounds, comprising of rounds of rich roast-beef and horseradish sandwiches, freshly-opened ginger-beer, some beef tomatoes which we garnished with celery salt and Worcestershire sauce, and a thick slice of Victoria sponge for afters.

Over our repast, we discussed the "Water Cure" in some more detail. I did not realise quite how vigorous it was. I had, I confess, been in mind of something a little more…sedate, such as at Bath. There one simply drinks a little. But the way my chum put it, it sounds like the water is applied at rather great force! It does not sound like fun at all. I wonder how on Earth it is supposed to work? Well, I shall have time to cogitate.

As I write, I am nestled before the fire in the drawing-room, in the most cosy green-backed armchair you could imagine, my feet drawn up before me. The cat, Longshanks, is curled upon my lap, and I have partaken of some superb local ale named for one of the hills in the region. In short, I feel quite fully recovered and superbly rested, even before any such cure has taken place! I shall bid adieu, now, Mother, and hope you also continue well!

Your Son, Geoffery.

Dear Mother,

To-day myself and my dear chum arose quite late- I quite enjoyed the lesiurely lie-in that one can enjoy when there are no expectations from work or otherwise- and so chose to follow in the footsteps of so many visitors to Malvern quite literally, and venture for a walk in the hillside.

We.wandered past the Wyche Inn, on the corner betwixt the counties of Worcestershire and Herefordshire, and made mental note to return at the end of the day. We passed onto the hillside, and Mother, I am quite comfortable swearing to you now that I regret never pursuing a career as an artist. The view from the house is one thing, but it feels as though one cannot go a few meters before you are confronted with some quite stellar composition from the Lord on High Himself.

We did not travel as soldiers marching to our pre-specified destination, but rather as travellers upon some grand epic. I was in mind of the Morte D'Arthur or perhaps the travels of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. We wandered, free and easy, chatting about this and that, sharing whatever burdened our souls most freely.

We conquered Perserverance Hill by turns, ascending the ridge over the course of the day, and the views from the top were nothing short of biblical. Moreover, my chum had generously provided some measures of Malvern water, which I can now offically.declare to be both refreshing and invigorating in equal measure.

What is more, mother, you will be elated to hear that, in spite of a jolly strenous walk up rather sheer tracks, my lungs have been absolutely fine. I have not felt out-of-breath in the least since I arrived here. I dare say that the Cure has worked its miracle already!

I intend to stay on for a few more days, and since funds no longer need be earmarked for the quack doctors who administer it, I can look forward to a good deal more amusement. By the time this letter reaches you I do suspect we will have patronised a good many more of Malvern's hostelries, and partaken of a good deal more than water!

Thank you for this most lovely suggestion, Mother. It has turned out wonderfully, and been, all things considered, a most peaceful retreat.

I remain,

Your very dear son,