Love Letters
I wonder if anyone writes love letters any more? It would be such a shame if they don’t. You cannot beat a passionate love letter. I valued mine. But now it is all computers, phones and text. There is nothing to hold on to; nothing tangible.
My first love letters were to and from Glenys, the first love of my life when I was ten. We poured our hearts out to each other. She only lived at the top of the road and we saw each other every day but still it seemed important to write some things down. The written word has a different impact. You can reread it, ponder on it, absorb it and re-enjoy the words. You could hold it in your hand.
There were some things that we did not want anyone else to read. We did not want snooping parents or siblings reading our inner-most passion. We tried invisible ink but that was unsuccessful so we turned to code. That made it even more fun. I was keen on codes and secret agents. I devised a code using the periodic table and letters of the elements. We could spell out our love onto paper in numbers. It would be impossible to crack because you could use different elements with the same letters. It worked.
Looking back I suppose it wasn’t really very romantic. To receive a page of numbers did not exactly get the pulse racing, but it was fun deciphering he code and working out the words of love.
It all came to an abrupt end when Glenys moved and left me heart-broken. But at least I had the letters.
But then tragedy struck. I kept the letters in my bedside cabinet hidden in a box. It was ostensibly a game. I put the letters under the pieces. However, it obviously wasn’t hidden well enough. My sister who was four years younger than me went through my things and found them. She took them to my mum.
These were my precious love letters. The only thing left of Glenys. For some inexplicable reason my mum threw them away. I still do not know why she did that. I can only think that she thought I was just a kid. They can’t have meant much to me. But they did. I was bereft.
I would love to have those letters now and to read them aqnd peer through that little window into the mind of that ten year old that I was. I poured my soul into them and so did Glenys. They were worth more than anything to me.
But my passion for writing love letters did not stop there.When I was courting my wife as an eighteen year old cavalier, I regularly wrote letters. We were both at college different sides of London so there were times when we did not see each other too often. I was always looking for a way of impressing her. I was forever the young romantic. She’d receive an unexpected telegram delivered to her college classroom.
The biggest ploy of all was when I had this idea of swamping her with love letters. I wrote fifteen in one day, all sent adorned with orange half-penny stamps so that they’d stand out. The next day I sent another thirty and the following day another batch. Her pigeon-hole at college was crammed with them. They made quite a splash.
I am not sure what I wrote in them. It wasn’t easy writing so many. Each one was two pages long. I simply wrote everything that came into my mind.
We still have those letters. They are stored in a box upstairs and haven’t been read for forty years.
I’m going to rummage them out and re-read the romantic thoughts of the young fool I was. I’m sure it will be fun visiting with that naive idealist again.
Long live the love letter!
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