The Letter

A love letter from my father, Charles, to my Mother Irene, written on the morning of their wedding in September 1947. The text is self-explanatory, although the handwriting appears rushed and possibly nervous. It doesn’t reflect very well on my father’s usually neat script. I was hesitant in using this letter, after all, it's very personal. However, I thought it was important to my narrative so I included it. The writing was so difficult to read I thought it best I transcribe it. There is one word I couldn’t make out.

My Darling

Aunty Millie has brought you this White Heather to wear for luck, its from off the moors and she sends it with her love. I also enclose that brooch Mum was asking about it again but I didn’t tell her I still had it.

Sorry dear but everyone is talking and I’m all excited. I’m just dying for 3’ o’clock my sweetheart.

The table centre is one Aunt Cis has done for us and we have got a lot more presents but will tell you all about it when you are ‘Mrs Wright’. Hope you get this in time, everyone sends their love.

So till three sweetheart, Keep your pecker up. I’m thinking of you a million times a second.

All my love for ever,

Charles

PS Jack arrived ok, sober.

White Heather

Letters

As described in my RPP, I have decided to write letters to my parents asking question I was unable to ask when they were alive. I want to consider my relationship and write a memoire to them. My first two letters describe their deaths and the things I was unable to say at the time. Why did they both die alone despite our attentiveness at their time of need. Does everyone have regret? The letter is intentionally blurred until the project is complete.

Letter to my Mother