WINNERS OF THE 2020 CLUB'S AUTUMN EPISTOLARY COMPETITION 2020

 

The 2020 Club's annual Autumn Writing Competition didn't have a theme this year, but it did have to be a story told, as far as possible, in the epistolary form. The entries, as always, were all excellent. Below are the results followed by a few stories from the competition, in no particular order.

I would like to thank our five judges who did an exemplary job.

FIRST PRIZE 

‘To Undreamed Shores’ by Ruth Loten

 

JOINT SECOND PRIZE 

‘7A Kensington Heights’ by Ron Hardwick

‘Good Neighbours’ by Sue Davnall

 

JOINT THIRD PRIZE 

‘How are you? I am fine’ by Beck Collett

‘Birdy’ by Jane Langan

 

HIGHLY COMMENDED

‘When Truth Be Told’ by Nicola Balding

‘Least Favourite’ by D H L Hewa

‘Grass Roots Politics’ by Glen Lee

A Selection Of Entries

How Are You? I Am Fine

 

 by Beck Collett

June 23^rd

Dear Dad and Annie and Sarah, how are you? I am fine. School is fine. Everyone is ok here. I hope you are both well. Is the weather nice? Have you swum in the sea lately? The weather here is nice, sunny and not raining. I got sunburned bad on my shoulders at canal cavalcade because I didn’t have suncream on. They look like lobster colour! I am starting to peel, but it’s ok. Mum thinks she saw Robert Carlyle down there, but I didn’t. She said he was shorter than he looks on telly. I am trying to collect a cuddly toy for every letter of the alphabet. Can you please look in Rainbow Corner and see if they have any axolotls (I have to use them for X because I don’t know any others that have X in) or yaks? I can’t find them in the market. I drew a picture of a giraffe for Sarah. Give her a kiss from me. Love you, see you in the holidays. Love Lisa xxx

 

 

 

 

4^th July

Dear Dad and Annie and Sarah, how are you? I am fine. Happy Independence Day! Even though I know it will have gone when you get this. I hope you got my last letter. I haven’t had one from you, but I know I don’t always get the things people post to me so that’s fine. School is fun, we aren’t doing much now in lessons, just getting things finished for the year. I have to choose my options when I go back in September. They want all the girls to take double science because not enough are taking it, but I want to do art and graphic art and they only want us to do one fun lesson, so I don’t know. Maybe they’ll let me do double art if I do double science? I can’t wait to come down for the holidays, it’s always so loud here. It will be nice to be in the countryside again where it’s a bit more quiet. At least in the house. Jamie banged his head in playgroup, and they didn’t call mum. He has a massive cut on his forehead and blood all over his top. He should have had stitches I think, but it had stopped bleeding when mum and Dave went to get him. Dave shouted at them a lot, called them all the bad words he could think of, and he knows loads of them. I’ve heard most of them too. Anyway, the playgroup wanted to ban him, but Mum was so upset about Jamie’s head and crying lots and they knew they were in the wrong, so they said to just forget the whole thing. I don’t think Dave has forgot though, as he is shouting even more than normal in the night before he falls asleep. I hope he hasn’t rung your house again in the night, I know Annie gets cross when he does, but he doesn’t listen to anyone. Sorry if he has though. Joey the budgie is fine. He was out of his cage this morning having his fly around that he does every week, and I realised I had the window open! Luckily he perched on the top of the net and just had a blow, then he flew back to his cage. I feel very lucky today 😊 Did you find an axolotl? I still haven’t. Mum says maybe we’ll go on the bus to Hamleys in the holidays before I come down to stay with gran, so I might find one there. I hope Sarah liked the drawing in the last letter. Here is a funny bee for her, but it is a bit rubbish. Give her a kiss from me. Love you, see you in a few weeks. Love Lisa xxx

 

 

 

18^th July

Dear Dad and Annie and Sarah, how are you? I am ok. I am very excited to be coming down next week. I have packed my case already! Dave got me some new clothes to bring that mum liked for me in Marks and Spencer’s. I don’t think he paid for them though, as he had to use pliers to get a tag off a pair of shorts. He shouted lots about it before he fell asleep again. His mum is not well, and mum says that’s why he’s so cross all the time. But he always is. Jamie has a big scar across his forehead now from falling in playgroup, it looks a lot like mine when I cracked my head open on Gran’s fireplace which is funny. I said we were a matching pair, but Dave said no we weren’t and started muttering. I went to my room then and put my headphones on so I wouldn’t hear. Mum has started not getting up in the morning now when I go to school because she isn’t sleeping properly she says. I will be glad to come down and see everyone on Wednesday. I drew a cat for Sarah. It is better than the bee was! I love you all, love Lisa xxx

 

 

 

29^th July

Dear Dad. Gran can’t come and get me on the train like she was going to. Dave says he doesn’t want her in his house, so she won’t come now and has cancelled the tickets. Mum says I’m to get the coach down by myself, but it doesn’t come all the way. Can you get me from Newport please on Friday 3^rd at 4:30pm and drive me back to Gran’s please? I hope so, because my ticket is bought already. Thank you. I hope you are all good. I love you. Lisa xxx P.S. sorry to Sarah that there isn’t a drawing, but I am in a hurry to put this in the post box in time.

 

3^rd August

Dear Mum and Dave and Jamie. How are you? I am fine. The coach got a puncture on the way down so didn’t get to Newport until 5:20pm. I still got to Gran’s OK though. Guess what? Annie is pregnant! Really pregnant, she is massive. The baby is due in October, Dad says, so they are busy getting things ready there. Sarah is too young to understand what’s happening. Next week the Radio 1 roadshow is coming and the Manics are playing! I am so excited. Uncle Des says I can go round the back with his friend Amanda afterwards to get their autographs. Hope you like the postcard. Love you, love Lisa xxx

 

12^th August

Dear Lisa, I hope you are having good fun down there with Gran. Dave is being very nice to me, giving me strawberries and ice cream as a treat every day and he’s hardly shouting at all. Please tell your father I’m sorry that Dave rang the other night and upset Annie. I can’t control him, but I am sorry for the trouble caused. I wish you could stay down there and be happy, but Gran can’t have you living with her in the home. Already they are funny about you staying, even though they know you’re quiet and no trouble. You could ask you father if you could live with him in that big house, he’s got about seven bedrooms so plenty of room, and he’s never paid maintenance or anything to help raise you. Probably say it’s full now that there’s another bloody baby coming. Annie is getting a better deal than I did when we were married. He’s a grumpy sod too, but probably better than being here. I hope you got to see the pop stars like you wanted and that you are having a nice time. I miss you something terrible. Don’t mention any of this will you when you write. Sorry I ever brought you up here. I love you, Mum x

 

16^th August

Dear Mum and Dave and Jamie, how are you? I am fine. Guess what? I got the autographs of the Manics! Nicky even signed my trainer!! They were shorter than they look on telly, but really nice. I’ve been to the fair and the beach and went to the big pool with Auntie Paula and Kerry. It was nice but my ears got blocked with water for a few days. The lady who lives across from Gran died last night, but she was mean, so nobody feels sad. Gran is fine. Do you like the postcard? It’s from Margam park. Love you, love Lisa xxx

 

25^th August

Dear, Lisa. Sorry I haven’t wrote for a bit, but I haven’t been well to go out, and I don’t trust Dave to send letters without opening them first. Tell your dad sorry again for the phone calls this last week, and sorry to Annie for keeping her awake. Dave is struggling. Nanna Sophie died on Monday, and he’s not doing very well. I have to use the phone to call him home from there each night. He’s drinking more than ever. Not even angry like normal, just so sad. I feel sorry for him, in spite of everything. Give Gran the letter I wrote her. When you write next, do a drawing if she says yes. Not if she says no though. I’m sorry, Lisa. I love you. Mum x

 

28^th August

Dear Mum and Dave and Jamie, I hope you are OK. I am fine. I am sorry to Dave for Nanna Sophie dying, she was a nice and kind lady. Gran said to tell you not to worry about me and that I’m fine. I don’t know why? We went to Cardiff on the train on Saturday, to see the dinosaurs in the museum. I was going to get Jamie a sticker, but Gran said it would be a waste of money. It was only 25p though, so I don’t know why. Again. Auntie Paula and Kerry came too. Kerry was naughty and got into a tantrum because she wanted to climb the big long diplodocus skeleton. The lady guard told her off. Auntie Paula bought her a cuddly dinosaur, I don’t know which one it was meant to be, but it was smiling and that made her shut up crying for a bit. She fell asleep on the train on the way home, Auntie Kerry said she’d worn herself out, but Gran said it was because she was snivelling like a baby. I got a postcard there and have put it in this letter, as there wasn’t enough space on it for everything and Gran said I should do a drawing of the dinosaurs for you to show Jamie. I don’t know yet how I’m getting home as Gran says she’s not coming up there again, but I would have to go to Newport to get the coach ticket, so I don’t know. Gran says I shouldn’t worry about that anyway, so I don’t know. I love you and I miss you, love Lisa x

 

 

 

 

26^th September

Dear Lisa, I hope you are alright love, and you know how much I love you. It’s better this way though. Dave isn’t as awful when you aren’t here, and at least it means you aren’t his target anymore. Gran says you’ve settled into your new school alright. I know it’s strange to be different, but you’ve done it once before so it shouldn’t be as hard this time. I would imagine there are a few children there you used to know before we moved here, hopefully you’ve made a nice friend to help you get used to it. I know Paula can be a bit tricky, and Kerry is a bit of a spoilt madam (don’t tell them I said that about them, that’s why I sent this to Gran’s for you to read) but it’s safer there for you. Joey budgie is fine. I let him out once a week to fly about like you used to. Jamie is in your old room now. Dave is painting the walls blue for him. I don’t know where the paint came from, I don’t ask anymore. Nanny Sophie was buried last week, same graveyard as Dave’s sister Ivy was. How he’s still alive is beyond me, the amount he drinks. Probably pickled himself from the inside out. You know if you write to not mention anything I know, you’re a clever girl. Time goes so quick, before you know it you’ll be finishing school and going off into the world by yourself. I hope one day I’ll be able to come back and bring Jamie. He needs to be away from here, started taking after Dave with his tempers, but he’s only a little boy so it’s not his fault. I don’t know how I’ll ever get away but it’s my punishment for coming here in the first place. I’m sorry. I love you, Lisa. Bye. Mum x

 

 

 

END

 

******

7A Kensington Heights

by Ron Hardwick

 

facere rectum – to make right

 

7a Kensington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NZ, 11 May

Dear Ms Quinn

I apologise for the ‘Ms’ but I am unaware as to whether you are married or not. These days it seems that marriage is no longer rectum facere, and that is a great pity.

Still, I digress. I have for some time now been receiving some of your mail. I note that the address on the envelopes is mine, but, as I am reasonably confident you do not live with me, I believe that there is an error which really needs to be corrected.

Of course, I have not opened your mail – indeed, it would not be gentlemanly for me to do so, but I have built up quite a collection over the past few weeks.

As a retired librarian, I have access to the electoral register, and I have managed to locate your correct address, which I understand to be 7a Killington Heights, Battersea, SW11 8NQ. This explains the error, for the two addresses are broadly similar, especially to persons of limited intellect, such as postmen.

I will, of course, send the mail on to you once you have responded to my letter advising me that you do still live in that address and you do wish to receive the mail. If you no longer live there, perhaps the current occupants will apprise me of your correct address and I will forward your mail to wherever that is.

I am, Yours sincerely,

Gerald Farley, Esq.

 

7A Killington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NQ, 20 May

Dear Gerald, or may I call you ‘Gerry?’ - it’s a much less pompous name.

Fancy writing to me about my rectum when you don’t even know me!

Well, Gerry, I do live here and have done for several years. I can see the power-station from my kitchen window. Isn’t that good? They seem to have turned it into some sort of shopping mall – much too expensive for my taste of course, an impoverished artist who can barely afford her rent.

You haven’t any spare cash you could lend me, have you? Five thousand would set me up nicely. A girl has to buy a new pair of shoes every now and then.

I am a Mrs actually, but my husband disappeared two years ago – he went off with an Avon representative and is living with her in Hither Green. She sends me a tube of blusher every now and then.

Do send me my mail – I’ve missed corresponding with my bank manager, who keeps droning on and on about my overdraft.

Got to go now, I have to clean out the budgie’s cage.

Yours etc.

Jenny Quinn.

 

7a Kensington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NZ, 28 May

Dear Mrs Quinn

I am in receipt of your letter of 20 May.

No, you may not address me as ‘Gerry.’ I am not a car mechanic nor a building site labourer, which would be more appropriate working-class professions for such a common name. It says ‘Gerald’ on my birth certificate, and Gerald I shall remain till they cart me off in a wooden box.

I think there is a misunderstanding between us. I was not, in fact, referring to your posterior, but using the Latin phrase rectum facere, which, roughly translated, means ‘doing the right thing.’ I have to say, I found your comment somewhat distasteful, as I am known as a pillar of rectitude in the circles in which I move and especially my local Presbyterian church.

I am, however, sorry to hear that your marriage ended in failure – my own dear wife Ann passed from this life a decade ago and there is scarcely a day gone by when I do not crave her company.

I am afraid I am almost as impecunious as you seem to be, so a loan is out of the question – my pension is meagre and I live very much hand to mouth these days. It is all I can do to feed my dog Rex, whom I rescued from Battersea Dog’s Home. Rex is old, and no one wanted him – he’d been there six months.  I am old, and there are days I feel no one wants me either.

I am, yours sincerely,

Gerald Farley, esq.

 

7A Killington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NQ, 31 May

Dear Gerry

Thanks for the bundle of mail. Mainly bills. I burnt those. I am a free spirit, at least that’s what I tell the bailiffs when they come round. I denounce all worldly possessions. As Oscar Wilde so pithily put it: ‘with freedom, flowers, books, and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy?’

One of the envelopes contained a grenade of a communication. A commission! Some geek in Old Oak Common wants me to paint a portrait of his child, a grisly young amoeba of about seven. He sent me a photograph. I thought it was E.T. at first. I might paint him in abstract, using symbols, though I’d be better off using brushes. Anyway, he’s prepared to pay me a hundred pounds!  

I want you to call me Jenny, unless you can think of something more appropriate – how about Cleopatra?  I’ve got the same alabaster skin and dark hair as her, and with a bit of rouge and eye-liner, I could pass muster in a darkened room.

Do you ever frequent the Black Arrow pub in Hoxton? My arty friends go there to drink absinthe and aperol spritzes. We discuss things that really matter, like the price of cheese at Tesco and the state of local government in Barrow-in-Furness. You ought to bring Rex. They would let him in as long as you buy him a beer.

I was saddened to hear about your wife. Do you believe in heaven? If so, how long before you go and join her? Only kidding. We of an artistic temperament are often outspoken in our comments, so never, ever, take me seriously.

Must go now, have to collect nettles for my lunch.

Ciao

Jenny

 

7a Kensington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NZ, 7 June

Dear Jennifer

I am in receipt of your letter of 31 May. Please note, my name is Gerald, as I mentioned in my last letter. I am pleased that you have a commission. I do not know who this E.T. person is, but I presume from your remarks that he, and the boy, are singularly ugly and the lad’s ugliness means that when he, in the words of the Bard: ‘comes to woo ladies, he frights them.’ [1]

I have some sympathy for him for now, as I stand before the mirror, I see an equally unsightly, worn-out man, back bowed by years of toil in the service of the library, whose broad mind and narrow waist have, over the years, changed places. If I could recapture my youth for just one day, I should be happy.

Cleopatra was known for her intelligence, charm, and political skills, and she used these to navigate the complex political landscape of Rome and Egypt in around 69 B.C. Are these attributes that you share? I ask only because you seem rather high-spirited, flighty, even, a little like Jo March in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women.

Alas, I have not visited the Black Arrow public house in Hoxton. I find these places anathema to me and Rex would not be comfortable inhaling the scent of stale lager.

I do, however, play a rubber of bridge every Tuesday with three of my ex-library colleagues at one of their flats in Willesden. Nothing too outrageous, you understand, just fifty pence a trick.

I must cease writing now. Rex is indicating he would like to be fed.

I remain, Yours sincerely

Gerald Farley, esq.

7A Killington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NQ, 16 June

Dear Gerald (if I must, I must)

Flighty! What an apt description of me! I’m a little bit rude, a little bit naughty, a little bit saucy. ‘Flighty’ sums it up perfectly. You have a librarian’s penchant for accurate description, presumably having spent years learning the Dewey Decimal system. I can picture you in the library, adjusting your glasses, wiping the dandruff from your collar, placing the leather elbow patches on your tweed jacket on the desk and wondering where to put ‘A Short History of the Guatemalan Fruit Bat.’ It must have been a really fulfilling career.

I am chuffed to tell you I finally finished the portrait of E.T. I painted it in oils, all whorls and swirls, and I put the little monster in a chair with the sun streaming over his left shoulder, so half his repugnant little mush was in shadow and golden sunlight lit up the other half. His father, who I believe is a bigwig in the world of cereal, was delighted and gave me an extra tenner.

I enclose a photograph of me taken last year at Camber Sands. I’m the one in the floppy hat. My friend Susan is the girl with purple hair and a tattoo that reads: ‘bring me your love.’ I regret to say that nobody has as yet, mainly because she looks like Lurch from The Addams Family.

Now that we’re regular accidental pen-friends, perhaps you would return the compliment by sending me a photograph of yourself, perhaps when you were twenty-five, because I suppose you look simply ghastly now.

Yours ever

Jenny

 

7a Kensington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NZ, 23 June

Dear Jennifer

Thank you for your letter of 16^th and the photograph of yourself that you enclosed with your billet-doux. I have to say you are a particularly attractive young woman, though I understand something called ‘Photoshop’ is used regularly nowadays to enhance a person’s features. I presume the image was taken with a digital camera, uploaded to a computer and printed off?  Let us hope the temptation to enhance your features was avoided. I saw a film recently called ‘Speed.’ It was an absurd American affair in which a bus had to be kept running at a high speed or a bomb would go off and kill everyone on board. That’s by the by. The main protagonist was a woman by the name of Sandra Ballcock – I think I remember it correctly, and you closely resemble her. You have the same widely-spaced dark eyes, elfin ears and high, sculpted cheekbones. I presume your age to be around thirty-five. Perhaps you will apprise me differently if I am wrong.

You ask me for a photograph of myself. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you. When my dear wife Ann passed away, I burnt almost every photograph I had. I kept a few of her, so that I could recall her face (I can no longer remember her voice – isn’t that sad?), so I have no images of myself at all.

Your description of me in the library made me smile and your comment that I look ghastly is entirely accurate.

You are a most amusing and pretty young lady and I cannot believe you have not been snapped up by some blonde Adonis with bulging biceps and a great affinity to a surfboard, though I realise that there is limited opportunity to surf on the Thames – perhaps Selsey Bill or Bognor Regis?

It is gratifying that you completed the boy’s portrait and that you were well recompensed for it. I have little doubt that you are an accomplished artist and perhaps one day you would...no, I’m sorry, that’s far too presumptuous of me.

I must close now – ‘The World at War’ is on the television and I do like the sound of Sir Laurence Olivier’s voice.

I remain, Yours sincerely

Gerald Farley, esq.

 

7A Killington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NQ, 6 July

Dear Gerald,

Sorry about my delay in responding to your last, but I’ve been doing a bit of detective work. I’m a sort of modern-day feminist V.I. Warshawski.[2] 

By the way, it’s Sandra Bullock, rather than ‘Ballcock,’ but I much prefer the latter surname. I’m so flattered you think I even remotely resemble her. She’s gorgeous!

Last week, even though it was raining stair-rods, I went down to the library. A severe-looking middle-aged woman with a grey bun and steel-rimmed spectacles was sitting behind the counter, no doubt sorting pornographic books destined for the teenage boys’ section.

I approached her. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘but do you remember Mr Gerald Farley? He used to work here.’

‘Remember Mr Farley? Of course I do. He was one of nature’s gentlemen and it was a great pleasure working for him.’

‘My name is Jenny Quinn, and I’m an artist. Could you please tell me your name?’

‘I’m Eleanor Summers.’

I said: ‘Well, Ellie, I’m ever so pleased to meet you. I have a request for you. I want to read the back copies of your in-house magazine in the hope I can find a photograph of Mr Farley. You see, I’ve never seen him, but we’re regular correspondents and I’d really like to know what he looks like.’

Eleanor said: ‘I can do better than that.’ She rummaged in a drawer and came out holding a ten-by-eight  coloured snap, though the colours have faded due to the passage of time.

She said: ‘This was taken when Sir Nathan Jackson came to open the Kiddies’ Korner, about eight years ago. That’s Mr Farley, second from the end, on the left of the picture.’

It is an excellent image, Gerald, and it gave me precisely what I was looking for. I scanned the photo into my Chromebook and enlarged it. I cropped out the baboon-like features of Sir Nick and also did away with the rest of your loony team. Finally, I changed the image from colour to monochrome.

I instructed my photo-editing software to age you eight years. All that having been done, I started work.

I enclose my finished portrait of you. It’s only a pen-and-ink drawing, but I’m sure you’ll agree it isn’t half bad.

Gotta close now. My best friend Connie is going to contact me via Facetime and I haven’t heard from her since she had a wisdom tooth out. I suppose it’s made her face lopsided.

Yours etc (smiling emoji)

Jenny.

 

7a Kensington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NZ, 11 July

My Dear Jenny

I have no idea what an emoji is – I presume it’s some sort of African antelope? 

It’s always a pleasure to read your letters – I suppose they are ‘zany,’ though that is not a noun I find particularly euphonious to the ear.

Thank you for your pen-and-ink drawing of me. I am overwhelmed by the simplicity and beauty of what you have done. It’s not that you have made me beautiful – God forbid, that is impossible, but you have captured my soul, my essence, my spirit. You show me looking up towards Heaven, towards my dear wife Ann, and I seem to be waiting to hear something from her. You have interpreted my gaze as my desire to be with her, and in that respect, you have reminded me of my own mortality. Oh, Jenny, I am not wishing my life to end soon, but your portrait shows I have nothing to fear from my death, for your portrait is telling me this is not a death, but a transition to another, better life.

It is my belief that you are a truly inspirational artist and I now want very much to meet you and see all of your works for myself.

Perhaps you would be kind enough to respond as soon as you can and advise me as to whether or not my request is too assumptive, or you might take the time and trouble to acquiesce.

I know a modest little café on Parkham Street where the coffee is not too bitter and the vegetable quiche perfectly acceptable. Perhaps we could rendezvous there.

I remain, Yours sincerely,

Gerald Farley, esq.

 

7A Killington Heights, Battersea, London, SW11 8NQ, 17 August

To Miss Connie Tones, 22 Peppleton Close, Kingston-Upon-Hull

Dear Connie,

I told you about my friend, Mr Gerald Farley, and that we never met.

Well, he did meet me. We had coffee and Danish pastries a few weeks ago at some greasy spoon in Battersea - you know, Formica tables, red-and-white checked tablecloths, plastic flowers in chipped vases, that sort of thing.

What a lovely man! We talked about all sorts of things, but especially about his deep and abiding love for his dear departed wife Ann.

I took him back to my studio and he looked at all my paintings. He said it was a terrible shame I’d never been recognised for, in his view, I was as good a contemporary artist as Jenny Saville, Anish Kapoor and David Hockney.

He left and we promised to meet up again.

Connie, we never did.

I got a call a fortnight ago from a lawyer, who said that Gerald had had a heart attack at home and died.

The thing is, Connie, just before he passed away, he wrote a new Last Will and Testament. He left me everything. The lawyer says his shares are worth a few thousand, even though Gerald told me he was skint. There’s enough cash for me to promote my work and to gain some of the recognition Gerald said I deserved.

I went to his funeral. There were five people there – me, three from the library and some professional mourner off the street.

He’d asked for a song by Richard Harris to be played – ‘Hymns From the Grand Terrace,’ it was called. I remember some of the lines and they were about his wife – ‘He married her, he married her – he put his arms around her and he carried her. He took her off to Notre Dame on a train.’

I can’t write any more, Connie. The tears are streaming down my face and I don’t want to smudge the ink.

I’ll be in touch.

Yours, Jenny.

 

 

 

 

END

---

[1]Henry IV

[2]A fictional American female private detective

******

Grass Roots Politics

by Glen Lee

 

 

Email: From: maggie.pie@gmail.com

To: clerk@rumbletononouse.com.org

13 May 2025 at 08:30

 

Good morning, Ms Ward,

 As I was unable to attend last night’s Annual Meeting of the Parish Council, will you please let me know who was elected to the Chair.

 

 

Email: From: clerk@rumbletononouse.com.org

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

13 May 2025 at 08:32

 

Good morning, Ms Pie,

At last night’s Annual Meeting of the Rumbleton-on-Ouse Parish Council, Councillor Harvey K Mack was elected Chairman.

 Regards,

 Sue Ward,

Clerk to the Parish Council

 

*****

 

Whatsapp: 13 May 2025

 

From Sue to Maggie: 08:33

I suppose you emailed me so that I could give you all the gossip. Right? If you had been here instead of sipping sangria in Spain, you’d have been able to attend last night’s – most interesting – meeting!

 

From Maggie to Sue: 08:34:

You’re right. So. What’s the goss?

 

From Sue to Maggie: 08:35

You are incorrigible, Maggie Pie! But here goes. It’s no surprise Harvey K Mack was voted onto the Council. When I was a poll clerk at the recent elections, it was amazing how many young people were voting. He has nil council experience and should never have been made Chairman, but all the other newbies voted him in. You should have seen them all! Dressed up like peacocks, just like Harvey Mack when he’s on YouTube. Talk about product placement! So we now have a 20-year-old Chairman, an 18-year-old Vice Chairman and seven newbies. Out of fifteen councillors, there’s only six old fuddy-duddies left from the old days. And … we had an audience!

 

From Maggie to Sue: 08:39

An audience? Apart from old Mr Carmichael who always sits alone because no one else cares what the Parish does? I guess you had lots of … young people there?

 

From Sue to Maggie: 08:41

Too right! Oohing and aahing over our local influencer! Thirty-three of them. Standing room only. And Mr Carmicheal in the last row, where he always sits. He looked bewildered! Anyway, new Chairman’s just come into the

office. Must go …

 

*****

 

 

Email: From: maggie.pie@gmail.com

To: clerk@rumbletononouse.com.org

13 May 2025 at 08:44

 Thank you for the information. May I please have a copy of the minutes of last night’s meeting when they are available.

 

 

Email: From: clerk@rumbletononouse.com.org

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

13 May 2025 at 4.30pm

The minutes will be available after they have been ratified at the next meeting of the Parish Council on 9 June 2025.

Regards,

Sue Ward,

Clerk to the Parish Council

 

 

 

 

*****

Whatsapp: 13 May 2025

 

From Sue to Maggie: 17:30

Well! Our new Chairman breezed in, and it seems like he sees himself as the leader of an uprising that will spread to every community in the land. Be prepared for anyone over the age of 50 to be buried before we’re dead. He showed me his Facebook page. I’ve attached a screen shot of his first post. Quite a strutting little cockerel he is.

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

FACEBOOK

 

                                Harvey K Mack                                   . . .
                                1559 followers           355 following

                                Yesterday at 11.59PM

 

Well folks! We did it! Thanks to all your votes, our group, It’s Our Future, has taken over the sit-back-on-our-past efforts-and do-nothing-for-the-future Parish Council.

This is our first step towards a new tomorrow! A foot in the establishment’s door! No more will young people be ignored by the fossils who run things. Let them concern themselves with their cemeteries and parks and allotments, and stuffy old pubs! We want music and light and laughter! You need more than the oldies will offer. You want more than that. You demand more than that! You want a share of the pie. As the newly elected Chairman of the Rumbleton-on-Ouse Parish Council, you got it! Please Like and Share and Reply with your ideas of how to improve our village. I have sponsors lining up to support our rebellion against rule-by-the oldies!

 

*****

 

Whatsapp Messages: 14 May 2025

 

From Maggie to Sue: 09:45

We’ve seen his like before, haven’t we? Do you remember when I was first Chairman, and we had that Lorna woman with her new group? She was desperate to take the chair and was beginning to crow when the votes were counted, but forgot that as the outgoing chair I had the casting vote?

 

From Sue to Maggie: 10:01

This is worse, believe me. Call-me-Mack and I (how cheesy is that?) had a long chat yesterday. At Least Lorna knew something about Parish Councils and how they work, about the law and standards of behaviour etc. This bloke thinks we’re running a social club. I tried but didn’t seem to get it through his head that we are bound by law as to what we can do and when. ‘Then we’ll change the law!’ was his reply. ‘That’s what democracy is all about.’

 

*****

 

Whatsapp Messages: 21 May 2025

 

From Maggie to Sue: 16:00

Sorry I’ve gone quiet for a while. It’s been manic at work, and they’ve just asked me to extend my contract by another 6 months. I said yes but I needed to come home for a week to recharge my batteries, but then my boss had a heart attack and died and left me holding this troubled baby! I’ll be home by Christmas!

 

From Sue to Maggie: 17:05

Oh, no, Maggie! I was so looking forward to seeing you for a really good natter. It’s not possible on Whatsapp, so I’m going to go back to old-fashioned email.

 

From Maggie to Sue: 17:09

Who says it’s old-fashioned?

 

From Sue to Maggie: 17:11

The kids and the grandchildren do. They talk in a language I don’t understand. They lost me after Twitter and Instagram. I can’t keep up and sadly, I don’t think I want to. Meanwhile, I have a meeting with Councillor Mack and his cohort tomorrow. I’ll let you know the outcome. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they made me redundant? A nice golden handshake would mean I could come and visit you in Spain and get some summer sun instead of this midsummer madness!

*****

 

Email: From: sueward_124@gmail.com

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

22 May 2025 at 19:15

 

Hi, Maggie Pie,

Wow! What a day. I do wish you could have been a fly on the wall. Better still, sitting next to me, holding my hand. Instead, I’m here one my own with a bottle of Rioja that really needs to be shared.

Apparently, the meeting, without me knowing, had been turned into a Press Conference!!!! And I was there, at the top table, trying to defend my Council. All that happened was that I sounded like a politician. I couldn’t answer any questions without humming and haa-ing and prevaricating. I didn’t have the answers to many of the bizarre questions that flew at me from the national press like Exocet missiles.

Next to our charismatic and ever so handsome Chairman, I probably looked dowdy and stupid. I must admit he does know how to play a crowd. And what a crowd there was. I doubt there were many pupils at school. They were all here! The room was packed, and the corridor and car park were jammed with youngsters watching on their phones.

I have no idea what platform - is that the right word – the whole shebang was being broadcast on? If I looked like a rabbit in the headlights, that’s because I felt like one.

Councillor Mack told his audience, and maybe the whole world, of his plans, which involve land on the south of the village; you know, where the Williams’ farm and the old riding school used to be. He said the Council will build a multi-purpose arena, not one as big as the NIC, but one that will hold 5000 people for concerts and that he has the contacts to get world famous bands here. At that point he had to stop talking because of the cheering and squealing that went up from every teenage throat.

At the end he thanked me for all the help I have given him in keeping him on track and out of trouble since he became Chairman, and he said he hoped I’d stay around as his Chief Advisor. Yes, it came out like that. With capital letters, as though I wasn’t that already, being Clerk to the Council. I think he was publicly laying claim to my loyalty … to him! Does that make me a member of his It’s Our Future party? Am I now irrevocably tainted by politics in a forum that should be non-political?

Am I going mad? Or is it the Rioja?

Sue

 

 

Email: From: maggie.pie@gmail.com

To: sueward_124@gmail.com

22 May 2025 at 23:00

 

Hi Sue, 

I didn’t reply straight away, thus giving you time to finish the Rioja, but I needed to see that press conference. I found it on YouTube – thanks to good old Google. I watched it three times. It was hard not to be seduced by Mr Mack’s apparent sincerity.

You did not look stupid or dowdy, just the cool, calm professional that you are. I like the new hair style, by the way. It suits you. Takes 10 years off your age.

You’re right. Harvey K Mack is very charismatic. If I were looking at him from the viewpoint of a teenage girl, I’d fall for anything said in that soft Irish accent. It’s like honey on the tongue. What with his twinkling eyes and crinkly, almost-black hair – the sort of young man you find in chick. lit novels - and those green-green eyes of the Irish and the silvery tongue as well, I’d be putty in his hands. There, what a mix up of hyperbole and similes. As a writer, I should know better.

He says he is working for the futures of our children and grandchildren, and that man does not live by bread alone. Do I detect from the biblical reference that he is trying, subtly, very subtly, to win over the oldies, you know, the ones who like cemeteries and parks and allotments, and stuffy old pubs?

What are you, Mrs Clerk to the Parish Council, going to do about it? He talks of sponsors but if the Council enters into any contracts to buy land and/or to build this vanity project, and said sponsors pull out, the Council will be bankrupted.

Maggie,  (with a jug of sangria that is just begging to be shared …)

 

 

Email: From: sueward_124@gmail.com

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

22 May 2025 at 23:30

I don’t know what to do!!!!!

Sue,

 

 

Email: From: maggie.pie@gmail.com

To: sueward_124@gmail.com

22 May 2025 at 23:32

 Do you remember how we fixed Lorna’s tricks? How she wouldn’t listen to us? How, after she finally became the Chairman and believed she was above the law, we trussed her up like a chicken using her own words and deeds and handed her on a plate to the Monitoring Officer?

Have you written up the minutes of the last Council meeting yet? If you have, tear them up. You’ll have sanitised them I know, but now is the time to tell the truth and the whole truth. In Mr Mack’s own words. There might be something there we can use against him.

Attached is my typed-up transcript of the YouTube ‘article’ and I bet that even now Mr Mack will be tapping out his poison on Facebook. Have a look at it tomorrow at breakfast. And have your grandkids monitor every other social media platform. There’ll be something somewhere that’ll trip him up. And if there is, I’ll report him to the Monitoring Officer. It’ll stir up a hornet’s nest, I know but I can’t see an alternative.

Maggie

 

*****

 

Email: From: sueward_124@gmail.com

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

23 May 2025 at 09:15

I fell asleep in the chair last night after reading your email. It did give me some bizarre dreams. I dreamt that Councillor Mack was on stage at the Social Centre, being chased by a huge Christmas turkey with a curving knife, but he couldn’t get out of the spotlight, run as he might, and the fowl was catching up with him. Fortunately for him I woke, saving his life.

You were right. There is a Facebook post this morning. You’ll no doubt have seen it but here it is, for the record.

Now I’m not one for conspiracies but … I like what you said about hanging him by his own rhetoric. We need the destruction of his influence as an influencer! I think the sponsors might be persuaded to pull their support rather than us relying on the slow-moving arm of the law. The grandkids were delighted to be given the task of scouring social media and will let me have whatever they find – for £1 a post, I might add.

Sue,

 

*****

 

                                FACEBOOK

 

Harvey K Mack                                   . . .
           7568 followers           1056 following

                                Yesterday at 11.59PM

Earlier today, your Parish Council held an exciting Press Conference and now I’m sitting here listening to the news… and it’s struck me again what the problem with politics has become. It needs young blood. New voices. Ideas for the current century, not direct from the Victorian era. It’s time to do away with the mind set that continues with those supposedly sensible, well-considered and boring plans and policies that have no relevance in this modern digital world.

 

You and I have achieved so much these last few weeks. We’ve given voices to young people and when sixteen-year olds are given the vote, your numbers will grow and those voices will blot out the bleatings of old people, those of the post war years who had it so good and are now refusing to share the good times with us, citing the cost of living crisis. Which, by the way, was of their own making. Why should the young suffer for their incompetence? There is money out there and it is up to us to siphon off enough for the needs of the younger generations.

 

In this village you were asked what you wanted. A 5000-seat Arena, to bring into the area, internationally renowned bands such as the Foo Fighters and Metallica. That was what you wanted. Your Parish Council has listened and has already started to act. We are negotiating to buy 75 acres of land on the south of the village, with the option to buy another 50 acres at a later date. Land is expensive, the oldies will say. We can’t afford it. But we can. The land is derelict and has not been managed for over twenty years, so it is no longer viable agricultural land and therefore cheap. My sponsors, are all on board with these exciting plans. Together we can overcome all and every obstacle. To my friends out there, please Like and Share and Reply.

 

***** 

 

Email: From: sueward_124@gmail.com

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

23 May 2025 at 10:00

 

Hi, Maggie,

I’ve rewritten the Council minutes of the meeting held 12 May 2025 just as you suggested. I don’t think I’m guilty of any exaggeration, all the new councillors were a bit OTT. And the grandkids have collected a great deal of posts on Instagram, Tik Tok, X, Threads, Facebook Reels, Buzznet etc. It’s costing me a fortune!

Sue

 

*****

 

Email: From: maggie.pie@gmail.com

To: clerk@rumbletononouse.com.org

10 June 2025 at 08:4 

May I please have a copy of the minutes of the Parish Council meeting held 12 May 2025, which I assume were signed as a true and correct record of that meeting by the Chairman at yesterday evening’s meeting.

 

 

Email: From: clerk@rumbletononouse.com.org

To: maggie.pie@gmail.com

10 June 2025 at 10.30

 A copy of the signed minutes of the meeting held 12 May 2025 is on the Parish Council’s website but if you need a paper copy, please let me know.

Regards,

Sue Ward,

Clerk to the Parish Council

 

*****

 

Whatsapp Messages: 10 June 2025

 

From Maggie to Sue: 11:09

EUREKA!!! I think I might have found the answer!!!! Hidden in the minutes, when the new Councillors introduced themselves to the Council. A highlighted copy can be sent, anonymously, to the papers. Shall I?

 

From Sue to Maggie: 11:11

Yes please!

 

*****

 

EVENING MERCURY

(Direct to your Mailbox)

 

SPONSORS QUIT CONTROVERSIAL SCHEME IN THE WAKE OF

STARTLING REVELATIONS

 

By Senior Reporter, J Smith

08:13, 13 June 2025

 

Councillor Harvey K Mack, Chairman of the Rumbleton-on-Ouse Parish Council, was in the news recently when his new political party It’s Our Future, took over control of the Council. Grand schemes were planned for the young people of the village, but these were derailed by yesterday’s revelations.

Sponsors hurriedly withdrew support when they learned that, in his own words, Harvey K Mack was ‘banned from keeping dogs.’

A spokesman for the main sponsor said: ‘Britain is a nation of dog lovers, and it behoves our company to avoid any further communications with or support for, any person who has or might have, as these words imply, hurt animals in the past.’

He added, ‘This statement, made by Mr Mack, is contained within the minutes of the meeting of the Parish Council held on 12 May; minutes that were agreed by all Council members to be a true and correct record of that meeting, and signed by the Chairman, Councillor Mack, himself. As such, the document would be upheld and everything within it, defended as true under the law of the land in any court.’

 

*****

 

 

Whatsapp Messages: 13 June 2025

 

From Sue to Maggie: 09:00

Oh, dear, Maggie! I must be getting old. What a terrible typo I made in those minutes. I should have written, ‘I was banned from keeping dogs in my childhood because my mother developed asthma.’

 

From Maggie to Sue: 09:03

Oh, Sue. What an awful thing to happen. Just see what mischief a misplaced full stop can do!!!!

PS. I still have sangria if you want a few days away from questions from the press…

 

 

 

 

 

END

******

When Truth Be Told

by Nicola Walpole

 

September 15^th 1914

Dear Maude,

I don’t expect you believed me when I said I would write. What rotten luck that I meet the girl of my dreams the night before going away. I’m sure a beautiful doll like you will be out dancing every night and have no time to read this, but on the chance that you do, here goes.

It has taken all this time to get hold of some paper and a pen. I am not allowed to say exactly where we are camped, but it is a slip of land with the sea on one side and a river on the other. There’s not a shop for miles. One chappie from Lowestoft came armed with stationery yesterday, he’s making a killing selling single sheets of paper for those of us wanting to write home. I wish I had thought of that.

Well, Maude, that’s all for the moment, I do hope you remember me and you will write back with your news.

Yours sincerely,

Reginald Tilley

 

 

September 20^th

Dear Reginald,

I have to admit to being a little surprised when your letter arrived yesterday. However, I do remember you from the show at the Picture House. I thought your piano playing was very professional, particularly your accompaniment to The Mermaid.

I hope you have settled in. My cousin, Tom, has joined the Suffolk’s, perhaps you know him, Thomas Sullivan? He worked up at the Hall as a chauffeur.

Yours sincerely,

Maude Sullivan

 

 

September 25th

Dear Maude,

What a joy to receive your letter. I have read it so many times already, I feel I am wearing the ink away. Can I be bold and ask you for a photograph? It will be my talisman; kept close to my heart along with your letters.

I have not met Thomas, but he sounds a decent chap.

Thank you for your compliments. My favourite film I played to that evening was Alice in Wonderland. If you were to ask me why, I would say because that was when I saw you for the first time, just before the interval. You walked down the aisle towards me, ready to take your position selling refreshments, rather like Alice going down the rabbit hole. Thankfully though, you did not need to shrink or grow to take up your place. Instead, you stood serving - a beautiful vision - until the lights dimmed and you faded from my view. Having to wait until the show ended before I could meet you was an agony.

I am eager to hear your news and the gossip from Suffolk, and do hope a photograph follows.

Yours, Reg

 

 

October 1^st

Dear Maude,

I am always eager to check the post when it arrives, but I find nothing more from you as of yet. Your first letter is so precious I had hoped to have others to join it, along with a photograph of my girl.

The weather has been atrocious. We have had heavy rain for the past few days which resulted in our camp being partially washed away. The worst affected have been relocated into temporary accommodation. I haven’t had to move but I don’t know if I count myself lucky or not as the conditions underfoot are horrible. Thankfully, we are moving off again tomorrow. I thought we would be going to France, but apparently there is more training to do.

Do not fret, we have been assured that our post will be forwarded.

Yours, with much affection,

Reg

Postscript. Please say you are still writing to me

 

 

October 15^th

Dear Reginald,

I thought perhaps you had tired of writing, and then yesterday, two letters arrived together.

I do hope the weather has improved for you. We have been blessed with a warm breeze and sunny skies during the past few weeks. However, all has changed and autumn has arrived with a shout, giving us need to use more coal.

Mother was grateful with the harvest from her garden, so we are eating well and preparing for winter. In my free time I have been busy helping her with bottling the plums and making preserves and pickles. The kitchen has been permanently filled with a sweet aroma, particularly attractive to wasps. Thankfully, as the weather has cooled, they are no longer a problem.

I have enclosed a copy of The Mercury to remind you of home. I thought you would be interested in the sporting pages. Unfortunately, there do not appear to be many professional events taking place, most reports seem to be of amateur school matches.

I still work at the Picture House, but now the shows have declined in favour of Newsreels, and refreshments are no longer served.

Many of my friends have taken employment at The Works, filling shell cases. After only a week, they came home with a terrible pallor that cannot be good for their health. It is no surprise to me that Tom’s sweetheart, Ruby, has managed to wriggle her way into the driving seat of her employer's car. She would not be one to dirty her hands, not for anything. I am sure that Tom could not have foreseen this when he showed Ruby how to drive, and I am also sure that he would not approve if he knew.

I have had a sitting at Murton’s on the High Street, so I will send a photograph post haste. Do you have one of yourself in uniform I wonder?

Yours,

Maude

Postscript. I would like to continue calling you Reginald if you don’t mind. I have an uncle called Reg, and I don’t take to him at all.

 

 

20^th October

Dear Maude,

What a heavenly vision I have of you, toiling in the kitchen, surrounded by your produce. Unfortunately, my mother is never one to spend unnecessary time preparing food. Work keeps her busy, even more so after my father died.

           It was such a kind gesture to send the newspaper. I have read it from cover to cover and have passed it on to the chaps. Luckily, I am not a sporting fan, preferring instead to read the musical and theatrical reviews. Sadly, there are not many of these now either.

           I had the opportunity to sit at the piano again last week when a show was arranged in a local hall. I played all the old songs and some of the newer ones. It’s a Long Way to Tipperary nearly brought the roof down, I can tell you, and it has become a popular song to sing when we are out on a march.

I shall have to postpone sending you a photograph as we still have not been issued with uniforms, but do not fret, I will as soon as I am able.

Happy dreams, thinking of you safe in your bed in Winton.

Yours forever,

Reginald

Postscript.  Reginald it shall be! However, I feel concern for you regarding your uncle. Can you tell me more?

 

 

November 7^th

Dear Reginald,

The Newsreels report the fighting in Belgium. Tom has written to say that he is abroad now. I do hope he remains safe and comes home in time for Christmas. Everyone here is still confident the war will be over soon. Do you have plans to visit your family at Christmas? I realise I know very little about you, or even whether your family live in Winton?

Regarding my uncle, I shall wait until your return before elaborating, suffice to say, his behaviour towards me as a child, was wholly inappropriate.

Please write with your news.

Yours, Maude

 

 

December 15^th

Dearest Maude,

What rotten luck! No sooner were our uniforms and firearms issued than we were sent across the channel in a howling gale. We all wondered whether we would ever make dry land, but we did, and now know where our Christmas will be spent. We are under strict instructions not to reveal where we are, except to say the weather hasn’t improved one jot.

           I have a very ordinary life back home, I’m afraid. I live with Mother and my sister Emm, in Ipswich. We run a small printing press, producing invitations, posters and suchlike. However, I would much rather be regarded as a professional musician, and in doing so, I take any opportunity to play.

Do you believe in fate Maude? I certainly do. It should have been my friend John Hazel playing at The Picture House that night, but he broke his arm the week before and asked me to stand in. I shall be eternally grateful to him, as without his injury, I would never have met you, my darling.

I have to stop writing now as the Huns are leading us a merry dance.

 

December 19^th     It has been a busy few days. I do apologise for the smudges and hope that you can still read my writing. The postbag has arrived to collect our mail, but I just wanted to convey my abhorrence at your uncle’s behaviour. I shall pay him a visit on my return.

 I shall say adieu, my darling, 

Reginald

 

January 30^th 1915

Dear Reginald,

The festivities of Christmas, albeit reduced in the circumstances, fade in importance after the recent devastation caused by the coastal air raids. I want you to know that we are safe and Winton has been spared, but sadly, Great Yarmouth was not so lucky. Mother has turned over my bedroom to receive Uncle Reg and Aunt Edie, in addition to the spare room already accommodating a family fallen on hard times.

Thankfully, I am sponsored by Miss Thompson to complete my initial training to become a Suffolk VAD and I now reside at the isolation hospital at St Audry’s Asylum, Melton, where I treat the war wounded.

My days here are long, so please understand why my letters are so brief. I hope you are keeping safe. Please use the hospital address and not my home address in Winton.

Yours,

Maude

 

 

February 28^th

Dear Reginald,

I can only assume that your last letter was sent before you received mine. The outcome is, that my private life is now public knowledge and prevents me from returning to Winton. I am sure I have my uncle to thank for that as my mother told me he opened your letter by ‘mistake’. Mother says she will forward it to me, but the letter has not yet arrived so I have no idea as to its contents.

           I will ask you, Reginald, to ensure a reserve in your writing, regardless of your feelings for me.

Yours, Maude

 

 

May 3^rd

Dear Miss Sullivan,

           I am writing to you on behalf of my mother, Mrs Susannah Tilley.  She has been recently informed that her son, (my brother), Reginald Tilley, has suffered injuries whilst overseas. At present, we do not know his exact whereabouts, or his condition, but are hopeful that he will be returned to England for treatment.

           In conveying this information, I am carrying out Reg’s wishes to contact you if any such thing should happen to him. Particularly, he asked me to mention, that you will always be his “Alice.”

I will correspond again when more news is forthcoming.

Yours sincerely,

Emmelyn Tilley

 

 

May 7^th

Dear Miss Tilley,

Thank you for your correspondence. I am shocked and saddened to hear of Reginald’s circumstances and hope that his injuries are not too severe. I work with wounded soldiers here in Melton, many from the Suffolk Regiments, so perhaps Reginald will be fortunate and arrive soon. Please convey my sympathy to your mother.

Yours sincerely,

 Maude Sullivan

 

 

May 24^th

Dear Miss Sullivan,

Wonderful news! Mother has just received a letter informing us that Reg will soon be returning to our shores and, as luck would have it, will be recuperating in Ipswich at Ranelagh Road Hospital. I do hope that when you are able to visit Reg, we can coincide our visits so that you and I will meet. I feel that I know you so well already, what with our correspondence and with what Reg has written about you in his letters to me, it will be like meeting an old friend.

Yours sincerely,

Emm

 

 

May 30^th

Dear Maude,

Hurrah! Reg has now safely returned and is recovering in hospital. I am sure it will not be long before he can be discharged and can recuperate fully at home.

I made my first visit to him yesterday afternoon. His injuries appear not too serious although his chest and right hand are bandaged and he experiences some difficulty with his breathing when he exerts himself. When I asked what had happened, he would only say that his section was hit by an explosion. Matron was confident that rest and fresh air would soon make him as right as rain.

I think you will find that Ranelagh Road Hospital is a convenient walk from the railway station, being sited in what was the junior school near the junction with London Road. Do let me know when you plan to visit, and I will endeavour to meet you.

Kindest regards,

Emm

 

 

June 5^th

Dear Miss Tilley,

Thank you for your correspondence. It is such a relief to you, I’m sure, that Reginald is close by for his recuperation.

           Unfortunately, I will not be able to visit yet, as all leave has been cancelled due to the shortage of nursing staff needed to care for the number of wounded who have arrived since our move to Foxborough Hall. However, please give Reginald my fond wishes for a speedy recovery.

Yours sincerely,

Maude

 

 

June 7^th 

 

Dear Maude,

           I must convey my disappointment in not being able to meet you yet, although I do understand why. It seems a similar situation here, as Matron has suggested that I visit Reginald daily to assist with his care, particularly at mealtimes. This I do, in conjunction with running the press. My days are long. Mother has aged considerably over the past few months and regularly retires early with a headache.

           I have asked Reg if he would like to write to you, even if he dictates to me, but he said he can’t put his feeling down on paper, and will wait for your visit.

Please come soon, Maude.

Kindest regards,

Emm

 

 

June 21^st

Dear Maude,

           Is there any possibility that you can come and visit Reg, for even a few minutes? He is very despondent and I am sure that seeing your face would cheer him immensely. It has become increasingly difficult to engage him in conversation and he is refusing to eat meals provided. I try to encourage his appetite, but to no avail. His limbs shake and he appears to have lost the feeling in his fingers, so is unable to write. Also, as his breathing is laboured even when resting, he is not wanting to walk down by the river as Matron encourages.

I do hope to hear from you soon, Maude, as I really don’t know what else I can do to help him.

 

Kindest regards,

Emm

 

 

June 30^th

Dear Emm,

Please accept my apologies for delaying my reply to you, and also my visit to Reginald. I received distressing correspondence from my mother regarding family issues, which required me to urgently return to Winton for a few days. Subsequently, I do not have any free time to travel to Ipswich. I have however, written in detail to Reginald and explained my situation, and conveyed my hope of visiting him as soon as I am able.

I am so sorry, that despite your best endeavours, Reginald’s health is deteriorating. In the course of my work with soldiers who suffer from what the doctors call, war neurosis, I might suggest that you sit and gently stroke Reginald’s good hand as physical touch helps them to feel comfort. Be assured, the doctors will consider the appropriate medication to help him towards recovery.

Best regards,

Maude

 

 

July 9^th 

Dear Emm,

I have managed to procure some free time on Sunday afternoon and will arrive at Ipswich station at 3 o’clock. I look forward to meeting you at last.

Best regards,

Maude

 

 

July 10^th

Dear Maude,

           What excitement! I am sure your visit will raise Reg’s spirits no end, and mine also. I shall wait eagerly at the hospital for you to arrive.

Kindest regards,

Emm

 

11^th July

Dear Maude,

           I am sorry for your reaction on seeing Reg this afternoon. I had thought that as you treat soldiers with similar conditions, you might have shown more compassion. Please do not take to heart the awful things Reg said. Everyone has secrets that they wish to keep, and I am sure that it is only due to his poor health, with his mind affected, that he let forward the terrible insinuations about the relationship between you and your uncle, information that you had entrusted him with.

 Maude, I do hope that in time, you can forgive Reg his outburst and that we can continue to remain friends, despite your upset.

Your friend,

Emm

 

  

Friday July 31^st

Dear Miss Tilley,

           I am writing to inform you of my imminent departure to The Continent to assist as a V.A.D in The War Effort.

           I have taken time to reflect on Reginald’s behaviour and despite his medical condition, I cannot forgive his heartless and callous disregard of my character. The information I gave him was in the strictest confidence and based on a level of trust that I felt had developed between us. Apportioning blame to the female gender, rather than the monstrous actions of my uncle who attacked me as a defenceless child, and most recently, forced himself on the daughter of my mother’s lodger, is contemptible at the very least.

I wish you and your mother well, but will not be able to participate in any further communication.

Yours sincerely,

Miss Maude Sullivan

 

 

 

 

 

END

Good Neighbours…

by Sue Davnall

 

Dear Dan and Paula,

Welcome to the neighbourhood! We’re a friendly bunch round here, and I hope you’ll be as happy as we’ve been in this road for the past forty-two years. I’ll drop round the form to sign up to the residents’ association; if you have any questions at all just give us a shout.

By the way, I hope you won’t mind me mentioning that we all take great pride in our front gardens. The Cruickshanks, from whom you bought the house, regularly won the prize for Best Kept Garden in Little Moseley. I expect that you’ll want to keep up their fine efforts; if you’re not the keenest of gardeners we’d be more than happy to lend a hand.

Kind regards,

George and Elizabeth Fortescue

 

 

Hi there,

Thanks for your note. It does seem very nice round here – peaceful, which is what we were looking for. No need to drop the RA form round as we’re not really into community activities. We have our own plans for the front once we’ve settled in, gardening not really being our thing.

Best wishes,

Paula

 

 

Dear Paula,

Sorry it’s taken me a few days to reply to your note. While I appreciate your desire for peace and quiet, I do think you’d benefit from joining our friendly little group. Even if you’d rather not come to the weekly meetings, you’d be able to receive our newsletter with all sorts of useful information about garden waste collections, the Neighbourhood Watch scheme and the like. I don’t want to alarm you! We’ve a very low crime rate here, but we do get the odd shed break-in. Then there’s the occasional bit of littering, and failing to pick up dog poop. There’s nothing like a bit of naming and shaming to get people to pull their socks up! I think you may have a dog, from the frequent barking we’ve heard since you moved in? The association is also a good place to find dog sitters and walkers if needed, and Cathy at No.13 could help you with training, to put an end to that pesky barking!

I was a little alarmed to hear that you have ‘plans’, as you put it, for the front. I hope that you are not contemplating major changes to the Cruickshanks’ beautiful flower beds and bushes. As I mentioned before, if you find the prospect of looking after it all too much, we’re very willing to help.

Kind regards,

George and Elizabeth

 

 

Hi,

I’m sure you’re a very pleasant couple but just to be clear, we have no interest at all in engaging with our neighbours, through the residents’ association or by any other means. Please leave us alone.

Best wishes,

Paula

 

 

Dear Paula,

I’m sorry if we’ve offended you in any way. We’re just trying to be good neighbours. I’ll drop the form round anyway, so that you’ll have it handy if you change your mind.

Please be aware that the birch tree in the front garden has a Tree

Preservation Order (TPO) on it and you will need to apply for planning permission to do anything to it.

Kind regards,

George and Elizabeth

 

 

To the Fortescues

My wife has made it perfectly clear that we do not wish to engage in any way with you. Please stop writing (and keep your bloody form to yourself).

Dan Brewer

 

 

Dear Mr and Mrs Brewer,

We were, frankly, shocked to see a surveyor in your front garden this morning and to be told that you are planning to turn it into a car parking space. Why would you move into such a beautiful home and then destroy one of its most attractive features? I will be speaking to the Parish Council as I’m sure you’re not allowed to concrete over the garden without planning permission. Incidentally, if your dog breaks through the fence and defecates on our lawn one more time, I won’t be responsible for the consequences.

George Fortescue

 

 

Dear Mr and Mrs Busybody,

I’m warning you, if you continue to try to interfere in our lives you won’t know what’s hit you. I’ve got friends who have ways of dealing with people like you, if you get my drift. Back off, leave us alone or you’ll regret it.

Dan Brewer

 

 

To Mr and Mrs Brewer

Your threats don’t intimidate me, young man. I did National Service back in the day, I know how to handle myself.

George Fortescue

 

 

You old bastard! Where’s our dog?

 

 

I told you, if that mutt got into our garden again there’d be consequences. You might want to make enquiries with the local dog warden.

 

 

You piece of shit! Why would you take it out on a poor animal? Rottweilers are much more sensitive than people think; Buster’s been shaking like a leaf ever since we got him back home. You’re really going to regret what you did.

 

  

Mr & Mrs D Brewer Esq

42 East End Lane

Little Moseley

Hants.

 

Dear Sir and Madam,

I have been instructed by my client Mr George Fortescue to require you to cease and desist in your harassment of him and his wife Elizabeth, failing which he will alert the proper authorities to your actions. The dog detritus through the letter box constitutes threatening behaviour for which you could be liable to up to six months in prison. Intercepting post may also incur a six-month prison sentence. Posting defamatory comments on local social media falls under the purlieu of libel laws and could result in a successful suit for damages.

My client has indicated that he would be content not to have recourse to legal action if you are prepared to give a commitment in writing to end your campaign of intimidation.

I look forward to your response within the next fourteen days, failing which my client will have no choice but to pursue the matter further.

Yours faithfully,

St John Fawcett

Ptarmigan, Foster and Howes LLP

 

 

S J Fawcett Esq

Ptarmigan, Foster and Howes LLP

3 The Parade

Moseley

Hants.

 

Dear St John,

My client Mr Daniel Brewer has passed to me your letter of the 14^th inst. regarding his alleged campaign of harassment against your client Mr George Fortescue. Mr Brewer does not deny that he has taken certain retaliatory actions against his neighbour but considers that you are not in possession of the full facts. You may wish to learn that your client initiated the recent chain of events.

I presume that Mr Fortescue has not shared with you the information that he has taken to playing opera (specifically Wagner and overwhelmingly The Ride of the Valkyries) at full volume late at night? Or that he has been throwing chilli-laced sausages over the fence at regular intervals, causing great distress to, and significant vet bills for, the Brewer’s beloved puppy Buster? You may wish to discuss these matters with Mr Fortescue before initiating any action.

I hope that Pamela is keeping well. Looking forward to seeing you both at the nineteenth hole on Sunday.

Regards,

Jolyon Featherstone

Fanshawe, Ruddiman and Herron LLP

 

 

 

Mr and Mrs G Fortescue

44 East End Lane

Little Moseley

Hants.

 

Dear Mr Fortescue,

Please find enclosed our quote for the building work you have requested.

Demolition of existing single storey extension to the rear of the kitchen

Erection of a conservatory comprising a concrete base 4m long by 3m wide, steel framed walls and UPVC windows with safety glass on three sides, roof also of safety glass with anti-glare protective coating

Labour £5000

Materials £8000

Total £13000 (not including VAT)

We can begin work on Monday 13 October.

Kind regards,

Ron Bodgit & Co.

 

Dear Mum and Dad,

So looking forward to seeing you on the 16^th! Our plane lands at Heathrow at 12.15; we’ve hired a car and hope to be with you by teatime. You’ll be amazed by how much the kids have grown. Ben’s become a bit of a handful, to be honest, but I’m sure he’ll be on his best behaviour for Grandpops and Grandmom 😊. Jessica is still an absolute sweetie, of course – you’ll love her, Mum.

I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to the house. I didn’t think you’d want to go through all the upheaval at your age (sorry!) and I’m really impressed that you’ve gone ahead with it. The photos looked amazing.

It was so very weird, wasn’t it, about your neighbours? I guess you’re right; it did sound like the husband may have been involved with some dodgy characters in his past. But for both of them to disappear just like that?! Still, something of a relief for you. I hope the new people are easier to get along with.       

Must finish now – lots of packing to do!

Big hugs,  Annabel xxxx

Dear Patrick and Sarah,

Welcome to the neighbourhood! We’re a friendly bunch round here, and I hope you’ll be as happy as we’ve been in this road for the past forty-two years. I’ll drop round the form to sign up to the residents’ association; if you have any questions at all just give us a shout.

By the way, I hope you won’t mind me mentioning that we all take great pride in our front gardens. The Cruickshanks, who used to own your house, regularly won the prize for Best Kept Garden in Little Moseley. I expect that you’ll want to keep up their fine efforts; if you’re not the keenest of gardeners, we’d be more than happy to lend a hand.

Kind regards,

George and Elizabeth Fortescue

 

 

 

END

 

****** 

To Undreamed Shores

by Ruth Loten

 

Miriam sat on the headland, watching the sea crash over the rocks to meet the river, before retreating back beyond the stone harbour to gather its forces for another attack. The wind whipped at loose strands of hair, as salt-tinged spume flecked her reddened cheeks. She braced her feet against one rock as she leant against another, contemplating the drop before her. He stood here, she thought. No one knew the exact point, but somehow, she was sure it was from this precise rock her husband had plunged into the whirling sea below. What she was less certain of, was why. And it was killing her. Dashing the tears away, she pulled a notebook and pen from her pocket.

 

Dear Sam,

    I came back here again today. I’m not sure why; maybe I was trying to find some peace, or a kind of closure. God, I hate that word. It’s so clichéd, but it’s the only one that really fits the feeling I’m searching for. I suppose the question I truly want an answer to, is ‘why?’ I don’t want fobbing off with the usual claptrap about you being depressed. That’s a given. What I want to know is, what specifically tipped you over the edge? And yes, before you ask, my choice of words is deliberate, so you can stop sniggering. You see, I’m clinging to the hope that it was just a hideous accident and you didn’t actually mean to throw yourself off our favourite spot in the world. We hadn’t argued. Our finances were looking good and you’d seemed, if not happy, then at least content, over the last few weeks.

You always used walking as a way to clear your head so I didn’t worry when you said you were going out and didn’t want me to come with you. Not taking Lola should have warned me though. She was your faithful little shadow, her tail wagging every time she found a new and exciting thing to sniff. You used to say she was the best kind of listener because she never judged and never answered back. She misses you so much. I’ve had to put your old green jumper in her basket to stop her howling. I don’t mind confessing there have been times when I’ve sat next to her basket and joined in. Goodness only knows what the neighbours must think! It seems to work though, as she inevitably puts a stop on her own grief and crawls onto my lap to lick my face.

Anyway, I’ve said my piece, so I’m going to leave this letter under a rock and hope that somehow it finds its way to you. I don’t really expect an answer, but if you can find a way to bring me some peace, I would be very grateful. The fact is I miss you. More than you could possibly imagine. But don’t think for a moment I’m not angry with you because I am. Absolutely furious, in fact. Because I love you and you left me behind.

                                               Love always,

                                                          Mim

 

Weighing the paper down with a hefty-looking rock, Miriam wiped her eyes and got to her feet. Taking one last look at the sea, she turned her back on it and headed back towards the car park. As she walked along the harbour path wishing she had brought sunglasses to hide her reddened eyes, she passed a man heading in the opposite direction. He nodded a greeting, but didn’t speak. He looked vaguely familiar and she wondered if he lived in one of the little cottages that lined the harbour wall. Most were holiday lets, as was often the case in Cornwall, but there were one or two which always looked inhabited. Getting back into her car, she turned the key and pointed her old, but much-loved Beetle in the direction of home.

 

 

Jonathan strode up the steps to the cliff-top, appreciating the burn in his calves and the fresh air in his lungs. He always felt the need to escape after a conversation with his ex-wife, who meant well, but smothered him with her questions about how he was feeling. He was fine. He’d been fine for a long time, but he didn’t really blame her for checking every so often. If nothing else, it showed she still cared about him, even after everything he’d put her through. They’d been divorced for years and the kids were now quite capable of communicating with him without their mother’s help. He sighed. He should be grateful for her continuing thoughtfulness, not be complaining someone was looking out for him.

The frantic fluttering of the paper drew his attention to the note tucked underneath the stone and he picked it up, smoothing out the folds to read it. Halfway through the first paragraph, he stopped and angrily thrust it back under the rock. Why? Why did it have to be him who picked it up? He had drawn a line under that part of his life. Stomping away, he headed further up the cliff and stormed along the path towards Tintagel.

When he returned, calmer for the sea air in his lungs and the wind in his hair, Jonathan went back to the note. Even when he picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans, he didn’t really have a plan, but he now knew why the beautiful, but sad-looking, woman he had passed earlier in the day had seemed so familiar. She was the one who had been up there with the police last year. The sun had caught her red hair and he remembered thinking how stunning it looked, before chiding himself for the thought. She had just lost her husband and he shouldn’t have been thinking about how attractive she was. He’d seen her on multiple occasions since, but never spoken to her. He couldn’t. He felt too guilty. And the letter had made him feel worse. As he entered his little cottage, he squared his shoulders. He knew what he had to do.

 

 

 

Dear Mim,

    You don’t know me, but I’ve seen you around sometimes and I found the note you left on the cliff top. I hope you don’t mind that I read it, I know it wasn’t really meant for me. I’ve wanted to talk to you so many times, to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. But I am a coward and could never bring myself to say the words. You see, I saw your husband the morning it happened. We passed each other on the coast path and exchanged the usual terribly British pleasantries. The police asked if he had shown any signs of distress, but the fact is, he hadn’t. He was calm and charming and I would even go so far as to say, there was a sense of peace about him. At the time, I assumed it was the effect of a satisfying sea walk, but of course, when I saw the police later in the day, I knew it had been quite the opposite. He was calm and at peace because he had made his decision. I can’t forgive myself for not recognising the signs, you see, I’ve been there. I was him, many years ago. I had struggled for years with depression and I finally decided I needed to set my wife free. I loved her so much and she spent every waking moment anxiously watching for signs I was sliding into melancholy again. It was no life for her and I believed that if I was gone, she would be able to move on and find someone more worthy of her love. With the right man at her side, she could give my kids the childhood they deserved, instead of one where they were treading on eggshells all the time. I was lucky. She came home early from work and found me in time. And I’m glad she did, because her leaving me made me get the help I needed and my life is good now. I still have my “down” moments, of course, but I’m better equipped to deal with them these days. So you see, this is why I should have seen what was going on in your husband’s head.

I hope you can forgive me for my lack of understanding and for unburdening myself to you in this way. All the comfort I can offer is based on my own experience. I’m sure Sam loved you very much and you would have been at the very forefront of his thinking when he made his decision to jump. In his mind, he was setting you free from the burden of looking after him. He was giving you permission to live the life he thought you deserved to live. And in a way, he was right – you deserve nothing but the best. We all do. But don’t think he took this step because you were not enough. It was never about you in that sense. He loved you so much he felt you were better off without him and however misguided that belief might have been, it came from a place of love.

I have no idea if you will ever read this letter, but I will return it to where you left yours and leave it to fate to decide if it makes its way to you. You are very much in my thoughts and I wish you everything Sam wanted for you. I know you will never forget him, but go live a brilliant life.

Best wishes,

Jonathan

 

 

Mim stretched out her calf muscles before slipping the lead onto Lola’s harness. It was ridiculous that she was back here again. She knew there wasn’t going to be a miracle reply from Sam, so why was she even bothering to go look? And yet, a tingle of excitement coursed through her as she mounted the steps and caught the tell-tale flutter of white. Her heartbeat quickened as she slipped the envelope from under the rock. Her letter had been a single sheet of paper, so someone had replied: her name on the front confirmed it, even as the angular handwriting warned her it wasn’t Sam. As she read, different emotions warred for control of her thoughts. This… this stranger had read her letter. But then he had taken it upon himself to comfort her. To open up to her. For a long time, she sat, letter in hand, staring unseeingly, her hand resting on Lola’s head. Then, decision made, she took the pad from her bag and rested it on her knee. When she had put it in there, she had scolded herself for being ridiculous, but she had known somehow that she would need it.

 

 

 

 

Dear Jonathan,

               Thank you so much for your letter. It means a lot to me to know that Sam was at peace on that final day. I thought I wanted what happened to have been an accident, but the picture of him you paint is so much better than the idea that he was terrified when he died. I am still angry with him, but you helped me to understand his state of mind and for that, I am grateful.

Please do not blame yourself for not recognising what was going through his head. If I, his wife, am not at fault for not seeing it, then how could you, someone who had nothing more than a brief conversation with him, have been expected to do so? I was sorry to read about your own struggles too, but I am glad you have found a purpose to life and are happy. Perhaps I am asking too much, but if it wouldn’t be too presumptuous of me, I would very much like to buy you a coffee to say thank you. I don’t know that you will come back to see if there is a reply to your note, but I will have to take that chance. My email address is Miriam@Harker.net if you are amenable to the invite. Either way, thank you again.

Yours sincerely,

Miriam Harker

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From: JMSmith

29/10/22

10:13

 

Dear Miriam,

As you can see, your note made its way safely to me and I would be more than happy to meet you for coffee, though you owe me nothing. How about next Saturday at 10 in the National Trust café? I’ll be wearing a blue sweater.

 

Jonathan

 

 

 

 

From: MHarker

7/11/22

17:42

 

Dear Jonathan,

Thank you again for Saturday. I meant it when I said it had really brightened my day. The reason I am emailing is because I remembered you mentioning your love of The Wind in the Willows and someone at work was telling me today that Fowey Hall Hotel was the inspiration for Toad Hall and I immediately thought of you. Did you know and have you ever been? If not, I wondered if you might like to have afternoon tea there one day? No worries if it’s not your thing.

 

Love

Miriam

 

 

 

From: JMSmith

10/12/22

19:28

 

Dear Miriam,

    That was the most wonderful afternoon tea I can remember having! Thank you so much for suggesting it and the hotel was exactly as I had pictured Toad Hall. As you paid, would you allow me to return the favour and take you out for dinner next week?

 

Love

Jonathan

From: MHarker

21/12/22

18:36

 

Dear Jonathan,

I just wanted to say thank you for dinner before I go into hibernation for Christmas. I’m spending it on my own this year (through choice, so don’t worry!) and I intend to sit by the fire with a box of chocolates and read. Guess what is top of my pile? You’ve inspired me to give it a go as you were so appalled I didn’t read it as a child! Next time we go to Fowey, I’ll have much more of an idea what the book is about.

 

Have a lovely Christmas,

Mim

 

 

 

From: MHarker

25/12/22

21:30

 

Dear Jonathan,

Wretched day. Feeling sorry for myself and sending this so I feel I’m not entirely alone! Hope you’re having a lovely day. No doubt I will feel better tomorrow, but going back to work is beginning to look attractive!

 

Love,

Mim

 

 

From: JMSmith

26/12/22

07:36

 

Dear Mim,

I’m so glad I saw your email this morning. I hate to think of you being unhappy. The kids are here with me and they’d love to meet you. Why don’t you come and spend the day with us instead? (They love Wind in the Willows too, so you’ll have something to talk to them about now you’ve read it!)

 

See you soon, hopefully

Jon x

 

From: MHarker

27/12/22

14:47

 

Dear Jon,

Thank you so much for rescuing me from the doldrums yesterday. Your children are delightful and I had such a lovely day with you all. I feel much lighter today and am very grateful to you all for letting me invade your family Christmas. It was also exciting to discover you are a fellow Barbara Hepworth fan. Already looking forward to our trip to St. Ives next month.

 

Love

Mim x

 

 

From: MHarker

15/2/23

05:16

 

Dear Jonathan,

    I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back in touch. I’ve been feeling awful. But please don’t think it’s your fault. The kiss was just so unexpected. In spite of how I reacted, it wasn’t unwelcome at all, it was only that it made me feel so horribly guilty. And of course, none of that is your fault. I’d hate to think I ruined our friendship by running away. I hope you are well,

 

Love

Miriam x

 

 

From: JMSmith

15/2/23

06:03

 

Dear Mim,

    Of course our friendship isn’t ruined. It was clumsy on my part – I should have asked you first. I’ve been praying I hadn’t spoiled it for us both! As you’ve probably gathered, I have developed feelings of something more than friendship for you, but if that is all you want, at this time, or ever, I fully respect that. All I ask is that you give me another chance to be your friend.

 

Love

Jon x

From: MHarker

19/2/23

09:23

 

Dear Jon,

    I’m so glad we were able to clear the air last night. I don’t know what it is I feel, all I know is that I’m glad you’re in my life. Let’s leave it at that for now and see where it takes us?

All my love,

Mim x

 

 

 

From: JMSmith

20/2/23

19:42

 

Dear Mim,

    Of course. Cinema next week? I think they’re doing a series showing old black and white films at the indie one in town. I know how much you like them!

 

All my love,

Jon x

 

 

 

 

From: MHarker

21/2/23

07:32

 

Dear Jon,

    Let’s do dinner before as well!

 

All my love,

Mim x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From: JMSmith

16/4/23

06:38

 

Dear Mim,

    I’m not sure I made it clear enough last night how happy you’ve made me. If I’d known a month or two of watching people fall in love in black and white was all it would take to convince you to give us a chance, I’d have bought you a box set straight up! Seriously though, I know we still need to take it slow, but I want you to know that when you’re ready to hear it, I’m ready to use the L-word.

 

All my love,

Jon x

 

 

From: MHarker

29/2/24

19:59

 

Darling Jon,

    Given that we have always done much of our communicating in writing, I thought it only fitting that today of all days, I sent you an email. Given that we have been living together for the last few months, it feels somewhat silly, but the question I have to ask is wholly serious. So, knowing how much you like puzzles, here it is. Can you work it out?

 

All my love,

Mim x

 

 

From: JMSmith

29/2/24

20:00

 

A thousand times, yes!!! J xx

 

 

 

END

******

 

 CONGRATULATIONS TO EVERYONE!