Pen Pal
On the road home from church this morning BBC Radio Scotland “Sunday
Morning with Cathy MacDonald” was mid-interview discussing with her guest
about clearing the attic and coming across a bundle of letters written in their
younger and formative years and kept by their late parent. The guest
recounted that they stopped to scrutinise the content and wondered how the
places they had holidayed were fairing now or if their first love or pen friend
was still alive. The guest shared that they had made contact with an old
penfriend, now aged 91, who was thrilled and delighted to rekindle their lost
friendship after many, many years.
The Guardian Newspaper 2016 a piece titled From me, with love: the lost art
of letter writing.
Novelist Jon McGregor invited strangers to send him a letter in the post.
Scribbled notes and love letters are still landing on the doormat.
Jon asked people to send us letters; real letters, written by hand and sent
through the post. He sat in the office with my student assistants and waited for
the letters to arrive. There was something exciting about sorting through the
pile, letters from Canada and the US, from Spain and Germany and France,
from Donegal and Dublin and Brighton and Tring. We set to work with the
letter knives and started to read. He was hoping that they would, while still
being framed as letters, take the form of stories, essays, poems, memoir,
criticism. What actually happened was that almost everyone wrote about the
nostalgic and rare pleasure of sitting down to write a letter at all.
I have noticed of late that my doormat has only been cluttered up with adverts
for local shops and few correspondences from friends and family.
I was brought up to write a letter thanking for my birthday or Christmas
presents, wishing people a speedy recovery from their latest malaise, success
on their move to a new house or many other topics including competitions
found in the newspaper or magazines.
I still enjoy writing a letter or card, including holiday postcards, to friends and
re latives who live near and far. Keeping them up to date with my personal and
work life and extended family and wait in expectation for the post that will carry
their reply describing how their life is rolling out.
I am lucky enough to still write to a friend made in early 1970’s when as a
member of The Glasgow Youth Choir I stayed with her and her family in
Toronto Canada.
I wouldn’t be without my computer, phone or other equipment but I don’t like
the strange language that has been developed for text or twitter.
I have my legible hand writing learnt in the classroom of Mrs King at Bankhead
Primary School (and her wooden ruler when you smudged the ink taken from
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