Thursday, 10 May 2012

Love Letters

At The Fluffy Slug, part of the joy of making is the searching, routing and finding the treasured bits and pieces used in the things I make, especially when I find the stories behind them.  Most of the time you never  know their history but the objects do carry a little of each person that has loved and treasured them … a scratch, wear and tear or a small dent. Some of the old letters and documents hold interesting snippets of those who wrote them.

Generally, it is just a letter or two but every so often I come across a box or small suitcase of old letters from family or friends writing over many years to update each other on their daily lives or a package of love letters that have been reread and treasured until a final clear out.
An old suitcase full of letters from one sister to another updating each other on daily life.

In a world of texts and e-mails we are losing the art of letter writing. A pile of printed off e-mails is not the same as a bundle of well-read, beautifully hand written letters tied with ribbon and kept in a perfumed chocolate box.

My latest find is a number of letters from one sweetheart to another as they were parted by his work in the army and later (as she becomes his beloved wife) separated by war. They contain the most beautiful sentiments from someone who missed his wife so much and didn’t want to be separated from her, even for a minute. Never meant for eyes other than his wife’s, it seems a little intrusive reading the letters and I cannot bring myself to use them or separate them from each other. They always start with beautiful sentiments such as ‘my own darling …’’, ‘’my own darling little wife’’ and are lovingly signed off with ‘I remain your affectionate sweetheart …’’ or ‘’my darling, with fondest love, I always remain yours till death (yes till death)’’,’’with all my love my darling and millions of kisses xxxxxxxxxxxx I am always dearest your ever devoted Husband’’

Written in ink on beautiful crisp paper

I wonder what happened to them, did he return home to his beloved wife safe and sound? Did they go on to have a family and live to an old age?

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; And every little absence is an age.
John Dryden

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