On Mama Kettles dressing table, sits an old wooden box.
I have always known that it holds the story of my grandparents love.
Hundreds of letters, written to each other during the Second World War.
I have never peeked inside.
Until this Christmas.
Following their looped calligraphic handwriting, I noticed I swoop my 'W's'
in the exact same way, my handwriting carries so many traits from both of theirs.
I sat for hours, feeling as though I was right there with them.
Laughed with them, cried with them when I noticed a tiny smudged pool upon the page, perhaps it was rain, perhaps it was the Sea...
...and as I held their history, our history, in my hands, I wondered when I last wrote a letter?
This year, I am going to start writing again.
The Words On My Tights, taken from a letter my Gramps wrote to my Nan on the 21st April, 1944...
My Own Darling,
We're riding along on the crest of the wave dearest,
and it's the wave that is going to carry us into one anothers arms...
We are making good speed considering how much
the engine room was shaken up, thank heaven...
We shall have such a lot to talk over when we meet after all this time,
but I want to spend my first evening doing nothing but kissing you...
I've thought about some of our evenings together so much,
it will be lovely to begin them again...
...I know this letter is short but I soon hope to convey to you in person
a great deal more than I can on paper.
Goodnight Darling,
Your Own...
xxx
