The Lost Postcard
This weeks post is introduced by poet Susan Darlington, who recently visited the Mexborough Read to Write group, and left us with a challenge...
A postcard from Ewart goes missing in transit. It is delivered 121 years later to the correct address but with Miss Lydia Davies, the intended recipient, long since dead.
The story is written as simple human interest on BBC News but presented as a writing prompt it was taken in many different directions. The task was straightforward - use the news story as a springboard for a poem – yet the creative ways in which people responded were by turns moving, unexpected, and filled with yearning.
Four key themes emerged across the 10 pieces. The overwhelming one was the imagined consequence of the postcard never being received. ‘Intermezzo - Unending Strife’ pictures a ‘lonely widow’ who died while, “waiting news from her boy soldier.” ’Lost Opportunity’ envisages how the missing postcard, “changed the lives for those involved.” In ‘Missing’ the intended recipient of the card is, “disappointed you have not written.”
There’s pathos in many of these pieces but ‘Train Ride To The Seaside’ and ‘The Challenge’ offer humour and mystery respectively. The former presents a dialogue in which Ewart’s ‘jolly postcard’ to his girlfriend goes missing. When she accuses him of cheating, he retorts that next time he goes to the coast, he’ll “take Miss Gilbert out instead.” The latter brings unanswered intrigue, with the recipient instructed to, “steam off the ha’penny stamp” to reveal words that, “only you can ever read.”
Factual details from the news item were incorporated into several pieces. In ‘A Postcard From The Past’ the missive was delivered to, “the right house / But it was hundred or more years too late.” Three also pick up on the original postcard’s message, in which Ewart apologises that he cannot pick up a ‘pair’ of an unknown item (“A pair of what we’ll never know,” as ‘The Postcard’ acknowledges).
Other pieces were inspired purely by the method of communication, creating imagined scenarios. ‘Mail’ is a shaggy dog story in which a message in a bottle is swallowed by, “a Great White Shark / running amok off Tallahassee bay.” ‘Germany 1943’ imagines a Prisoner of War (PoW) writing to his sweetheart (“I dream of getting back home and we can make plans for our wedding”). ‘Gibts Nicht’ is set in a time when, “The Earl of Beaconsfield / hosted exchanges / Christmas ’73.”
Another theme was historical context. ‘Missing’ imagines a time when post was efficiently delivered, “to the farthest flung reaches of the Empire,” and ‘The Challenge’ refers to a “portrait of the King.” ‘The Postcard’ touches on events between the card being posted and its eventual delivery (“… two world wars / and the silences between”).
These world events are more explicitly explored in ‘Germany 1943’ and ‘Intermezzo - Unending Strife’. The former describes life as a PoW (“It is just about bearable for us, the Brits, but they treat the Russians terribly”), while in the latter the postcard is taken as police evidence following a suffragette attack on a post-box (“green, purple and white / explosion of female demands”).
A final key theme was the way in which all the poems viewed the postcard as a way to communicate love, either romantic or familial. Two hinted at a time when loved ones would be reunited; ‘A Postcard From The Past’ speculates that, “one day we shall be here together,” and ‘Lost Opportunity’ offers, “Harmony connection to reunite.” These were the closest to the real life outcome of the news story, in which the postcard reunited long-lost family members.
Yet no matter how the postcard prompt was interpreted, each poem carried a uniquely creative voice. Taken together, they are fantastically diverse conversation of ideas that circle back to one single source. Thank you to everyone who took the time to write and submit a piece.
Poems
Intermezzo - Unending Strife - John Beal Lost Opportunity - Terez Nagy Missing - Val Bowen Train Ride To The Seaside - Amanda Samm The Challenge - Paul Dyson A Postcard From The Past - Mike O'Brien The Postcard - Ian Parks Mail - Geoff Lowery Germany 1943 - Lesley Merrin Gibts Nicht - Alex Oliver
Intermezzo - Unending Strife - John Beal
Noise; shaking distant streets green, purple and white explosion of female demands shattering the engorged red mail pillar, scattering the unread Victoria; name proudly emblazoned letters saddened charred cinders yet, rifling through debris singular dolorous missive remained black, blackened stamp affixed Queen; bold posed serene majestic accusation of felony women resolutely standing determined to win at all cost knowing their cause to be just Police; judiciously passed letter paper hard evidence remains crime of Amazonian passion for equal birthright fight previously failed by citizen charter Demands; now with surety steadfast knowledge of right while evidentially letter misplaced no trace, perhaps filed far from sight missing until century later Replaced; reposted to hide shame embarrassed after decades discovered finally now to reach destination where once lonely widow had lived waiting news from her boy soldier Posted; while on short leave hasty message away from colonial war “Mam, I’ve got 10 shillings, am doing well... Love you, may God keep you well” her soul never gladdened at receipt Return; she awaited for son in vain missing in action on battle torn field laid to rest where he fell in foreign soil neither no wiser concerning his letter lost telling love for his Mam. <<< Read more John Beal
Lost Opportunity - Terez Nagy
I landed in the box I wasn’t alone The soft pillow of letters Cushioned my fall. I was destined for someone’s heart A bearer of news I hastened my step with glee in my heart. I needed this letter to reach my love Space time and distance Had kept us apart. I earnt a living now Such news to delight Maybe I would be seen in a different light? Fit for a husband for my bride I couldn’t get all the things on the list I hope this isn’t viewed as being remiss ---------- Time went by, no news was heard I was concerned, how absurd Not a note not a word Had my demands been too much I had tried to limit my requests I’m sure they weren’t too onerous Days and weeks turned into years No response Lots of tears I felt neglected Hidden from sight A missing letter That caused such plight If only I had foresight The consequences of this Changed the lives for those involved Worlds apart Feelings denied Maybe one day It would all come to light Harmony connection to reunite <<< Read more Terez Nagy
Missing - Val Bowen
So disappointed you have not written Especially as it’s Christmas Mother says a young lady should not chase But I’m concerned you thought me forward Asking a favour. Anyway I did get a pair But it wouldn’t be right to write so I won’t. John said he saw you in London last week Looking flustered, that you changed the subject When he mentioned me. Have I done something To offend you? Mother says young men aren’t to be trusted. I told her you’ve probably Been under the weather and will write soon After some thought I wonder, was it the expense That put you off? I would have paid you back Of course, but you knew that didn’t you? I thought we’d agreed but perhaps not Mother says your family are badly off I wish I could write and I miss you a lot. Mother says the post is delivered without mishap to the farthest flung reaches of the Empire so why would I ever imagine that the Royal Mail had failed In its duty to me in Swansea, and at sixteen I must not be prey to flights of childish fantasy. I’m sure time will prove her wrong then I’ll write. <<< Read more Val Bowen
Train Ride To The Seaside - Amanda Samm
Ewart I’d booked the train much earlier Before we’d even met I couldn’t get another ticket Now she won’t let me forget. I would have given anything To have her hold my hand But I sent a jolly postcard And I hoped she’d understand Lydia He said he sent a postcard That I never got to see I don’t think I can forgive him For going without me Ewart What happened to the postcard I guess we’ll never know But when I got back home She just told me I must go She simply won’t believe That I went there on my own She thinks I took another girl And left her all alone Lydia I know he likes Miss Gilbert And I wouldn’t be surprised If he got HER the extra ticket And took her for the ride Cos I didn’t see Miss Gilbert All the time he was away And well - I don’t believe him And that’s all I’ve got to say! Ewart I went to see miss Gilbert Cos Lydia was so pained And won’t believe my reason Even though I have explained But it seems that I have simply Added fuel to her fire by speaking to Miss Gilbert And now she’s calling me a Liar! I don’t know why I bother I like them both, you see And next time I get tickets I said I would get three But Lydia wasn’t happy, Says she wishes I was dead! So next time I buy tickets I’ll take Miss Gilbert out instead. <<< Read More Amanda Samm
The Challenge - Paul Dyson
After Edwin Henry Landseer
There’s a tear in your eye (or was it soot) as my train departs from Fishguard. I was saddened too my body aches for your warmth Lydia. As I travel through many stations I see the ghost of you on every platform, waving your lace handkerchief. My ticket home to you - held next to my heart. A Swansea family share my 3rd class compartment. He reads the morning press – the tobacco note reminds of your father. How is the shop – I do hope you are allowed rest on the sabbath. Are you saving your allowance for our child? I too can not wait to be a family Lydia. I attended the pavilion yesterday the music society played Jazz Suite number 2. Do you remember the waltz we enjoyed in free-time? I will be holding you in my arms again soon my love we will be forever together. I am so missing you. I do remain careful with my pocket money, I budget well with no luxuries just a quarter ounce of shag for Grandad. You understand, don’t you darling. I am sorry I can not pick up a pair, Landseer is an unknown artist to the tobacconist and to most of Pembroke it would seem. I do have a book for you sadly too heavy to mail. But I read it nightly I keep it under my pillow it brings you into my room Lydia. I hope your parents enjoy the postcard I know he is a favourite of you father. I’ve seen the painting in the salon at Cradock Street next to the portrait of the King. Please pass on my best wishes to all. Darling, steam off the ha’penny stamp my love, I have written words beneath, words for you words that only you and only you can ever read. <<< Read More Paul Dyson
A Postcard From The Past - Mike O’Brien
That old postcard The postman dropped it through my letterbox one Friday morning It was the right house But it was hundred or more years too late On the front “A VIEW OF THE PUBLIC PLEASURE GARDENS - ST EDWINS” On the reverse A green Edward VII halfpenny stamp And a message which could almost have been to me My initial was there in faded blue ink Dear M, I’m having a glorious time up here The people are friendly The food is delicious And the climate is most pleasant I wish that you were here You would love it. Maybe one day we shall be here together All my love, J <<< Read more Mike O'Brien
The Postcard - Ian Parks
The postcard came a century too late. Ewart is sorry that he won't be coming home but he can't afford the train fare so this scribbled note will have to do. And what is worse he can't pick up a pair. A pair of what we'll never know. The Christmas bells are ringing and the sheer Edwardian snow is falling as he writes. Lost in the system the postcard circulates through two world wars and the silences between. Then, in the sorting office it slips out from the slot - the copperplate and yellowness enough for it to be conspicuous on the workplace floor. It's much too late for Lydia who's been dead for eighty years - but not too late for us. And who can bear to feel themselves forgot? <<< Read more Ian Parks
Mail - Geoff Lowery
Met in a queue, that the Yanks call a line, Lola and Robbie, a Disney good time, Scouser, twelve-year-old, he a year older, red hair meets freckled red neck, from Boulder. 1992, she hasn't a clue. Approaching the ride, he says, “Here’s my card”, what’s an e mail, too embarrassed to ask, “Write to me,” He says, now red in the face. A week later, Lola buys a post card, no laptop, no phone, what do I do? She writes Robbie’s e mail as the address, “When you get this, write. Lovely to meet you.” Rolled up the card, put it in a bottle, her father’s empty Shanky’s Whip Whiskey, threw it in the Mersey, off the ferry, two weeks later, Robbie was history. 22 years later, a Great White Shark running amok off Tallahassee bay, men on the ‘Jonah’, caught it, rod and line, twenty two footer, had swam its last day. Fish Research Station dissected the beast, fourteen live young, and a Whiskey bottle, scientist thought, well, I’ll read it at least, he saw the date, I’ll contact this Robbie. In Chicago, Robbie checked his e mail, astonished at the bottle's ocean trail. He writes to Lola, there’s nothing to lose, the girl he had forgotten, with red shoes. Lola, now divorced in a cruel way, found her infertile, so he wouldn’t stay. An air mail letter, from the U.S.A. “Well blow me down.” Stunned, but It made her day. She e-mailed Robbie as fast as she could. He was flying to London in a month, a business trip, asked to meet, if she would. This is crazy, but it felt a triumph. They e mailed, then phoned, all was going well, she now couldn’t wait, if all was to tell. They met under the clock at Waterloo, went straight to the pub, the Black Stallion. Robbie carried a box under his arm, he was good looking, and full of charm. A couple of pints, she opened the gift, the old Whiskey bottle, but with a twist. A post card, but with Robbie’s handwriting, “I’m sending out an S.O.S.” he sang, She read the note, downed her Guinness in one. “Will you marry me?” Lola’s pause was long. <<< Read More Geoff Lowery
Germany 1943 - Lesley Merrin
The inspiration for this was postcards my dad sent for my mum when he was a prisoner of war in Germany. He was only allowed a card and they were written in pencil. She kept them all her life. He had to be careful what he wrote as they were all censored.
My dearest Ivy, It has been so long since I heard from you. I know you write regularly because I hear nothing for weeks and then get several letters together. The thought of you keeps me going in this hideous place. It is just about bearable for us, the Brits, but they treat the Russians terribly and it is awful to watch. I hear you went to see mam, I’m so glad you did. What did you think of her? I dream of getting back home and we can make plans for our wedding, it cannot be too long before we are home again and that is keeping me sane. I can’t imagine life being the same after this. Sorry, this is short, but this card is all we are allowed to have. We feel lucky that we can stay in touch. Keep writing my darling, All my love sweetheart, George xx <<< Read more Lesley Merrin
Gibts Nicht - Alex Oliver
The Earl of Beaconsfield hosted exchanges Christmas '73 And this circling silver glint follows every note I've played Accompanied by two hurts neither of which fixed the other but still bleed and plead our innocence 'Gibts Nicht' said the crayon on the letter I had sent my heart, hopes and dreams returned And how was I to know that seven is crossed, not one And crawling out of poverty I had the coin to phone but not the wherewithall for dialling codes So you rang it for me Your friendship meant to be my rescue and refuge in the ever more My 'Gibts Nicht' crooned my silver-giver translated She said she'd rather be friends and I said I'd rather be friends and none of us are together any more except in reflected starshine where apparently blokes wear wedding bands.. <<< Read More Alex Oliver
Postscript
Information about and photographs of Lydia and Ewart and their descendants can be found in a follow up article on BBC News.
It's been fascinating to read over other people's submissions again; amusing even as to where our minds took the subject (two turtle doves btw; or was it two tickets so he had to go alone....). The whole (original) thing reminded me of Hardy, with missed notes, messages not received and circumstantial confusion resulting in such significant consequences.
It also underlines what interviewee Rebecca Cook mentioned recently to me; that once we've given a piece to others, it becomes what they interpret it as. What we've all done illustrates that. What Lydia would have made of it we can only surmise.
I think we all enjoyed our special guest, thank you for coming - and thanks to Mike O'Brien for introducing her - I suppose the word is curating this. Whilst the wonderful Figtree is like a classical arts movement, the 60Odd is like the street version, along with others, all a part of this multifaceted thing that Ian Parks describes as a new era in Northern Poetry. By 'eck:)
Thank you Sarah. What a fascinating selection of responses...a good way to accompany ones Sunday morning coffee.
One Love