I find Dad’s love letters

When I saw mum in the hospital and she looked like she was at death’s door, a lot of thoughts flashed through my mind. As, amazingly, she now seems to be on the road to recovery, I’ve been unpicking those thoughts. The first one was: She can’t die yet! I haven’t cleared out the house. It’s too untidy for me to invite people for a funeral!

When I moved down here, my stuff was stored in the garage. When mum moved into the Care Home, I moved my things out of the garage but I couldn’t put them away. To do that, I needed to make space, which meant clearing out mum’s drawers and cupboards. But I didn’t feel I could do that while there was any possibility she might return to live in the house. And of course, I had my surgery, developed the problems with walking etc etc so I didn’t have the energy, the physical strength – or the sense of psychological permission to get on with clearing out the place.

However, things have changed and one of my new year resolutions was to make a start on this task of de-clutterng. I began with mum’s bedside cabinet. The top drawer was full of documents: some from banks, some from hospitals, some possibly important, some probably not. Some went into a pending pile, some in the bin. The second drawer was full of scarves – most of which will go to the charity shop. The lower drawer had a load of old nail varnish (in the bin), old hair rollers (in the bin), some quite nice hair slides which I don’t remember mum ever using but which I might use (in the pile that will be kept) and then, right at the very back of the bottom drawer: a mysterious box, quite old but with a rather nice design on the lid.

I peeked inside: it was full of old letters. I needed my reading glasses before I could explore further so I put them to one side. When I did sit down with them, I saw the envelopes were addressed to my mum in her family name, that is to say – before she was married. My heart skipped a beat. Mum had a fiancé who was lost in the retreat to Dunkirk in 1940. Had she kept his letters secretly all these years? I opened the first one and saw it had been sent from an army camp in Yorkshire. My dad had been stationed in an army camp in Yorkshire. Indeed, he had proposed to mum while they were walking round the roman walls that encircle York. I relaxed. The letters were from Dad.

I skim read a couple, not really wanting to pry and yet curious. I was a little surprised because Dad always said he wasn’t much good at writing. I wondered whether he had asked someone else to write these letters but they seemed too personal, very passionate declarations of love so I thought it unlikely he’d dictated them to someone else. I also realised I’d never really heard his voice. Dad never talked a lot, was a self-professed ‘man of few words’. When I was younger, he and I never really communicated. We tended to have rows about politics – or other things he didn’t agree with concerning the way I was leading my life. It was only in later years we really had anything that could pass as a conversation. I’d certainly never heard him speak like this: fluently, ardently. I looked deeper in the pile. Here the letters were now addressed to my mother as a married woman: his darling wife.

They got married just before the Normandy Landings in 1944. Dad was part of the D-Day force; he had made his way through France, across the bridge at Arnhem and into Belgium. There were no letters from his billet in Brussels – when he stayed with a family with whom we kept in touch with for many years. In fact, I had dinner with them on a visit to Belgium in 1969. And they had told me, my Dad never went out, he only wanted to write letters to his beloved wife. The last letter in the box is from an army camp in England saying he was about to be de-mobbed. That he would be coming home and that this was the last time they would ever be separated.

I got an insight into their relationship. I’ve always known their marriage was a love match but I wasn’t quite prepared for my dad’s ardent outpourings (all very chaste and romantic I’m pleased to add, so I didn’t feel I’d uncovered anything too embarrassing).

But one thing does make me feel uncomfortable: apart from the letters, there was one other thing in the box – a photo of me as a baby. I was the outcome of this outpouring of love! That does feel weird, although I haven’t yet worked out why.

I obviously can’t throw these letters away but how would mum react if I took them to show her? Would she be pleased to see them or cross that I had found them? I haven’t yet made up my mind about that.


The letters


Mum and dad on their wedding day.


Me in my pram!

10 thoughts on “I find Dad’s love letters

  1. What a dashing man your dad was, and how lovely your mum looked! They are so happy with each other. It’s funny how children can’t imagine their parents as young people full of vitality and passion for each other. I am glad you found them and read them. I wonder whether these letters change in any way how you see your mum, or shed a different light on things that might have been said and done in the past.

    Liked by 1 person

    • It’s quite true, it is hard to imagine one’s parents as young and passionate! The letters have indeed shed a new light on a lot of things that happened during my childhood – I’m still digesting exactly what!


  2. What a lovely story! How moving and emotional, to have this record of your parents’ relationship. Would your mother enjoy you reading them to her? As she relates more to the past than the present, maybe so. And you tell the revelation of the letters very sweetly!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. How lovely Polly. Even as adults it can be hard to get a full picture of one’s parents’ relationship.
    Very tricky to know whether your mother would appreciate you mentioning them to her! Perhaps she would be very happy to reminisce about that important time in her life.
    However, in similar-ish circumstances my mother wasn’t at all keen. A couple of years before she died she got a friend of hers to destroy a whole pile of loving and hopeful letters from my father that he had squirrelled away. Mind you they dated from a period before she had committed to him and, we think, was seeing someone else. She regarded them as past history, private and none of her children’s business!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. How very beautiful Polly! If it were me I’d take them to her and simply tell her I’d found them while cleaning and ask her what she’d like to do with them. I should think she’s been remembering her life these days and might well like to see the letters “one last time.” Give her time to think about it if she needs to; maybe suggest to burn them together in a little ceremony with you? If she’s being cremated have them burnt with her? Or buried with her? The photos should go to whoever in your family is keeping the family photo album(s). Absolutely just my opinion. I wish you the very best of luck, whatever you decide.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Funnily enough I did exactly that this afternoon! Told her I’d found them while cleaning. Her face lit up. She knew exactly what I was talking about. I kept them! she said. So I’m going to take them into her next time I go.


  5. How very beautiful Polly.  If it were me I’d take them to her and ask her what she’d like to do with them. I’m sure she’s remembering her life these days and might like to see them “one last time.” If she’s not sure you could gently suggest burning them in a little ceremony with you, or buried with her, or burned with her if she’s to be cremated? The photos should go to whoever is keeping the family album.  Just my opinion of course!  Best of luck with what ever you decide!


  6. I don’t know about the love letters but the photo of your Mom and Dad during their courtship days is really beautiful. We should be thankful to find someone whom we truly love and who will love us back. Your Mom and Dad are so fortunate to have found each other.


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