January 10th 1961

January 10th 1961


My dear Alan,

Perhaps this will be third time lucky, I’ve already torn up two sheets of paper.  I know what I want to say but I don’t know how to put it.  So, I’ve decided to write just what I’m thinking and I’m sure you must have found out by now that I think in a pretty strange way.  So, be prepared for some odd letters.

Last night I decided not to write until I had heard from you.  I don’t know why, to be sure of you I suppose.  But I have been feeling so rotten all day and I’ve been sitting here thinking of you for ages now.  I thought to write might make you seem a bit closer.

Today has simply dragged, it was awful.  I didn’t feel one bit like working.  As soon as I got into work this morning the girls asked me how yesterday went.  I got some pretty rude comments as well, from the few girls who have had to go through the same thing.

I had been watching the clock all morning and then at 11.10 some bright spark suggested a two-minute silence to send you on your way.  That just about finished me, I think.

You passed pretty high in the girls’ opinions, which pleased me a lot.  Not that it makes any difference of course, but every girl likes to be envied. (I can see your head swelling from here.)  I’ve got a confession to make – I showed them that photograph.  I’m ever so sorry but they asked me if I had one and when I said yes there was no holding them back.  If I hadn’t got it out I would have been clobbered.  Anyway, I can’t see anything wrong with it.

One girl asked if she could be bridesmaid.  When I asked why, she said the way I was carrying on it seemed pretty obvious.  They must employ mind readers at the Bank because I haven’t said a word about engagements or anything.

My mother was as close to tears as I was when you left last night.  She kept saying, ‘the poor thing, having to go all that way.’  You have certainly made a hit there!  And my dad was laughing and said, ‘where did he take the lock of hair from?’ Cheek!

Seven months is roughly 28 weeks, 2 letters a week, that means 56 letters to tie up in blue ribbon and keep for ever more.

Isn’t it awful? I’m missing you already.

All my love my darling.

From Maureen

Letters from Maureen Week 1: 10th - 15th January 1961

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