The letters

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When I was due to leave Jamaica, my father told me to write to him.  He said I should promise him that I would write.  He kept reminding me of his address, “lock that in your mind, Honey” he said.  I would have to memories his address without pen or paper to make sure I remembered.  We played the game all the time my father and I.

Naturally I did write as soon as I reached England.  I use to just put it in the book like I saw others do; at seven years old, what I didn’t know was I needed a stamp to send the letters so naturally I did not get a reply.

Then I did something silly I asked mummy to send my letters. She would take them from me every time, but my father still never wrote back. He had broken his promise.

I continued writing these letters to my father, over the years.  They always started the same way.

DEAR FATHER, PLEASE COME FOR ME, I MISS YOU. I HATE MY MUMMY AND SHE HATES ME, FATHER COME FOR ME QUICKLY. LOVE HONEY.  (My nickname) , but he still never replied.  I was very sad. I had lost the only somebody that loved me. After a while and by the time I was nine years old, I had stopped writing and the memories of my father was fading.


One day I was at home alone, and the door knocked. It was the postman. “Letter for you” he said.  It was a letter from my father. Oh my, I almost dropped on the floor.  It was now four years since I heard from him.  I ran to my room and carefully opened the letter.  It was a blue letter, and it was in his handwriting.  It started “my dear daughter Honey, Have you forgotten me?

I traced the letters with my hand and I cried, I smelt the letter to see if I could smell my father.  I knew he was far away on a plane ride, but I didn’t know that Jamaica would be so far away. I was too young to understand.

I re-read  the words “have you forgotten me”

“I could never forget my father” , I thought.

“What did he mean?”

then it dawned on me, maybe, mummy never sent my letters.  I quickly read the rest of the  letter. He was telling me about Jamaica and how he missed me.  I was his last child and his baby.   I felt loved again. My father had no idea how I was suffering. He said he wanted me to be a nurse, and he said he hoped I was happy, because England was a land of opportunities.  How wrong he was.

After I read my fathers letter, I hid it in my room. It was now my prized possession. I then started to search everywhere for my other letters.  After a while I saw them.  Neatly tucked away, my mummy had kept my letters.  Although not all of them was there,image

I knew that I needed to tell my father quickly that I had not forgotten him after all. I needed him to know I would always love him.

 


 

I grabbed a piece of paper and I started to write.  Dear Father, sorry I didn’t receive your letters. I have always written to you, maybe they got lost, I  love you father and I miss you.  I’m being a good girl father and I am happy. ……..

I remember these words like yesterday. I didn’t tell my father how I was treated. This was for two reasons. I didn’t want him to tell my mummy. This was because I now lacked trust. Also because I didn’t want my father to worry.  Oh I loved my father.

When I finished my letter, I ran to the post office, I had seen my mummy go to the post office and give a letter. The post master said it would cost me money, he also said it could not be sent like that.  I started to cry, I need to write to my father I said.  The postmaster told me how to send my letter. He said it needed to go via airmail, and showed me one.  I ran back home and search my mummy’s room.  I knew she had some airmail envelopes. I’ve seen them.

There were many airmail letters in her drawer so I took a few.  I quickly rewrote my letter and ran back to the post office with money I stole from my mums room.

I needed to send the letter before mummy came back.  The postmaster took my letter this time.  I was happy for a brief moment.  I recall smiling all the way home. Then a few weeks later, guess what? my father wrote back.  From that moment on, I use to wait outside everyday for my letters.  After a while the postman knew it was from my father.

I continued communicating occasionally, whenever I could find money for the airmail envelope and stamp, with my father until I ran away from home the last time.

 

 

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4 Responses to The letters

  1. Riruro says:

    Reading this I wanted to stretch my hand like the one in the lottery commercial, and grab every single letter from the very 1st one and send it to Jamaica. I was screaming inside. The one person to ever help to ever want to protect. Oh my heart 😦 I hate the word ‘If’ and especially used with another..’If only’
    How did I jump to August… ???? clicked on a blinking picture in March!! My heart is thumping to go back to March now…
    Lesson 1: When reading this life story, look but don’t touch the pictures… no wonder our parents drummed that in us when we were little- if you touch it may break! xxx 😉
    Beverly…good for you to suss out as a small kid how to post eventually. You Star xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    • Beverley says:

      Hi, Thank you so much for reading. The blog, I had to smile at the comments. It’s is quite true, what we are taught as children has a lasting effect. :). Yes look but don’t touch, is one of them. God bless x

      Like

  2. Beverley says:

    You know, what Trisha, I think everyone was right. Although difficult at times, I feel as if I’m laying the past to rest. For the first time I don’t feel as ashame. ” I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me. Thank you for taking time out for me…

    Like

  3. trishamugo says:

    This piece really moved me. I mourned for that little girl. I’m sorry you went through all of this. I hope you’ve found healing. I hope writing through this brings healing.

    Like

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