It’s not quite the anniversary of this (fake) love letter to my grandmother, but it’s close enough that I can’t resist sharing it. It was sent to her (at her home address in Birmingham) in April 1934, towards the end of her first year in Oxford – perhaps during the Easter holidays. I suspect that its author may have been Janet Millar (later Henderson) – Elizabeth’s best-friend from her schooldays (and known to my grandmother as “Blobs” throughout her life). Janet was from Glasgow (from where the letter is postmarked) – though I have no idea about Gallow Hill in Lanarkshire, Janet’s visit to which my grandmother was clearly meant to be envious about/impressed by!
Anyway, I think it’s wonderful – and too good to languish in obscurity any longer (transcript below).
Tears gushed forth with gratitude on receipt of your amourous epistle. To read the flow of your sweet pen was more than my manly spirit could endure. My life is made up of pining for your love, and when absent, my heart groans for you. (It needs oiling.) No one on earth can suffice but you, sweet one, and so if you have any conscience do not let us remain parted for one hour, minute or even, yea even one second, more than need be. Cupid has wounded me sorely, and has shot with such vim, (do not apply dry) that I cannot extract the missile. (Shame!) I sincerely hope that he has done likewise to you, heart’s desire, and has wounded so sore that ____ [och! away and buy a bottle of iodine! semicolon;] and if he has so treated you (semi-conscious) let me have evidence of his deed. I am longing for a glimpse of your sweet physiog, and here’s to it (and I’m drinking it myself)
Buckets of kisses, etc etc.
Yours ever more.
Hope you like the notepaper and I hope you’re burning with jealousy.