The Dying Art of Letter Writing

What is it to receive a hand written letter?  It’s a rarity!  More so it is a greater rarity to write one.  And in the wake of letter writing is a great void followed then by a crowd of various electronic modes of communication.  We can text, email, use social media, blog; the list goes on and more variances are born year by year. 

It’s just as well I checked what I had written then. My electronic device does so much for me.  It reckons we can text, email, use social media, blog and the lust goes on.  But it has a point!  I think that our need to communicate, which used to be confined to letter writing, has been translated into the great diverse means we now have via the Internet.  It intrigues me that the need to communicate and write is such a force to be reckoned with that it is no longer just confined to letter writing, or readership to those who received the letters.  But something has been lost too – letters are a lovely record.

I look forward to the time when I can sit down and digest a decade worth of weekly letters my parents wrote to my grandparents. I have them sitting stored in a box waiting for me; waiting for when I have the time and focus to lose myself in them.

But now, in true 21st century style, I shall write a letter about our last few weeks as a family, for whoever cares to read it.  I don’t want the art to die away completely!

Dear Reader,

Easter has been and gone and surprised us all by coming and going with snow.  It was quite the best snow of the year making wonderful sledging, igloo building and snow tunneling possible; but it was the most frustrating snow of the year too!  It had us using stinky, dirty, coal as we’d run out of wood and sent us to bed at nine o’clock under the electric blanket as the warmest place: Unexpected hibernation in spring. 

Good Friday was just that, a very good day.  We went in search of warmer climes and found them on the Isle of Anglesey. We did a little exploration of the island and called it our “Lighthouse Tour”.  We climbed the 1,190 steps in total at South Stack, marvelled at the views from the lighthouse and wondered at the 72 men who built it in such a hostile place in 7 months. 

Having driven the breadth of the barren side of the island first we journeyed on round the more familiarly Welsh looking landscape to Penmon Point.  The spectacular snow covered Carneddau blew cold kisses across the water to us but we only stayed long enough by the lighthouse to listen to the bell ring and admire Puffin Island.  Penmon Priory offered us greater hospitality in its sheltered spot and we lingered awhile exploring the ancient place of pilgrims.  While we were there, two cars came zooming down the little lane at break neck speed and frightened us back from the verge with their demanding “get-out-the-way” beeps of their horns.  Dust and small stones scattered everywhere as they skidded to a halt by the toll.  Five minutes later, when we were inside, we heard tell-tale sirens passing by that hinted at something sinister going on, on that rural cul-de-sac.

On Easter Saturday, at the invitation of the Bishop, we attended the Easter Vigil in St Asaph Cathedral.  It’s not something we were previously familiar with but I found it fascinating in it’s pageantry, symbolism and significance but also frustrating its limitations of expression.  However, it put us in a great frame of mind for the incredible Easter celebration on Sunday morning – quite the best I can remember. 

All our children, after some family Bible study and prayer, have decided they would all like to be baptised.  Our original intention had been to take them up into the mountains on Easter Sunday and baptise them in a mountain stream but the snow said “No!”.  So we’re waiting for slightly warmer weather and were sad that they didn’t get to celebrate Easter with such an amazing act of obedience, faith and personal declaration of Christ’s resurrection.  Lots of important and significant things in the diary have been cancelled on account of the snow this year, but each time they have been rescheduled to a better time.  So we trust the same with the children’s baptisms!

But as all good letters need to end, so this ends with a declaration that I need to get on with other things and will write again shortly.  I’ve only told of a few days.  I have lots more to say!

Sending lots of love…

About deerfeet

I am a home-educating mother of four children. We live on a small holding in Wales and my husband is active in local politics and the lead pastor of our church, Festival Church.
This entry was posted in Church Life, Family Life, Rural Wales, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to The Dying Art of Letter Writing

  1. It’s not a true Emily letter unless at least one paragraph starts with ‘Anyway’ ….

  2. Anny Lomax says:

    Thanks Emily, lovely as always!
    I’m reading a book a friend has lent me at the moment which is all letters written back and forth to various people. It is beautiful. If you haven’t read it try to get hold of it: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society.
    Anny xx

  3. Phil says:

    I don’t think I have written a letter since I left school, to a pen pal… Hah! Good to hear that the children are ready to be baptised.

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