Writing for Fun
March 2018
Mystery - Jan Norman
I twirled this way and that to see every angle of myself in my vintage 1940’s outfit; calf length tea dress with leg of mutton sleeves, seamed stockings and heeled Mary Jane style shoes. I had even managed to style my hair with bangs at the side copying faithfully a photo of my Grandmother taken in 1946 when she was in her twenties. All that was lacking was a handbag of that era.
With my forty second birthday looming I was looking forward to my husband’s present to me: a weekend at the Vintage Nostalgia Festival in Wiltshire. This celebration of vintage cars was also a chance for people to dress up in period clothes of their choice. It was a one off chance for me to indulge in my love of the Roaring 1940’s that to me was an exciting and dangerous decade more suited to my temperament than today’s high tech world.
A ring of the doorbell sent me hot foot to the front door. Could it be? Yes it was, a parcel from ebay seller, Jane Watson. What timing!
With trembling fingers I unwrapped the parcel and there it was amidst layers of tissue paper – a genuine 1940’s clutch handbag of snakeskin. I ran my hand across the surface feeling the patina of the passage of seventy odd years.
Although lovingly preserved the wrist strap was softened and shiny with age and slightly scuffed but overall the bag showed little wear. I opened the flap and found, to my delight, a message from the seller Jane wishing me joy of the use of it and saying that this bag had been her Grandmother’s. Although loath to sell it, she felt now was the time to part with it as her Grandfather had just passed away and with the death of a generation felt it was time to tissue wrap ancient memories and move on. A new generation needed her time now.
Inside, the beige silk lining showed more wear than the outside. Seams were giving way a little. Tugging open the side pocket I felt the fabric give. Horrified I bent closer to see the damage when I caught a glimpse of what looked like a thin folded piece of light blue paper hidden behind the lining. Holding my breath I gingerly plucked at the edge and pulled out an air mail letter.
Carefully unfolding it I was amazed to see it was dated January, 1946 and addressed to Mrs Florrie Ross of Grays, Essex from a guy in New York called Tony Dittadi.
It was a love letter, no question about it but it also revealed that he had included a ticket for a transatlantic passage on a Cunard liner to bring her to him when, after her divorce, they would marry.
Had she gone? If so why would she leave this love letter or handbag for that matter?
Intrigued I carefully enlarged the tear to find another piece of paper; the Cunard ticket. Why had she not used it?
Sensing a deep mystery I felt her Granddaughter ought to know of my discovery. I rushed to my computer and dashed off an e-mail to Jane.
After what seemed an age I got a reply.
It turned out that all Jane knew was that her Grandmother had died giving birth to her Mother. Her Grandfather had been very close lipped about the whole affair. Everyone assumed his reticence was due to grief but was it because he knew of his wife’s affair with a GI?