My Dear Little Tom
a tale of paper kisses
Uncle Tom and his sister Sylvia (my mum) off to Sunday School in Chatteris (in the Cambridgeshire fens) under the watchful eye of my grandma who can just be seen in the bay window. Early 1930s.
Hello, and welcome to the chance discovery that has become the subject of today’s Between the Moons offering!
When I helped to clear my mum’s house in 2023, among the few things I took home with me was a wonderful postcard album dating from very early in the 20th century. This album had clearly belonged to a Lily Beard who lived in Willesden in London as most of the cards were addressed to her, while others were addressed to both Lily and her sister Ruby.
I don’t know who Lily and Ruby were, or how they may be related to me. I have a feeling that they came from my mum’s maternal side of the family, but I don’t know for sure. Also, beautiful and intriguing as these cards are, I’ve never gone through the album properly. Its paper pages are disintegrating, and they rip even more when you try to take out one of the cards to read the message on the back.
One day, I thought, I’ll take the time to get some of those clear sleeves and put the postcards into some sort of box, so that both the fronts and backs are visible. That day has not yet happened.
Postcards seem to have been sent in preference to folded cards in envelopes, and not only during the First World War (this one is dated 25 May 1916) but before and after it as well.
When we think of postcards today we tend to think of them as something you might send while on holiday, or perhaps bring home as the most affordable memento of an exhibition. Very few of the dozens of cards in this album fall into either of these categories, as the vast majority were sent either as birthday or Christmas cards. I noticed that even a birthday postcard from Lily’s parents - postmarked from, and addressed to, Willesden - had been sent through the post. But then, a stamp cost only a halfpenny so it was probably quite affordable for most people. I imagine that the sound of a shower of postcards landing on the hall doormat must have been an essential part of the birthday magic.
This week, I moved the album to look for something else and a card fell out, catching my eye. I expected it to be for Lily, but instead it was addressed to my mum’s brother, Uncle Tom, in a hospital ward at Addenbrookes Hospital in Cambridge. Opening the album towards the back, I found a whole sheaf of postcards that had been sent to Uncle Tom, lovingly curated and kept since 1929. Do you keep all your greetings cards? I must admit I don’t, but here - as a salutary lesson - we had not only a historical document but a story almost 100 years old.