Dear Albert,
Just a short line to set your mind at rest and tell you I’m getting on all right in this new home, The other guests are really quite friendly, especially Dot & Agnes, And, yes, I musn’t forget Godfrey - he’s a real sweetie. Does up my shoelaces for me,
Stop worrying, I’m getting along fine,
Love, Florence,



Dear Florence,
Thanks for your letter, it certainly set my mind at rest. After I left you, I don’t mind telling you, I cried, I literally cried to see you sitting in that bedroom all on your own, looking like a lost soul. You were sure that all the others would be off their rocker, as you put it, so I bet you’re pretty pleased to be wrong on that score! I’ll visit you when the job allows,
Everything you wish yourself,
Albert.
ps Your handwriting seems to be getting worse, I suggest you use block capitals next time you write.



Dear Albert,
I’ll start this letter the way I mean to continue it. I was rather upset by your attitude when you last wrote. Pretending all was hunky-dory. Well, I can tell you, I’m very sad. Dot has left (here one day, gone the next, without even a bye or leave). Agnes is always in her room, whatever’s going on downstairs. The lady-who-does says she’ll be surprised to see her up and about ever again! Godfrey’s not talking to me, ever since I said I didn’t like men because of the skidmarks on their long Johns. And, Albert, the food’s gone right down the drain in the last few weeks, ever since the new management came in. Can’t you spare the time to come and see me for a weekend? Older brothers are meant to look after their sisters, I always thought. If mum were still alive, I’m sure she’d make you come,
I still love you,
Florence.



Dear Florence,
It took me a long time to read your last letter, I’m sorry to have to say this, ducks, but your writing’s really gone to cock now, I can only Just manage to make out every three words, even with my best glasses.
Joe’s busy. I’m off up north next week, on a new campaign. Wish me luck. Glad to see that the home’s still up to scratch,
Your endearing brother,
Albert.



Dear Albert,
I’ve had no letter from you. Have you forgotten the address? There’s yet another firm running the place now. They look foreign. Agnes is up and about again, I told that lady-who-does (who hates the new bosses as much as us guests) that Agnes would get better. But Agnes is much thinner. I joked about her and the toasting fork, only yesterday, Godfrey’s come creeping back to me, ever since Pauline talked him off his trolley (Pauline attached herself to him since, you can tell, she likes sitting next to men at the dining-table, giving her a status, I reckon she must feel). I have to undo my shoe-laces, just so that he can do them up again! His back’s playing him merry hell, the poor dear. Pity there’re not more men in places like this. But they say they die earlier than us women, because they work harder. Tell me another one, do! Mr Roper has just come in the guests’ lounge, Funny, it’s an English sounding name, but he has a twang in his speech. He says we’ve got to do without the telly while it’s being mended. Can’t remember the last time you visited me, Albert, Love to Maude.
All my love,
Florence


Dear Albert,
Mr Roper says the telly will have to stay away a long time getting mended and, because of the war, we’ll have to ration out the food and the electricity even more sparingly. Is there a war going on? I thought the last one would be enough to stop anyone wanting another one, wouldn’t you? I expect those noises in the back garden we hear at night (those of us who can hear!) are something to do with it. Building air raid shelters or something. Mr Roper says we may have to live out there soon. Godfrey’s missing, presumably dead. I pity any undertaker cleaning up his body! Agnes is a real scream,
See you soon, Florence.



Dear Florence,
Haven’t heard from you recently. Are you sure you address the envelopes clearly enough? The postman always shrugs when I ask him if he’s seen any of your missives hanging about the sorting room.
Anyway, I’m sure you must be doing OK, or I would have heard something. I will definitely be down to see you in a few weeks, now the job’s in its off season.
By the way, Maude’s been dicky recently but she sends her love,
Affectionately, Albert.



Dear Florence,
I’m a bearer of some really terrible news. Maude passed over last night. It was all so sudden. The priest arrived too late to give the last rites. I don’t expect you’ll be able to come to the funeral and I’m going to be a bit pushed myself, now the job’s picking up again. But I promised her a good send-off. She’s my sister as well as yours, when all’s said and done,
Keep yourself in good nick, Florence, your ever-loving brother, Albert.



Dear Albert,
My eyesight is now so shocking, I can’t make head nor tail of your letters. They’re just words to me.
Mr Roper’s been replaced by a nice lady who used to be a district nurse, though I’m sure I’ve met her before, somewhere. We’ve had workmen here all day, dismantling something in the garden. They shake their heads and mutter something being worse than the bloody French revolution (excuse my French!)
Agnes says she’s going back to live with her relations in Kidderminster. She’s lost so much weight, they now feel they’ve got enough room for her. Makes sense, I suppose.
I hope Maude is well. Pauline’s my best pal now that there’s not even a sniff of a man in the whole place.
The food’s looking up, too. We get proper plates now and more than just a few nameless lumps pretending to be spuds. No wonder, Agnes is nothing but a garden rake with crumbs on its teeth.
The telly’s coming back tomorrow, they say, but I’ve lost track of all my programmes and it’ll be the devil’s own job to catch up on all the gossip. Don’t think I’ll bother watching it. Might pick up on the snooker, though. All those nice young men. It’s so good in colour. Hope to see you before Christmas. Bring Maude with you,
Love, Florence.



Dear Albert,
Pauline says they’re going to close the place down, because it doesn’t pay. I might have to come back to live with you again. It’ll be like old times. I’m not so active as I once was, so don’t expect me to be the life and soul of the party. I’ll help where I can. I know how busy your job keeps you, Albert. If I can get the right glasses, I may be able to do some of the paperwork for your job. Bugger my eyes (excuse my French!) but they’ll be the death of me.
A new male guest has arrived. He has his eyes all over Pauline. She keeps hiding his pipes, and laughing all over her face. I reckon she’s slowly going round the bend.
Oh, by the way, Albert, thank Maude for her nice letter. It sure did buck me up,
Love and flowers, Florence.



Dear Mrs Tidy,
Thank you for taking the trouble to inform me of the sad news. Reading between the lines, I’m sure you must have been very kind to Florence in her last days. She and I were always very close, but my legs are not what they were and I can’t make it down to attend the funeral. I’ve pinned a small cheque to this letter for a few flowers. It’s not so much as I would have wished but, unfortunately, I’ve recently lost my job. I hope the authorities see to her things properly. I only wish there was more of us family to care,
Yours sincerely, Albert Rack.



Dear Mr Rack,
I return your cheque as you did not fill it in. Miss Rack was one of our favourite guests at Homeleigh, so we shall miss her dearly. I’m afraid I can’t answer your letter properly, as we could only make out very fifth word. Incidentally, I’m bewildered at how the letter got here at all, with next to no address on the envelope. Perhaps you’ve got friends in high places at the post office!
Pauline Wakelock, whom Miss Rack may have mentioned to you, I’m pleased to report, put up the money for the whole affair. I believe she is a rich widow. It was a very nice service, so you have no need to worry, if indeed you were worried.
I attach a memento of Miss Rack. She told me she wanted you to have it. There’s something included for your sister Maude, too. By the way, if you are looking for a good home, in the autumn of your years, Mr Rack, our rates are reasonable, the grounds picturesque, the area select and entirely under new management since that minor scandal last year. (It was exaggerated anyway and the numbers involved were not nearly so many as the newspapers indicated).
Must go now. Time to frapper le gong de diner (excuse my French!)
Yours sincerely,
Agnes Tidy,
ps, I attach a photograph of myself in the garden. Some people call me the lady-who-does.


(published 'Sepia' 1991)