letter from an english friend

Jamesy

About 20 years ago, my favourite uncle died – my Dad's older brother, Os.   I loved Os very much: he was a  gentle, quiet (almost silent) man -  a carpenter who had left school when he was about 12.  I loved him and he, without ever saying it, loved me.

Shortly after he died, his 'spirit' – something – he - came to me.   It wasn't a dream;  it wasn't an imagining.  Os came to me one night and smiled.  He led his long-since dead wife forward and said, "Look, here's your Auntie Ethel".  Then he looked sheepish, lost for words, and they left.  All the bond that I'd feared (foolishly – faithless bitch I am) death might break – it  was there again.

 

I have no doubt whatsoever that my Uncle Os is with God and that I will see him again.   It will be a fairly taciturn reunion – but I know that it will happen.  I'm a pretty hard-headed old girl, James, but I'm with Frances on this one.

I know.  Apart from seeing Uncle Os again, I don't know how or why I know, but I do.  (To be honest, I always have known.)

And now, because we have this certainty, we must laugh and use our lives well – oh, and also behave as kindly and respectfully as we can manage.  (It's not just God who has His eye on me – it's Uncle Os!)

Think on, young Jamesy, think on …

Love and prayers and – it is so good to be back in touch.  Now, are you sure you wouldn't like to visit?  I could ferry you through the howling gales and lashing rain.  Don't know how, quite, but we do have a fine quality of muddy slush.  English bog, dontcha' know?

Xxx

PS  Do leave those Russian beauties alone – you don't know where they've been.  (Apart from Russia, obviously.)