Text 1: The letter

Text 1

10 Downing Street,

Whitehall

June 27^th, 1940

My Darling,

I hope you will forgive me if I tell you something that I feel you ought to know.

One of the men in your entourage (a devoted friend) has been to me and told me that there is a danger of your being generally disliked by your colleagues and subordinates because of your rough sarcastic and overbearing manner – It seems your Private Secretaries have agreed to behave like school boys and ‘take what’s coming to them’ and then escape out of your presence shrugging their shoulders – Higher up, if an idea is suggested (say at a conference) you are supposed to be so contemptuous that presently no ideas, good or bad, will be forthcoming. I was astonished an upset because in all these years I have been accustomed to all those who have worked with and under you, loving you – I said this and I was told ‘No doubt it’s the strain’ –

My Darling Winston – I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner; and you are not as kind as you used to be.

It is for you to give the Orders and if they are bungled – except for the King, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Speaker, you can sack anyone and everyone – Therefore with this terrific power you must combine urbanity, kindness and if possible Olympic calm. You used to quote:- ‘On ne règne sur les âmes que par le calme’ – I cannot bear that those who serve the Country and yourself should not love as well as admire and respect you –

Besides you won’t get the best results by irascibility and rudeness. They will breed either dislike or a slave mentality – (Rebellion in War time being out of the question!)

Please forgive your loving devoted and watchful Clemmie

I wrote this at Chequers last Sunday, tore it up, but here it is now.

 Text 1: The context of the letter

Text 1: You are not so kind as you used to be

Clementine Churchill to Winston Churchill, June 27^th 1940

It’s difficult to imagine the stress experienced by Winston Churchill in June 1940, just a couple of months after becoming Prime Minister. World War II was gathering pace and it was during this month the Churchill gave three momentous and inspiring speeches to the House of Commons that inspired the nation at such a tense time. Behind the scenes, however, the weight on his shoulders was noticed and felt by all those around him – so much so in fact that on June 27^th his wife, Clementine, wrote him a letter and essentially advised him to calm down and be kind to his staff.

Note: “On ne règne sur les âmes que par le calme” roughly translates as “One can reign over hearts only by keeping one’s composure.”

 Text 2: The letter

Text 2

October 17, 1946

D’Arline,

I adore you, sweetheart.

I know how much you like to hear that – but I don’t only write it because you like it – I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you.

It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote it to you – almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.

But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.

I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead – but I still want to comfort and take care of you – and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you – I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together – or learn Chinese – or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator of all our wild adventures.

When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true – you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else – but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.

I know that you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I – I don’t understand it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone – but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real.

My darling wife, I adore you.

I love my wife. My wife is dead.

Rich.

PS Please excuse me not mailing this – but I don’t know your new address

 Text 2: The context of the letter

Text 2: I love my wife. My wife is dead.

Richard Feynman to Arline Feynman, October 17^th 1946

Richard Feynman was one of the best-known and most influential physicists of his generation. In the 1940s he played a part in the development of the atomic bomb. Apparently a very likeable man, he made countless advances in physics, and was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1965.

In June 1945, his wife and high-school sweetheart, Arline, passed away after succumbing to tuberculosis. She was 25 years old. Sixteen months later, in October 1946, Feynman wrote his late wife a heartbreaking love letter and sealed it in an envelope. It remained unopened until after his death in 1988.

 Text 3: The letter

Text 3: I hear you like tomato soup

Mr. A Warhol

1342 Lexington Avenue

New York, New York

May 19, 1964

Dear Mr. Warhol:

I have followed your career for some time. Your work has evoked a great deal of interest her at Campbell Soup Company for obvious reasons.

At one time I had hoped to be able to acquire one of your Campbell Soup label paintings – but I’m afraid you have gotten much too expensive for me.

I did want to tell you, however, that we admired your work and I have since learned that you like Tomato Soup. I am taking the liberty of having a couple of cases of our Tomato Soup delivered to you at this address.

We wish you continued success and good fortune.

Cordially,

William P. MacFarland, Product Marketing Manager

 Text 3: The context of the letter

Text 3: I hear you like tomato soup

William P. MacFarland to Andy Warhol, May 19^th 1964

As product marketing manager for Campbell’s, William MacFarland must have been overjoyed with the incredible public reaction to Andy Warhol’s first exhibition as a fine artist in 1962. Present at Los Angeles’ Ferus Gallery was Warhol’s now world-famous, unmistakable Campbell’s Soup Cans piece: 32 silk screened portraits, each representing a different variety of the company’s soup product, all arranged in a single line. These works helped bring the Pop art movement to the masses and provoked huge debate in all corners of the art world – all the while holding a certain soup brand in the limelight. In 1964, as Warhol’s star continued to rise, MacFarland decided to show his appreciation to the artist by way of this letter, followed by some complimentary cans of soup.

 Text 4: The letter

Text 4

6005 Camino de la Costa

La, Jolla, Callifornia

Jan. 18^th, 1947

Dear Mr. Weeks:

I’m afraid you’ve thrown me for a loss. I thought “Juju Worship in Hollywood” was a perfectly good title. I don’t see why it has to be linked up with crime and mystery. But you’re the Boss. When I wrote about writers this did not occur to you. I’ve thought of various titles such as Bank Night in Hollywood, Sutter’s Last Stand, The Golden Peepshow, All it Needs is Elephants, The Hot Shop Handicap, Where Vaudeville Went it Died, and rot like that. But nothing that smacks you in the kisser. By the way, would you convey my compliments to the purist who reads your proofs and tell him or her that I write in a sort of broken-down patois which is something like the way a Swiss waiter talks, and that when I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it will stay split, and when I interrupt the velvety smoothness of my more or less literate syntax with a few sudden words of barroom vernacular, this is done with the eyes wide open and the mind relaxed but attentive. The method may not be perfect, but it is all I have. I think your proofreader is kindly attempting to steady me on my feet, but much as I appreciate the solicitude, I am really able to steer a fairly clear course, provided I get both sidewalks and the street between.

If I think of anything, I’ll wire you.

Kindest Regards,

Raymond Chandler

 Text 4: The context of the letter

Text 4: God damn it, I split it so it will stay split

Raymond Chandler to Edward Weeks, January 18^th 1947

In January 1947, renowned novelist Raymond Chandler wrote a letter to the editor of The Atlantic Monthly, Edward Weeks, primarily with regard to the title of a piece he had written for the magazine which was ultimately published the next year, titled “Oscar Night in Hollywood”. It is the latter half of this letter, however, - a wonderfully lyrical message to be passed on by Weeks to the publication’s proofreader – that has since become one of Chandler’s most famous quotes. Indeed, Weeks did pass on the message to a copyeditor named Margaret Mutch.

 Text 5: The letter

Text 5

Gipsy House

Great Missenden

Buckinghamshire

HP16 0BP

10^th February 1989

Dear Amy,

I must write a special letter and thank you for the dream in a bottle. You are the first person in the world who has sent me one of these and it intrigued me very much. I also liked the dream. Tonight I shall go down to the village and blow it through the bedroom window of some sleeping child and see if it works.

With love from,

Roald Dahl

 Text 5: The context of the letter

Text 5: Thank you for the dream

Roald Dahl to Amy Corcoran, February 10^th 1989

One rainy Sunday afternoon in 1989, with encouragement and much-needed help from her father, a seven-year old girl named Amy decided to write to Roald Dahl, one of history’s most successful children’s authors and, most importantly for Amy, the person responsible for writing her favourite book, The BFG – the wonderful, magical story of a Big Friendly Giant who collects nice dreams and then blows them through the window of sleeping children. With that in mind, and using a combination of oil, coloured water and glitter, young Amy sent to Dahl, along with a letter, a very fitting and precious gift: one of her dreams contained in a bottle.

Judging by his response, the sentiment wasn’t lost on Dahl.

 Text 6: The letter

Text 6

My Dears Lou, Mary Lou and family,

I can hardly believe that I am writing to you. This is something that I had longed to do since 21^st December, 1988. When your dear one came to us from the night, it was so unbelievable, haunting and desperately sad. You said that your visit altered the picture for you in many ways; this is just how it was for us too. Frank was a young man with a name but connected to nobody. Now at last we can match him with a loving family. Sometimes I would stop to think as the months went past, “I wonder how his loved ones are coping now, I wonder what they are doing”?

We were told maybe some of the relatives would never come; we were afraid that you’d come and not want to get in touch. I was so thankful that you made the effort to come and ask all the questions you had always wanted to ask. You had at last found someone who could fill in those last hours, that piece that had always remained a mystery. It’s the “not knowing” that can bring so much pain and bewilderment. We all have imaginations that can run riot in us, and I’m sure your dear souls must have had untold agonies wondering and worrying.

It was just wonderful to meet you face-to-face. We needed to talk to you all too. As you said, we will get to know Frank through you. He was never just “another victim” to us. For months we called him “Our Boy.” Then we found out his name. He was “Our Frank.” Please believe me we were deeply affected by his coming to us. We will never forget our feelings seeing him there, a whole-bodied handsome man, the life gone out of him in a twinkling. We were just past trying to grasp the whole thing.

Then to have to leave him there, but he was visited through the night by police and a doctor and we went back again in the morning. He was a fellow man and he had come to us in the saddest of ways. So now through him we have you in our hearts, and please, we want you all to know that you are welcome here whenever you come.

The Connell Family

 Text 6: The context of the letter

Text 6: Our Frank

The Connell Family to the Ciulla Family, 1992

On the night of December 21^st 1988, a bomb exploded on board New York-bound Pan Am Flight 103 and ripped the aircraft apart, its wreckage then raining down on the sleepy Scottish town of Lockerbie below. All 259 passengers and crew perished, as did 11 local residents. One of those passengers was 45-year-old Frank Ciulla, who had been travelling home to his wife and three children in New Jersey for the Christmas holidays; his body was discovered on Margaret and Hugh Connell’s small farm in Waterbeck, nearly eight miles from the main crash site.

Almost four years later, the Ciulla family finally found the strength to visit Scotland. They went to Minsca farm and spent time with the Connells; they saw the quiet spot where their father and husband came to rest, far away from the chaotic scenes in Lockerbie; and they asked all of the questions they had been desperate to ask since getting the news. After the visit, the Connells wrote a beautiful, thoughtful letter to the Ciullas. It was cherished and read aloud on the seventh anniversary of the tragedy, as the Lockerbie Cairn was dedicated in Arlington. The two families remain close.