I stole this notepad, well you couldn’t say stole exactly, because I didn’t take it from someone forcibly and not pay them for it. It arrived at my address along with a few other unsolicited mailings. Much like the type of post I receive more or less on a daily basis. Because I haven’t made the requested donation to the cause who sent the appeal, it has taken me over a week in deciding whether or not to write in it.

My problem is, I find that once I have replied with a donation, I not only become a regular on this charity list, but my address is somehow made known to all other charity requests – every charity – disaster – and appeal from across the globe dominates my mail. As I have set up small payments to a variety of causes and my chosen charities, I feel guilt-tripped for the ones that I don’t support, therefore I find that because I am unable to discard the items sent with the appeal, I have ended up with an assortment of Xmas and Birthday cards, baby socks, gloves and pens I am unable to use because I haven’t sent the £10 or £15 requested.

Besides not knowing where my donation might end up, I have my own problems,  worries, and a very personal funding interest. I fully understand why the genuine appeals are made but, as a pensioner, I can only face so much Misery and guilt.


Letters from Elsewhere: Ally

An' de walls came tumblin' down

Letters from Elsewhere

My visitor today is… well… I think I’ll leave it to Jennifer Young to introduce him.

Dear Reader

How strange it is to be writing a letter. We don’t do that any more.

We do all sorts of things instead. We use texts and we use Facebook messenger. If we’re feeling particularly in-your-face we might go public with our communications. (Twitter works particularly effectively in getting a prompt response from customer service, and even government, departments, or so I’ve learned.) But for all that buzz of digital information, digital communication and digital tracking, there’s still a place for letters.

You’ll be thinking love letters, or I imagine you will. And indeed, there’s little more moving than a thoughtfully-written note to cry out that it’s for your eyes only (perhaps with a few judicious crossings-out, with like changed to love). After all, nobody ties up their texts with ribbon and…

View original post 589 more words

Letters from Elsewhere: Ellen Dunne

An' de walls came tumblin' down

Letters from ElsewhereI’m delighted to welcome Ellen Dunne to my blog. Ellen, who comes from the pages of An Ocean Divide by Elizabeth Grimes Brown, lives in Ireland. Her lover, Michael McBride, recently travelled to New York to join his older brothers in their expanding family construction company. Ellen hasn’t told anyone that she is pregnant with Michael’s baby. In July 1912 she writes a letter to Michael that distresses him deeply.

This letter is sent with a heavy heart, Michael; you of all people will know how difficult it is for me to write the words you are about to read.

On Friday of last week, I became Mrs Patrick Lafferty.  Now I felt that I should be the one to tell you of my recent nuptials, and not out of any malice, Michael. I’m sure you will agree and understand that I would not stoop to that. I wouldn’t be wanting you to hear…

View original post 844 more words