One of the things I love about old letters is the language that plants them in the past. Things like "the blinking b battery", "thingamajig", "going goodo", "oh gee", "a fair cow", "cheerio", "the old mob".
Overwhelmingly I felt a sense of sadness for a once-thriving village.
The "Wishing Well" piques childhood enchantment but perhaps I was always too focused on the present or future to stroll down a leaf-littered path into the past.
This is the story of a gutsy, red-headed, seventeen-year-old, Sarah Bellamy
What could be more mood-altering than a dance hall that suggested a glittering French palace.