How poignant my words of fifty years ago seemed now. Was this finally the time to share them?
BY LYNDA FRANKLIN
It was one of those dreary February afternoons. Too grey to enjoy a walk with Doug – although like all border collies he would probably have loved a trek around the park – and too warm and cosy by the fire to even think about pulling on boots and traipsing around the garden looking for jobs.
I knew I should be doing something, but on days like this it took a huge amount of willpower.
“What do you think, Doug? Cuppa and a good book?” I stroked the soft, furry head leaning against my leg. “No, you’re quite right. I need to get going.”
I stood up. Lloyd was at a football match and wouldn’t be back for ages. They always stopped off at the pub on the way home to either celebrate or commiserate. I wasn’t expecting any other company.
This was the perfect opportunity to empty the battered old suitcase that had been squashed into my wardrobe for years. It was stuffed with photographs and children’s drawings and bits and pieces dating back almost to the Middle Ages! It was taking up too much room and most of its contents could probably be thrown out now.
Today was the perfect opportunity.
“Good idea, Doug,” I murmured.
Doug looked up hopefully before slinking off to his basket.
I almost changed my mind when I pulled the case out and opened the lid. How had it managed to keep so much rubbish so safely protected for so many years?
OK, I thought, I need to be ruthless. It was easy at first. Paper with one crayoned line on each sheet? I couldn’t even remember which one of my daughters had drawn them.
The photographs were different. I would never throw them away, but somehow they would have to be sorted into the year/the occasion/the school/the prom/the graduations/the grandchildren – it was a massive task.
I was reminiscing far too long over every picture. Maybe I should skip straight to all the other treasures.
Tickets – why had I kept those? Menus from pubs we hadn’t visited for over twenty years. Letters from my pen pal when I was thirteen years old. I hadn’t looked at them for decades.
I squashed them all into a bin bag and felt oddly liberated. I should have done all this years ago.
Then – poking out from under a pile of used tissue paper – I saw it. I stared and felt my stomach do a weird flip. Very gently, I pulled it out.
