A Letter Home to Mammy

He has hunted monsters in Marrakesh, had fisticuffs with undesirables, explored the paranormal, battled with the elements and captured smugglers. Its now time for a letter home…

December 21st 1901

Hello Mammy,

It’s with great sadness that I write to tell you I will not be making it back home for Christmas. It sounds like it is going to be quite a feast and the largest O’Donnell reunion in years. I have even heard that Father has sent a young man over from Argentina in proxy – that must be nice for you, Mammy. Please pass on my apologies to all, I am most disappointed that I will not get to see my new nephew. Do give Drusilla and her husband my warmest congratulations. And how is Titus? Has he grown out of eating flowers?

I ask for your strictest confidence as I tell you my reasons why. I know you brought me up to believe the affairs of men are best left to other men, such as my Uncle Seamus and my younger brothers, Claudius and Galba, but I couldn’t help get involved in this matter.

It began when I was traveling down from Leeds to London and was entertaining a fellow passenger with the time I was on a whaling ship. I told him how I had made the faux pas of bringing brandy instead of rum onto the ship. I cried, “What could possibly be worse?” The fellow sitting opposite me shouted out, “What rot!” Well, I was a little taken back and asked him to explain himself, and by the end of his speech I had to admit that the wrong choice of spirit on a whaling ship was a rather trivial matter.

You see, he explained to me there were some boys and girls who have no mammy and daddies, and they live in this rather sad-looking building. I know this, for when we alighted at Kings Cross he invited me to come and see it with my own eyes. I was most shocked at what I saw, for their accommodation was somewhat basic and a bit rough around the edges. The gentleman from the train explained to me that they relied on charity and really had to work hard to stretch every penny. He also added that he was lobbying Parliament to change this, and that night at my club I ruddy well gave my MP a good clump around the ear. I am also pleased to say that my club now has a swear box set up, with the proceeds going to the orphanage – we have raised the extraordinary sum of twenty pounds so far.

Mammy, I do need to make a confession to you. I have to admit I have been going to the square church as I have been helping out every Sunday at the orphanage, and that is their faith. I’ve been teaching them to play rugby, entertaining them with my tales, and I have tried to get them excited by Ceaser’s Commentarii de Bello Gallico. But we need to make a few more nursery steps first. In the meantime, Hans Christian Anderson seems to be the biggest hoot!

I spoke to Father Kelly about going to the other church and he said Jesus wouldn’t mind in this case – I hope you don’t either, Mammy.

What most got me, though, was Christmas was going to be a most sad affair for them. No presents, no turkey and not even brandy and mince pies. There weren’t even the funds to put up a tree. Well, you know me, Mammy, and I don’t like to be sad.

Again, in the interests of subterfuge, I ask you to keep this to yourself. Even my household staff do not know – which reminds me… I told my cook that there was a bird shortage in Ireland this year, and had him cook up eight large turkeys. I would be most grateful if you could keep up this pretense when you come to visit in the spring.

My man is aware of one disappearing on Sunday mornings, but as far as he is aware I am playing rugby – in which I have the misfortune of constantly losing my balls. I also told him (hee he he!) that I read in The London Paper of pirates in the Irish Sea, and to buy two lots of Christmas presents for all my nephews and nieces, just in case, which amazingly is the same number of orphans – fancy that!

I will leave my house just as if I was coming to you, but I have booked into an hotel in Holyhead, and instead of catching the ferry, I will turn back to London the very next day. I have come up with the cover story that my name is Edward Book, a Latin expert who is on his way to the British Museum to decipher some urgent relics.

Whilst the kids are at the chapel on Christmas morning, I will be busy back at the orphanage setting up the Christmas tree and organising the kitchen, and when they return they are in for a huge surprise. I have also managed to procure a piano, and I intend to give them a riot of a Christmas with enough Christmas pudding to sink the Cutty Sark.

I ask for your secrecy, as I have become known in London circles as something of a debonair cavalier adventurer type, and I feel some might think this sort of thing to be a bit soft. If the family ask, I am in Russia hunting bears.

I will not be alone over the rest of the period as my good friend, Hans, is coming over from Berlin – he has written a play about a young boy in an ancient Greek gymnasium which he wants to show me. I will be at Galba and his wife’s for Boxing Day (they are in on the plan, it was Galba’s idea re the swear box).

Lots of love

Tibs

PS. Please can you telegram my chum, Peter, to put him straight. He does not believe me when I told him that Aunt Ruth has had the same stew on the hob for thirty years.

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Tags: #fridayflash, 1900's, 1901, British Museum, Christmas, Claudius, Drusilla, Galba, Hans, Kings Cross, London, Mammy, Orphans, Seamus, Tiberius, Titus