A memory of girl guiding in the 1970s and a Canadian penfriend.
February is a time for thinking.
Photo by Cheng Shi Song on Pexels.com
The queue moved slowly that day in the narrow aisle between shelves of Basildon Bond writing pads and envelopes, boxes of rubber bands, pens, pencils and rubbers. It was the 1970s and writing letters was an important way of keeping in touch. It may be hard to believe now, but in the long holidays, I wrote and received letters from my school friends. That’s how we told each other our news and arranged to meet.
However, that day, I wasn’t buying paper, envelopes or stamps. That day I had to wait until I got to the post office counter and ask Mr Brown for what I wanted. My mam had told me what I needed and I’d practised the request.
“Can I have an air mail letter form for Canada please?”
I was in awe of how quickly and easily Mr Brown found what I wanted and sold it to me. It seemed an outlandish desire, and I expected to be told I was ridiculous, and to ask for something sensible.
Do they still make and sell Air Mail Letter forms?
I handed over my money and received the form. It was a single sheet of very thin blue paper, which folded into itself. The top third had gummed flaps, ready to be damped, folded over and stuck to the back of the middle third. The sheet was magical, it turned into a complete letter and envelope, with the words PAR AVION printed at the top and the correct amount for postage stamped on it.
I could hardly wait to get home and begin writing.
Why was I doing this?
I was a girl guide in the 22nd Nottingham company and we met in Pierrepont school hall. February 22nd is Thinking Day, the day when guides and brownies all over the world think about each other. On that day, we travelled to a different meeting place and met girls from other parts of Nottingham.
Shiny pennies and colourful uniforms.
To prepare for this, we’d collected pennies, polished them and presented our shiny coins. I don’t know where the pennies went once we’d handed them in. I enjoyed seeing pictures of girls from other countries and was intrigued that uniforms were so different.
One thought leads to a letter.
I took my thinking seriously and signed up to the girl guide penfriend scheme. I was matched with a girl from Canada, which is why I was in the post office queue.
I am sorry to say that I can’t even remember my penfriend’s name, but receiving her letters through the post was wonderful. I loved reading about her life, which was rural and in a different world to mine on Serlby Rise. Her girl guide meetings sounded a lot more exciting than ours and involved spending time in the woods.
A photograph required an envelope.
We did exchange photographs. I must have bought an airmail writing pad and envelopes for that. I would have taken my letter to the post office for Mr Brown to weigh and then sell me the correct value of stamps. When the stamps were on the envelope, he’d put it straight into the brown sack behind the counter. I didn’t have to take it out of the shop and pop it into the red pillar box outside. Pillar boxes had a sharp, metallic smell to them and I was fascinated by the little card which told us when the next collection was due. The postman (it was always a postman in the 1970s), had to change the card when they emptied the box.
Still thinking.
I really am sorry that I can’t remember that girl’s name. I am very glad she wrote to me and I wonder how her life turned out. I also wonder if she remembers being a girl guide and that she once had a penfriend from Nottingham, England.
Did you have a penfriend?
Wander well,
Mandy.
Things I love:
- Receiving letters.
- A Post Office.
- A new writing pad.
Wandering Through The Land Of Nod. 