by Shaun Usher
Cheyne Walk, S.W.
April 21st, 1913.
Dear Friends All,
Let me acknowledge with boundless pleasure the singularly generous and beautiful letter, signed by your great and dazzling array and reinforced by a correspondingly bright material gage, which reached me on my recent birthday, April 15th. It has moved me as brave gifts and benedictions can only do when they come as signal surprises. I seem to wake up to an air of breathing good will the full sweetness of which I had never yet tasted; though I ask myself now, as a second thought, how the large kindness and hospitality in which I have so long and so consciously lived among you could fail to act itself out according to its genial nature and by some inspired application. The perfect grace with which it has embraced the just-past occasion for its happy thought affects me, I ask you to believe, with an emotion too deep for stammering words. I was drawn to London long years ago as by the sense, felt from still earlier, of all the interest and association I should find here, and I now see how my faith was to sink deeper foundations than I could presume ever to measure—how my justification was both stoutly to grow and wisely to wait. It is so wonderful indeed to me as I count up your numerous and various, your dear and distinguished friendly names, taking in all they recall and represent, that I permit myself to feel at once highly successful and extremely proud. I had never in the least understood that I was the one or signified that I was the other, but you have made a great difference. You tell me together, making one rich tone of your many voices, almost the whole story of my social experience, which I have reached the right point for living over again, with all manner of old times and places renewed, old wonderments and pleasures reappeased and recaptured—so that there is scarce one of your ranged company but makes good the particular connection, quickens the excellent relation, lights some happy train and flushes with some individual colour. I pay you my very best respects while I receive from your two hundred and fifty pair of hands, and more, the admirable, the inestimable bowl, and while I engage to sit, with every accommodation to the so markedly indicated “one of you,” my illustrious friend Sargent. With every accommodation, I say, but with this one condition that you yourselves, in your strength and goodness, remain guardians of the result of his labour—even as I remain all faithfully and gratefully yours,
HENRY JAMES
P.S. And let me say over your names.
[Followed by a list of the 270 subscribers.]
Letter No. 120
MY MOTHER DECLARED MY BEDROOM A DISASTER AREA
ANDY SMITH TO RONALD REAGAN
April 18th, 1984
As one would expect, Ronald Reagan was the recipient of thousands of letters each month during his presidency; a mailbag so voluminous, in fact, that a gang of patient volunteers were tasked with opening them all on his behalf and passing him approximately 30 each week to read and respond to. Letters arrived from all over the world and were written by human beings of all flavours: men, women, fans, critics, average Joes, celebrities, world leaders, and, as evidenced by this fine example, sent by a 13-year-old South Carolina boy called Andy Smith, children.
400 London Pride Road
Irmo, South Carolina 29063
April 18, 1984
Dear Mr. President,
My name is Andy Smith. I am a seventh grade student at Irmo Middle School, in Irmo, South Carolina.
Today my mother declared my bedroom a disaster area. I would like to request federal funds to hire a crew to clean up my room. I am prepared to provide the initial funds if you will provide matching funds for this project.
I know you will be fair when you consider my request. I will be awaiting your reply.
Sincerely yours,
[Signed]
Andy Smith
May 11, 1984
Dear Andy:
I’m sorry to be so late in answering your letter but, as you know, I’ve been in China and found your letter here upon my return.
Your application for disaster relief has been duly noted but I must point out one technical problem: the authority declaring the disaster is supposed to make the request. In this case, your mother.
However, setting that aside, I’ll have to point out the larger problem of available funds. This has been a year of disasters: 539 hurricanes as of May 4th and several more since, numerous floods, forest fires, drought in Texas and a number of earthquakes. What I’m getting at is that funds are dangerously low.
May I make a suggestion? This Administration, believing that government has done many things that could better be done by volunteers at the local level, has sponsored a Private Sector Initiative Program, calling upon people to practice voluntarism in the solving of a number of local problems.
Your situation appears to be a natural. I’m sure your mother was fully justified in proclaiming your room a disaster. Therefore, you are in an excellent position to launch another volunteer program to go along with the more than 3000 already underway in our nation. Congratulations.
Give my best regards to your mother.
Sincerely,
Ronald Reagan
Letter No. 121
THANKS, MR. EDISON
W. C. LATHROP TO THOMAS EDISON
March 6th, 1921
Thomas Edison is one of the most successful businessmen in history and arguably our most impressive inventor with over 1000 patents to his name. During his 84 years he either invented or made major improvements to the phonograph, the motion picture camera, the incandescent light bulb, the alkaline battery, and many more of the modern technologies that we now take for granted, but which at the time drastically changed lives and made a huge impact. It’s no real surprise, then, that as a result of his genius, ‘The Wizard of Menlo Park’ was the recipient of countless notes of appreciation from a diverse range of admiring fans. In March of 1921, he received such a letter from Mrs. W. C. Lathrop, a Kansas housewife whose daily routine had been improved immeasurably by his work.
Norton, Kans.
March 6, 1921.
Mr. Edison.
Dear Sir:
It is not always the privilege of a woman to thank personally the inventor of articles which make life livable for her sex. I feel it is my duty as well as privilege to tell you how much we women of the small town are indebted to you for our pleasures as well as our utmost needs. I am a college graduate and probably my husband is one of the best known surgeons between Topeka and Denver. I am an officer in the District of Women’s Club as well as president of our Town organization.
We have four children. The oldest lad expects to have a telegraph station in the summer on the upper peninsula. We have a large house, so you see when doing practically all my work, my duties are many and my activities most varied, yet I enjoy my labors and do not feel that I entirely neglect to get pleasures out of life. Positively as I hear my wash machine chugging along, down in the laundry, as I write this, it does seem as though I am entirely dependent on the fertile brain of one, thousand miles away for every pleasure and labor saving device I have. The house is lighted by electricity. I cook on a Westinghouse electric range, wash dishes in an electric dish washer. An electric fan even helps to distribute the heat over part of the house. At our private hospital, electricity helps to heat some of the rooms. I wash clothes in an electric machine and iron with an electric iron. I clean house with electric cleaners. I rest, take an electric massage and curl my hair on an electric iron. I dress in a gown sewed on a machine run by a motor. Then, I start the Victrola and either study Spanish for a while or listen to… forgetting I am living in a tiny town of two thousand where nothing much ever happens but am recalled when the automatic in my stove releases and I know my dinner is now cooking. The Doctor comes home, tired with a days work, wherein electricity has played almost as much part as it has at home, to find a wife not tired and dissatisfied but a woman waiting who is now rested and ready to serve the tired man and discuss affairs of the day. To play him a beautiful piece on the Victrola and possibly see a masterpi
ece at the “Movies.”
Possibly he brings in a guest without warning but electricity and a pressure cooker saves the day for the hostess. Indeed, I’ve entertained the Governor of our State and a dozen of our representatives at a little more than an hours notice – at luncheon, but that was one of my pleasures, unexpected but none the less a real one.
Please accept the thanks Mr. Edison of one most truly appreciative woman. I know I am only one of many under the same debt of gratitude to you and while I also know you must have received the thanks of other women before, yet a word may not be unwelcome to you. I believe men are like women after all, and live to know that their labor is appreciated and I do think the world is inclined to be too parsimonious in it’s praises of work and value.
Sincerely, MRS. W. C. LATHROP
Letter No. 122
THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY SCENE
CAPTAIN REGINALD JOHN ARMES TO HIS WIFE
December 24th, 1914
On Christmas Eve of 1914, five months into World War I, something amazing happened: thousands of British and German troops on the Western Front decided to put down their weapons, rise from the trenches, and greet each other peacefully. In fact, for the next few days, close to 100,000 men, British and German, chatted, exchanged gifts, sang carols and played football. Most importantly, they were even able to bury their dead without fearing for their own safety. On the evening of December 24th, the first day of the truce, Captain ‘Jack’ Armes of the 1st Battalion North Staffordshire Regiment wrote to his wife and described this incredible occurrence. Armes did return home to his family after the war; he died in 1948.
British and German troops posing together, Christmas 1914
24/12/14.
I have just been through one of the most extraordinary scenes imaginable. To–night is Xmas Eve and I came up into the trenches this evening for my tour of duty in them. Firing was going on all the time and the enemy’s machine guns were at it hard, firing at us. Then about seven the firing stopped.
I was in my dug–out reading a paper and the mail was being dished out. It was reported that the Germans had lighted their trenches up all along our front. We had been calling to one another for some time Xmas wishes and other things. I went out and they shouted “no shooting” and then somehow the scene became a peaceful one. All our men got out of their trenches and sat on the parapet, the Germans did the same, and they talked to one another in English and broken English. I got on top of the trench and talked German and asked them to sing a German Volkslied, which they did, then our men sang quite well and each side clapped and cheered the other.
I asked a German who sang a solo to sing one of Schumann’s songs, so he sang “The Two Grenadiers” splendidly. Our men were a good audience and really enjoyed his singing.
Then Pope and I walked across and held a conversation with the German Officer in command. One of his men introduced us properly, he asked my name and then presented me to his Officer. I gave the latter permission to bury some German dead who are lying in between us, and we agreed to have no shooting until 12 midnight to–morrow. We talked together, 10 or more Germans gathered round. I was almost in their lines within a yard or so. We saluted each other, he thanked me for permission to bury his dead, and we fixed up how many men were to do it, and that otherwise both sides must remain in their trenches.
Then we wished one another good night and a good night’s rest, and a happy Xmas and parted with a salute. I got back to the trench. The Germans sand “Die Wacht Am Rhein”, it sounded well. Then our men sang quite well “Christians Awake”, it sounded so well, and with a good night we all got back into our trenches. It was a curious scene, a lovely moonlight night, the German trenches with small lights on them, and the men on both sides gathered in groups on the parapets.
At times we heard the guns in the distance and an occasional rifle shot. I can hear them now, but about us is absolute quiet. I allowed one or two men to go out and meet a German or two half way. They exchanged cigars, a smoke and talked. The Officer I spoke to hopes we shall do the same on New Year’s Day. I said “yes, if I am here.” I felt I must sit down and write the story of this Xmas Eve before I went to lie down. Of course no precautions are relaxed, but I think they mean to play the game. All the same, I think I shall be awake all night so as to be on the safe side. It is weird to think that to–morrow night we shall be at it hard again. If one gets through this show it will be a Xmas time to live in one’s memory. The German who sang had a really fine voice.
Am just off for a walk round the trenches to see all is well. Good–night.
Xmas Day. We had an absolutely quiet night in front of us, though just to our right and left there was sniping going on. In my trenches and in those of the Enemy opposite to us were only nice big fires blazing, and occasional songs and conversation. This morning at the Reveille the Germans sent out parties to bury their dead. Our men went out to help, and then we all on both sides met in the middle, and in groups began to talk and exchange gifts of tobacco, etc. All this morning we have been fraternising, singing songs. I have been within a yard in fact to their trenches, have spoken to and exchanged greetings with a Colonel, Staff Officers and several Company Officers. All were very nice and we fixed up that the men should not go near their opponents’ trenches, but remain about midway between the lines. The whole thing is extraordinary. The men were all so natural and friendly. Several photos were taken, a group of German Officers, a German Officer and myself, and a group of British and German soldiers.
The Germans are Saxons, a good–looking lot, only wishing for peace in a manly way, and they seem in no way at their last gasp. I was astonished at the easy way in which our men and theirs got on with each other.
We have just knocked off for dinner, and have arranged to meet again afterwards until dusk when we go in again and have [illegible] until 9 p.m., when War begins again. I wonder who will start the shooting! They say “fire in the air and we will”, and such things, but of course it will start and to–morrow we shall be at it hard killing one another. It is an extraordinary state of affairs which allows of a “Peace Day”. I have never seen men so pleased to have a day off as both sides.
Their Opera Singer is going to give us a song or two to–night and perhaps I may give them one. Try and imagine two lines of trenches in peace, only 50 yards apart, the men of of either side have never seen each other except perhaps a head now and again, and have never been outside in front of their trenches. Then suddenly one day men stream out and nest in friendly talk in the middle. One fellow, a married man, wanted so much a photo of Betty and Nancy in bed, which I had, and I gave him it as I had two: it seems he showed it all round, as several Germans told me afterwards about it. He gave me a photo of himself and family taken the other day which he had just got.
Well must finish now so as to get this off to–day. Have just finished dinner. Pork chop. Plum pudding. Mince pies. Ginger, and bottle of Wine and a cigar, and have drunk to all at home and especially to you, my darling one. Must go outside now to supervise the meetings of the men and the Germans.
Will try and write more in a day or two. Keep this letter carefully and send copies to all. I think they will be interested. It did feel funny walking over alone towards the enemy’s trenches to meet someone half-way, and then to arrange a Xmas peace. It will be a thing to remember all one’s life.
Kiss the babies and give them my love. Write me a long letter and tell me all the news. I hope the photos come out all right. Probably you will see them in some paper.
Yours,
[Signed] JAKE.
Acknowledgements
By design, I am terrible at making books. Every fibre of my being works against such a feat. I have very little willpower; I leave everything until the very last minute; I am spectacularly disorganised. I rewrite everything at least ten times. I am paralysed by writer’s block every single day. For every productive hour spent writing and researching, I could point to at least 100 that I have
wasted in ways entirely unrelated to the magnificent book you now grasp. Indeed, the fact that you do hold such an impressive book in your hands is down to this: I have somehow managed to surround myself with people of seemingly unlimited talent, patience, and commitment, whose efforts I am often credited for. The most important of these is the person I fell in love with by letter in 2002 whilst we lived hundreds of miles apart: Karina, my beautiful, impossibly supportive wife and the mother of our gorgeous children. This book is for her.
I would also like to thank: everyone at Unbound, including my editor, Isobel Frankish, whose efforts on this book genuinely deserve some kind of award, as do her immaculate, life-saving spreadsheets; the permissions team of Gilly Vincent, Alice Brett and Louise Tucker, without whom this book would be a legal minefield; the world’s greatest dancer, John Mitchinson; the always-inspiring Dan Kieran, Justin Pollard, Christoph Sander, Caitlin Harvey, Charlie Gleason, Georgia Odd, Lauren Fulbright, Phil Connor, Xander Cansell, Emily Shipp, DeAndra Lupu, Leo Byng and Louise Edwards; the team at Canongate, including: the force of nature that is Jamie Byng, Jaz Lacey-Campbell, Andrea Joyce, Anna Frame, Jenny Lord and Jenny Todd; the geniuses at Here Design, including Caz Hildebrand, Samantha Kerr, Julie Martin and Clare Lowther; everyone associated with Letters Live who hasn’t already been mentioned, including Adam Ackland, Benedict Cumberbatch, Simon Garfield, Adam Selves and the countless performers who have helped to bring these letters to life on stage.
Also, thunderous applause to the following people: Rob “G-Funk” Gibbons, Stephen Fry, Matt Berry, Leo Barker, Guy Walters, Austin Kleon, Elbow, Biddy Baxter, Anthony Hollander, Matt Stone, Dave Robinson, Alicia Brindak, every single archivist in the world, and my friends and family.