Post-Script - An Epistolary Tale

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Dearest Marcus

I haven’t had a letter in nearly three months! While I’m sure it’s because you’re busy being a
busybody (hehe), I’ll have you know that it’s very tiresome having only your Uncle Bernard
to speak to. Your letters are always a wonderful break from the humdrum of everyday life
here (which is, in a word, boring) and so it’s very disconcerting to go for so long without so
much as a peep. But I’ll scold you no longer.

Things here are very much the same. The most exciting thing that’s happened in the last three
months must be Joanna Sanders’ daughter getting pregnant. Completely up the spout! And to
think that you and her used to play out in the woods as children. Not you and Joanna, I mean
you and her daughter (I forget her name). Anyway, the whole village is talking about it
because the little s%&t can’t even say who the father is. Can you imagine. There are hardly
any boys her age in the village as it is. Uncle Bernard and Howard from across the way have
a bet going on who the father is. Bernie is saying it must be young Jack Blythe, while
Howard insists that it has to be Reverend Milton’s son, Elton. Funny name eh, Elton Milton.
Personally, I think it’s neither of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that the father
was one of the older gentlemen who haunt that God-awful pub. What’s-her-name worked
there as a barmaid for ages.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Uncle Bernard has decided that to start rearing ponies. Isn’t
that lovely? We’ve ordered three breeding pairs of Shetlands from old Rupert Behringer’s
brother up north. Bernie says it’s a good business decision, because every little girl wants a
pony, and so we can sell the foals when they’re good and ready and make us a tidy little nest
egg. What do you think?

Anyway, how are you? Have you made any significant discoveries wherever you are? You
haven’t been cursed by some mummy’s tomb have you?

Lots of love and hugs and kisses
Auntie Muriel

P.S. I’ve sent this letter with a parcel. It contains an interesting little doohicky that Uncle
Bernard found on his morning walk yesterday. I thought you might find it interesting.

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Dear Aunt Muriel

I think the market for ponies is a lot smaller you think. Little girls may want them, but very
few parents feed those particular desires. Remember when I demanded a suit of nineteenth
century samurai armour for my birthday?

Also, since I have never been to Egypt, I am fairly sure that my spirit remains curse free.
The object you sent appears to be some sort of bullet casing, although it is unlike anything I
have seen before. It’s most likely to be a remnant of some recent war or other, but I shall look
into it. Tell Uncle Bernard to keep his eyes peeled, and to send me anything else he might
stumble upon.

Regards
Marcus

P.S. How far along is Charlotte (i.e. Joanna Sanders’ daughter)?

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Dearest Marcus

I’m so surprised that you responded so quickly I won’t even tell you off for sending such a
pitifully short letter.

I do remember the time when you asked for a suit of armour for your birthday, and if you will
remember, your Uncle Bernard spent weeks carving you a toy sword to console you. I would
think that it has quite a bit of value nowadays. Nevertheless, the Shetlands arrive next week,
and your Uncle is determined to make a success of this little venture. “Onwards and
alongwards” were his exact words.

As for the Sanders girl, she’s already showing, so people are saying it must have happened
around Christmas last year. Naturally, that means absolutely any Tom, Dick or Harry could
have done the deed, so to speak. The village is always chock-full of holidaymakers over
Christmas – I mean it’s the only time we ever see you anymore. Not that it matters really,
Gladys from church says that Joanna told her the girl is considering giving the child up for
adoption.

You won’t believe what happened! The other day, Uncle Bernard was out for his morning
walk when he came across a lost little kid, just bleating away. So, being your Uncle, he brings
the poor thing home with him and we spent all night nursing it back to health and it went to
sleep happy and well fed. I was about to name it Billy (the Kid – hehe) but Bernard said that
was no name for a girl. Anyway, the next morning Howard comes storming up to the house
and starts shouting at Bernard and saying he stole his goat! The gall of that man. I tell you, he
and Bernard almost came to blows, because neither would budge. Howard wouldn’t let
Bernie explain, and Bernie wouldn’t let Howard keep shouting. Eventually though, they
ended up making a wager as to who it was that stole the goat. I think it was that Jamie boy
from down by the river, but I didn’t say anything.

Lots of love
Auntie Muriel

P.S. A bullet casing! How exciting!

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Dear Aunt Muriel

Unfortunately, I do not have time to spend on long letters these days, and I fear that my life
here at the university is not nearly as eventful as yours.

You will be happy to know that Uncle Bernard’s toy sword still decorates the bottom of my
cupboard, and shall do so for much of the foreseeable future; such is its sentimental value.
Congratulations are in order. It seems that the object you sent me predates the accepted
beginning of the Bronze Age by about two thousand years, which makes it a significant,
albeit mystifying discovery. An entire team of experts has been called in to examine it, and
there is talk of a possible excavation in the near future. Should the find prove substantial,
Uncle Bernard will find his name in the history books.

Regards
Marcus

P.S. What did you eventually name the goat?

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Dearest Marcus

The post service must be on strike or something because your last letter took almost a month
to arrive. I was getting worried actually.

Your Uncle and I are now proud owners of six beautiful ponies. Their names are: Frodo,
Samwise, Gandalf, Arwen, Galadriel and Bella. I got to name Bella because the Lord of the
Rings has hardly any women. I almost thought you were right, and that we were doomed to
failure because when we got them, Bella had the most awful case of fleas, which she then
managed to give to all of the others. It took Uncle Bernard a full week to sort that mess out.
But now they are all healthy and happy, and by this time next year, I expect we will hear the
pitter-patter of many new hooves! Yet again, Uncle Bernard and Howard have made wagers
on which will pair with which.

As for the goat, we named her Susan. As it turns out, she was so happy here with me and your
Uncle Bernard that Howard sold her to us for a bargain. She can now be found playing with
the ponies, or sunning herself on your great-grandfather’s chair. She is very cute.

I must admit that the thought of Uncle Bernard (or even myself) in the annals of history is
tremendously exciting! I just hope that the archaeologists don’t dig up my rhododendrons in
search of more trinkets. Will you be on the team when they come?

Lots of love and hugs and kisses
Auntie Muriel

P.S. Gladys swears she saw you in the village the other day. I told her she’s going senile. You
wouldn’t come into the village and not call on your dear Auntie and Uncle.

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Dear Aunt Muriel

I was in the village on some urgent business, but I did not have time to call.

Uncle Bernard’s find has created quite the scandal among the scholars at the university. Many
are saying that it is evidence of a highly advanced form of primitive projectile weaponry,
which suggests an entirely undiscovered civilisation, while others are insisting that it is
evidence of an ancient form of contraception. I have decided to remain undecided on the
matter, until further evidence presents itself.

Should an excavation be commissioned, there will be a considerable amount of paperwork
involved before anyone touches your rhododendrons, so they are safe for now. I will not be
on the team, as I’m sure that by that time, my duties will lie elsewhere.

Regards
Marcus.

P.S. Has Joanna Sanders spoken to you at all?

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Dearest Marcus

My, my, that was a snappy reply! But still too short! And although I understand that you have
business to attend to, surely a cup of tea does not take a whole day, especially when five
minutes would do your Auntie Muriel a world of good.

It saddens me that you won’t be here when all the scholars come a-digging (hehe), but I’m
sure you’ll find time for a visit any way.

Since your reply came so quickly, I have little to tell you. The ponies are happy, Uncle
Bernard and Howard have yet to make another wager and I’m sure Susan will end up quite
fat if she doesn’t start to watch what she eats.

Hugs and kisses and loves
Auntie Muriel

P.S. Joanna Sanders hasn’t spoken to me. Although, Gladys did tell me that her daughter had
a miscarriage and is so distraught that she won’t come out of the house. I don’t see why it’s
such a fuss, it’s not like she wanted the child anyway.

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Dearest Marcus

Six months and not a word! I’m beginning to think you’ve forgotten about me.
I have lots and lots to tell you, but I’ll wait for when you get here for Christmas.

Lots of love
Auntie Muriel

P.S. The Sanders’ left the village months ago. In the middle of the night! Good riddance.

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Dear Marcus

You missed Christmas and New Year’s. Why? Are you even still alive? I’m worried sick.

Please write soon.
Auntie Muriel

P.S. Everyone is well otherwise.

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Marcus

Gladys tells me that you are married now. She must be mad, because you wouldn’t have a
wedding without inviting Uncle Bernard and me.

Aunt Muriel
P.S. Susan ended up giving birth to a new kid. God only knows how. We called it Billy.

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Dear Aunt Muriel

Charlotte and I were married last year, about five months after my last letter. We are well, and
Charlotte is pregnant once again, due in the summer. Since you expressed such distaste for
her, I felt it imprudent to extend you an invitation due to your habit of making your worst
thoughts known to the entire world.

I regret to inform you that the object you sent me two years ago has turned out to be nothing
more than a curiously formed rock, warranting no further study.

Send Uncle Bernard and Susan my regards.

Marcus

P.S. Don’t expect me to write again.

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Just another old story of mine while I get my life together. Nearly there, though.

Peace, Love and a Little Madness

Nomad

PS: I didn't take that second photo... The person who did is not on Steemit or any other platform. We were both at that burn though. It was pretty epic.