The story of Alfredo Quinoa kicked off my light hearted series which will look at some of the complexities involved in producing and delivering even the simplest of things we use in our modern world.
Before moving on to tell the tale of other products, with all their intricate details laid bare, I wanted to share a more modest tale - the story of Loretta Letter. Even in doing this I am only focussing on the latter stages of her life, the part after she actually became a letter. It would be a much longer yarn, and probably more boring, if I were to try and amuse you with explanations about how the pad, the pen, the ink, the envelope and the stamp all sprang into being.
Even without this detail, you will notice that Loretta Letter shares a similar characteristic with all the other characters you will eventually meet in coming stories. Her life was ultimately redundant. Due to circumstances beyond her control she never got to fulfil the purpose for which she’d been originally intended. Her destiny was thwarted.
As an aside, it’s also interesting to note that letters, as a form of communication, are becoming a real anomaly and sadly disappearing from our modern life. They are almost relics from a bygone era. The simple reason for this has been the rise and rise of more efficient digital alternatives. Postal agencies throughout the world are struggling vainly to defend the decline, but so far it looks like they are fighting a losing battle. These days it mostly only bills and public notices which get delivered to our mail boxes. Even the old faithful Christmas card is on the wane. RIP letters… you served us well for many centuries,
In the mid-1950’s, when Loretta Letter was penned into existence, hand written missives were still very much enjoying their day in the sun. Newsy epistles were despatched with common regularity, informing on every aspect of life in that less complicated world. Folk enjoyed a real sense of happy anticipation as they waited to see what the mailman might turn up with each day.
As for Loretta’s actual crafting into the world, that took place in North Yorkshire, England, not very far from where she would almost meet her demise soon after. That unfortunate event, her almost demise, took place in a bright red letter box located near the centre of a pretty little village called Giggleswick. (No, I did not make that name up!).
I’m getting a little ahead of myself though. Before her unfortunate accident, Loretta had first been eruditely expressed onto two pages lifted from a fancily embossed and high quality letter pad. A tight and neat cursive script delivered the writer’s message in a dark turquoise ink, laid down by an expensive fountain pen.
Had Loretta been properly collected from the mail box, she would have been marked by the postal service with a stamp bearing the date 14-Aug-1956. The reason she failed to get that stamp was due to an unforeseen accident which happened at the time she was placed into the Giggleswick letter box. A combination of a heavy wind blowing, the angle at which she was inserted and a variety of other factors inside the box caused Loretta to inadvertently slide down the back of a metal flap inside the post box.
Her disappearance inside the post box wasn’t noticed until the post box was undergoing some maintenance and a bright red re-paint, early in 2016. The man who discovered Loretta tucked away in a tight squeeze at the back of the box noticed her address was still legible and that she had a valid stamp, bearing the profile of a very much younger Queen Elizabeth. It was because of these two factors he diligently returned Loretta Letter to the local post office.
Later that same day, the Post Master and his staff all had a giggle as they pondered the mysterious discovery and wondered what they should do with the well preserved, but sixty year old letter. In the end, the Post Master decided he’d send Loretta on to another Post Office in London, one located near where the letter had originally been addressed. He enclosed a covering note explaining the circumstances of Loretta’s discovery and hoped the Royal Mail might still be able to fulfil its belated delivery obligation.
Loretta was returned to Giggleswick two weeks later, with another note explaining that the house to where she had been addressed was demolished forty years earlier. The London Post Master’s note also advised that he had made enquiries and searched a variety of data bases, but there was no trace or known whereabouts of the addressee, a Miss Clarissa Urqhart.
Loretta lay forlornly on the corner of a desk for a further week before the Post Master finally decided to open the letter and see what it had to say. Here is what he found.
“My dearest Clarissa
I expect you and the other cast members have all been wondering why I decided to leave London so abruptly, right after we’d just celebrated the 100th performance of our wonderful play “All’s Well That Ends Well”.
To be honest with you, I’m still coming to terms with the motivations for my actions, but I wanted to share with you what I have discovered thus far, mainly for my own peace of mind.
As you know, when we both auditioned for the part of Helena in the play, the Director, Robert, advised us it was a very close thing between us, but in the end he decided to give the part to you and appointed me as your understudy. While I was initially thrilled to at least be a part of my first West End production, I was at the same time conflicted and also a little bit deflated, mainly because I’d previously played that same part to much critical acclaim in our local Amateur Dramatic production here in Giggleswick.
Nevertheless, I threw myself into my appointed role and diligently brushed up on all of the dialogue and learnt and helped you develop many of the facial nuances and complex stage movements required of the part. When the season started I was then left to sit in the wings for a full eight months, mouthing each and every word you delivered, twice a day, your radiant good health continuing to blossom and never giving me the slightest chance of even one performance. I lived in hope that Robert would at least give me an opportunity to do even a matinee performance, just to keep me motivated and sharp. Unfortunately I think the romance that had already blossomed between you and he put paid to that ever happening.
You will no doubt be countering this in your mind by saying I was getting reasonably well paid and at the same time learning valuable stage craft while I was in London. That is true, but at the same time it was still a big dent to my ambitions and also to my morality. You may have always thought your clandestine carrying on with Robert was your own well-kept secret. I regret to be the one to inform you that all the cast and crew knew right from the start what was going on. Your furtive attempts at love making behind the curtains on opening night were captured on a live microphone which someone had clearly forgotten to turn off that evening.
While all of the cast and crew generally remained civil and kind to me, I increasingly felt that I was coming more to be regarded as a piece of comfortable furniture, rather than an aspiring actress. There were no real challenges or consideration given to my improvement or to my feelings. As my father might have once said, I was like a spare prick at a wedding.
In any case, I think it must have been fairly easy for you to see and understand what was going on and how I was feeling. Still, you chose not to do or say anything about it, which did perplex me for a long time.
Even in spite of your apparent lack of care, I still believe at heart you are a decent and good person, Clarissa. We were initially very good friends at the start of things, but I clearly felt a chasm develop between us as your ego continued to soar and flourish and your relationship with Robert cemented. I knew I had to get away from all of that before I began consuming myself with the ugly emotion of hating your guts. I also need to pursue my own ambitions more actively. I can’t see how that would have happened had I remained in London. Oh the sad life of the understudy eh?
I wish you well for the rest of the show and for all of your future endeavours.
Yours faithfully……………………… “
The letter was signed, Judith Dench, many years before she was ultimately appointed a Dame for her fine and long service to British Arts and Theatre.
In concluding this story, I wanted to briefly review the various redundancy factors associated with Loretta Letter.
Firstly, it would appear the concept of being an understudy is something of a redundant quest in and of itself?
Equally, had Loretta not fallen foul of the post box’s clutching grip (which was the main contributing factor to her being unable to fulfil her job as a letter), she may well have made her way safely to the home of Clarissa Urqhart. Upon her arrival, she would have been read quickly, and then because of the nature of her contents, Loretta would most likely have then been despatched to the waste paper basket. As it turned out, due to the circumstances and time frame of her redundancy, Loretta was placed in a glass frame and hung in the Giggleswick Museum. It was here that she came to be read multiple times on most days of the week. Loretta Letter got the enjoy a redundancy revival of the finest kind!
The other thing worth considering on the redundancy front is the emotions involved. The negative emotions of frustration, unhappiness and failure expressed in the letter were all ultimately made redundant; and turned into more positive ones as Dame Judi’s life moved on. Success, confidence and abundant accolades eventually became the order of her day.
On a final note, I have to say it's the story teller’s prerogative to occasionally use some poetic licence and stretch to truth to enhance a tale. Including Judi Dench as the long ago writer of Loretta Letter is such a case in point. I could just as easily have chosen Meryl Streep; or perhaps even Helen Mirren. Any of our great female acting icons would have done the job of adding gravitas to the story. All of these famous women will have in one way or another started out their careers from humble beginnings, just like the character in this story. In any case, I offer my apology on the rare chance that you may ever happen to come across this silly little story, Dame Judi!