Modestman

Immediately after graduating I was able to attend a post-graduate study in Germany as an exchange student. After a while I wrote to my best friend Tony and told him about my new life.

I immediately received a reply … but not from him. It was from his niece Mary. She told me, to my astonishment, that she would reply to my letter and that if I wanted a reply from Tony I should send him another letter at his new address.

And so I began to write to this young woman whom I had never seen. As I wrote, I found that for some reason my writing style changed. I began to illustrate the edges of each page. In the left hand margin I might draw a climbing rose while in the upper margin I would show a Greek god blowing clouds across the page.

Inspired by her enthusiastic replies I began to make more adventurous drawings like a little child tying a snake into a knot or a hunter sitting in a tree with a smiling lion licking its lips, below him.

I had been invited to join a student union. You may have seen such groups in the movie The Beggar Student. Every Wednesday night one would have to say something quite profound or recite an epic poem. This would be followed de rigeur by the emptying of a large glass boot full of beer.

On those evenings after coming home, I would do things like disassemble a rose and painstakingly make a composite drawing based on the actual petals. On one occasion I even rubbed some petals on the drawing and then asked if she could smell the fragrance.

Our student union was a fighting union and that meant that on some mornings, we would rise at 5 go down to the gym and spread sawdust. Two young students, with an issue to settle, would then shout “en garde” and would begin fencing without the protection of masks. The sawdust was there to collect any stray drops of blood. It was all very medieval but most exciting to watch. By the way, any scars picked up were concerned by the students as sacred mementos and signs of great honor.

I would relate these stories to Mary with suitable Robin Hood or Three Musketeer type illustrations.

Always, without fail, I would receive her reply. Always her letters were filled with wonder and sparkle. Her joy was contagious and it drove me on to great heights in innovative letter writing complete with ornamental drawings.

Then one day, I received a letter from her mother. Mary had died. She told me that Mary had always been bedridden. On Wednesday mornings her eyes would light up as her mother entered her room. She would smile when her mother nodded her head. Yes the letter had arrived. She thanked me profusely and said that Mary lived for my letters.

Just before she died she whispered to her mother “please tell Fred that he made me laugh”.