Given I am about to get on a plane, I have been reminiscing about the lost art of postcard writing. Here’s a postcard from the past that I found from Dad, on one of his many business trips. He affectionately called me “number one” because I am the eldest child in the family. I can’t quite read the date stamp, but given the address on the card, and the fact that he has scribbled out Ferny Hills and written over it McDowall, it must be 1982. I know this because we moved from Ferny Hills to McDowall at the end of 1981 and I started year 2 at McDowall State School in 1982.
“Hello Number One, It is freezing cold here in Frankfurt Germany. You can see your breath when you talk. What a strange place to go to when Brisbane is so lovely and warm this time of the year. I will have to come home to thaw- See you Sunday Love Dad”
Nine years later, I would be on a plane to Frankfurt, and the beginning of my three month high school exchange in Essen, Germany. I often wonder if these postcards made an imprint in my mind, and how many of the places that he travelled I have also been to. How many postcards are there left? Does my sister have any? Did he write a separate postcard for mum as well? Should I make an effort to find them at mum’s? Is there any point? Always so many questions.
On December 29th it will be the third anniversary dad’s death. He may no longer be physically here, but there are always traces of his love. He is not forgotten xx