In the midst of this coronavirus crisis, we are all turning to comfort food and comfort viewing: pasta and Gilligan’s Island. I am now turning to the theme of LOVE.

Of all the artefacts on display at the Wellington Museum, this c1900 vending machine selling postcards was the most thought-provoking. The depiction reads:

“Many times cheaper than a telegram and half the cost of posting a letter, a postcard was an easy way to communicate quickly, in an era when most people did not have a telephone.”

I stood in front of this little vending machine imagining the hundreds of love letters it would have inspired and wondering where those letters may be today.

In 100 years we moved from no telephones to communicating digitally. It worries me to think of all the love letters that are being lost in the ether, now they are sent electronically.

A hopeless romantic from way back, I have squirreled away my father’s love letters to my mother and my husband’s love letters to me. And I recently told one of my clients that I am the “luckiest Personal Historian alive,” thanks to her. She loaned me an 1888 love letter which was written by her grandfather to her grandmother, asking for her hand in marriage. Sitting at my desk almost a century and a half after he put pen to paper, my fingers trembled and my heart sang as I transcribed his words of love and his promise of a lifetime of dedication.

Love is what binds us. Love letters travelling from one generation to the next strengthen our connection with what came before. I am very proud to report: That 1888 letter has now been saved forever for my client’s family in her very-soon-to-be-published book.