In rummaging through the piles of mementos from my European tours of duty when I was 19-24, I came across a letter on light blue Basildon Bond stationery with no stamp, no address, no date, just my name on the envelope, which means it was hand-delivered, probably to my mailbox. I was working in London between October 1961 and February 1962, and the handwriting looks English to me. Here's the text:
Dorothy,Dear Dari'o, Dania, Davie, Danie, David, or whoever you are,
I never knew that 'goodbye' could be so painful. I won't besiege you with telephone calls of appeal, because you obviously believe it best that I shouldn't. My mind tells my heart that you are right.
I love you.
If you're reading this, please identify yourself and remind me what happened and where? Forgive my faulty memory, but by now I think we can safely let bygones be bygones, don't you think? At least I saved your letter.