‘When you go will you
send back a letter from America?’
Thus begins ‘Letter From America’, a classic song from Scottish
pop duo The Proclaimers. It reflects a long history of Scottish people
emigrating to seek better lives overseas, many leaving behind family members on
their native shores. Back then, letters from America or Canada would take weeks
or months to arrive back home – if they arrived at all. We can scarcely
conceive of how precious such an epistle would be to those who received it.
Today, the letter has been largely rendered obsolete,
replaced in written form by email, texts, Facebook messages, tweets, WhatsApps or the
multitude of alternative telephone or online messaging systems. We can
communicate instantaneously – speak across continents, hear the voices and even
see the faces of our loved ones. Technology is astounding, and what would have
been thought of decades ago as unthinkable, centuries ago as magical, has fast
become the norm. As with progress in most areas, we gain much, and forget what
we are leaving behind.
Genealogists do not forget the letter. How could we? Letters
are our pathways to pasts unknown to us, our windows into the lives our
ancestors lived. From the mundane to the dramatic, the terse to the loquacious,
letters possess a peculiar charm to the descendants left behind. We peer
intently at the rushed lines of a holiday postcard, struggle to decipher the
scrawls of a soldier’s letter home. It’s a fascinating way to get to know your
forebears – through their own words. The words were not intended for you – not the
friendly enquiries towards a new mother, nor the sympathetic tones for the bereaved.
Time passes, and what was a moment full of raw joy or staggering sorrow becomes
removed from us. Yet we remember it. These letters open up to us a different
world.
We’ve been looking recently at the court records and
supporting documents of paternity cases. The love letters we read have a
painful edge in retrospect – the promises of eternal adoration belied by the sombre
purpose the letters are used for: evidence that the wayward father was once in
an intimate relationship with the unmarried mother, now seeking financial
support. They are fascinating as evidence and as a glimpse into a society both
similar and different to our own. Today, text messages and screenshots might be
used to prove past affection in court – but love letters cached in shoeboxes are
few and far between. The great-grandchildren of my generation will have no
photo albums or physical letters to hold in their hands, but may trawl what
remains of us in cyberspace – a modern legacy.
Genealogists will remember the letter.