During a recent bout of spring-cleaning, I came across a letter that had been pushed into an old cardboard box of bits and pieces. It had no business to be there, but then my filing system leaves much to be desired! Sitting back, I unfolded the pages, four in all, and began to read. The letter, written almost 25 years ago, and sent from London, was from my son.
He had just gone abroad to study further, and he now wrote all about his first impressions. As I read and re-read the letter a dozen times, I was transported back to those long forgotten days. I relived, albeit vicariously, the excitement my son experienced. I ‘met’ his new friends, ‘saw’ his room, ‘savoured’ all the junk foods he consumed, ‘stood’ with him in the gods to see his first West End play.
As I read the missive, I realised once again the power of the written word — that is, the handwritten word! And I found myself yearning for the letters he used to write. Today my son still communicates regularly. But what I get is e-mails, supplemented with a weekly telephone call. The e-mails are short and to the point. They arrive more frequently than his letters used to, but they tell me nothing other than the fact that he and his family are well. A specific question may be asked — or answered. But there is no chattiness, no voicing of opinions or views. Information may be given but the messages are not informative.
As anyone who uses it will tell you, in today’s age of instant communication, e-mail is invaluable. It is quick, it is easy to send, and your letter does not need to be more than a couple of sentences long. It is a wonderful way of keeping in touch with a whole host of people — far more people than you would normally write to! For sheer convenience, it is hard to beat. But who can deny that messages sent by e-mail tend to be impersonal and almost businesslike?
Yet for many of us, it has eliminated the writing of an old-fashioned letter. I myself am guilty of having succumbed so completely to the seduction of corresponding through e-mail that I find myself no longer writing to those friends who do not have it. Postage rates go up but I am generally unaware of the current cost of a stamp, and neither letter paper nor envelopes are to be found on my desk.
I admit this with shame, not pride. I know that nothing can replace a written letter, or the thrill of receiving it in the post. A person’s handwriting is as distinctive and unique as a fingerprint or a photograph. Perhaps just the odd quirks — the way the t’s are crossed or the letters sloped — sets a mood for a softer and more intimate line of communication than can ever be achieved through e-mail. And the letter can be salted away, to be read and re-read! Ever heard of anyone doing that with an e-mail printout?
