Saturday February 22,  1941

A letter from away…

” The night is one of those peculiar to late fall rather than approaching spring.  A ceiling of clouds that appear to be heavily laden with snow, and beneath a margin of strange brilliance that seems always just at the horizon. The air is cold damp and refreshing, bringing with it that urge of the unknown which we ever failingly endeavour to solve, a suggestion that life is still worth living, “though why” we can’t exactly say, nor will we ever be able to do so.
Still the call is there beckoning ever onward to, apparently, the horizon, since there seems no other destination…”    Joe

An excerpt from a letter in our family archives, written by my grandfather, who never came back from the war.

Letter © J.McRae
Image © Karen McRae