Christmas Greetings

I never knew my grandfather; he died 20 years before I was born. But growing up with my mum, dad, grandmother, and uncle, I always felt his presence in our home. I have a vague memory of a framed photograph of him, though I have no idea where it is now.

He was a World War I veteran who likely struggled with the demons associated with war and perhaps used alcohol to cope, dying aged 54 in 1944.

As a child, I remember my grandmother had postcards and letters from the war years. Not all of them were from Grandad.

This week, I was reminded of those letters thanks to some cards, papers and newspaper clippings held by an elderly aunt.

There was a postcard from someone who wasn’t Grandad – a man our family considers quite the looker. All we know is his name was Robert. By look of things, he was from Rocky Hall, near Towamba/Bombala – that part of New South Wales where my grandmother grew up.

For all I know, he might have been a family member or friend. The community of Rocky Hall was tiny and, by today’s standards, quite remote. I have searched through the war records and there are two men named Robert who served who were born there. I tried Google Image Search, without success. Maybe you know?

There was also a Christmas card from my grandfather. It’s signed “Charlie Dunn.” I’ve always known him as Charles Dunn. I have a cousin named Charlie Dunn, but I never thought of my grandfather that way.

It’s a privilege to have these pieces of paper, especially in a world where everyone takes a thousand photographs. These tangible links to the past feel precious.