It was the shrill whistle of the postman that roused me from my reading and sent me off to collect the daily delivery
The usual assortment of bills etc fell to hand with the exception of one particular letter
I recognized it immediately as a card posted several months previously and now returned It was the writing that hit me like a line lifted from Banjo Patterson
A reply had come directed
In a writing unexpected
For I think the same was written
By a thumbnail dipped in tar
It was an address, hastily scribbled on the envelope, that now gave me a feeling of hope and satisfaction. It was my chance to make possible contact with a mate whom I had lost touch with so many years ago. A mate who had left the area and sadly as is the case with us men we had let the communications lapse.
Retirement with its capacity for pursuing these things has begun to make its mark
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