A Letter From London 1776

 June McFirst

64 Growth Street

666 London

United Kingdom

Written on June...1776….

Dearest John Lentonny

I am mad, just about as mad as anyone. I have now asked my sweet husband to ask our priest to write down this for me. As the world says in those days: If we own nothing in our pockets, we could at least gain something from you out there in our colonies in America. There are rumours that you might not get our cargo, and God knows how I´m working my behind off to just get two spoons of sugar for my tea. I have faith in our Lord. And I have said my prayers. I have promised myself to not give up my hope that the Lord´s mission will survive and thrive...We are the world, says my Lord. And in that faith no Americans can come here and change the course of history. Or how does the discussion go between you and your soldier friends? I have not heard from you lately, but our priest have lots of first hand information. He knows important people, even in our parliament. So why did I ask him to write this?

Your letters arrived to me too late for me to understand your severe situation. Of vourse you feel inspired by the Lord to fight the revolution of America. It can be in no other way.

Our priest explained the merchantilism with me and the utter importance to run America. I may be weak when it comes to politics, but as so many of my poor brothers in the Lord Jesus Christ have to suffer to protect British right, well I say my prayers each day. Nothing else can rule but the very faith in the highest goal. Although I have heard that Mrs April is sick to her inner wounds about the loss of the American army. She is on Americas side, see! Loss? Is she mad? Does she not function properly in her mind? She had hints about victories on the so called American side. Now, I have not heard your news since December last year and I have no intention listening to gossip of how it goes. I refuse taking in propagande from the mad Mrs April…

You have to stay well. You gotta survive this, no matter the cause. Think and ponder about the issue. Newly born concepts about a revolution cannot survive. The faith in Lord is old, but all revolutions have their shortcomings. But would it be otherwise I can promise you that the faith in my Lord shall end. He is beside you all. On every single occasion he is on your side. No my faith cannot end. Well, I can explain how odd the gossip is in my area of London. People talk about what some have written in the papers. But rumours cannot beat our Lord. The papers says that an American victory would change the course of history. Such babbling geese these papers are. Are they nothing but born out of the Devil´s flesh. I say no more about that vulture. War is never on the side of Devil´s scum. War has to go on. And then on again. My sisters are of the same opinion. Our priest as well…

Now, there are lots of things I could tell you about London, but I...no, by the way. You know miss Hope? She is mad. She dressed up like a man, nice coat and all. And she went to the coffehouse to gather more,as she put it, accurate inside information. How silly. How odd. How very queer! Just that she is ninteen years old make me believe she is going out of the box of normal norms when that day come. And can you really believe it? After having been dressed as a man and been to godamn every coffehouse in each are, well she became so inclined about getting news in these places that she made up her mind. She said she would stay on the manhood´s side. A queer thing as queer as she is on the American side. And yes, she spread her views in pamphlets… and she got many to believe in her interference. As she is prone to intervene as she says, jokingly with an ironic touch in her voice. Imagine? A young lady ”intrervene” in the Man´s world? Then she will have no Lord´s supper on her death bed, mark my word! She is a devil-she in disguise. Well a man´s disguise. But there is revenge in the end. The day when our British troops win, well then all the Devil´s side and all the savages are going into the pithole of hell. And it seems that all of London are beginning to change their minds. They are saying that this time Britain is to lose her face. Such crap! Really crap and nothing else, if you excuse my word. London (such horror to my poor heart) says clearly that a new phase of history is on its coming. What do you say about that, my brother? Now that you are in the middle or the world´s event you must tell me it all in your next letter…

Since early your sister June…

Authors note: A new era took its beginning. The world would to see a new state come into being. Perhaps not the best that could happen to the idea of colonialism. But yet.

I would very much have liked to know how June felt when she was to hear the latest news from abroad. But me,by the way, the writer knows…

John, her brother died in the last battle. Her last letter never reached him. And he was as stubborn as his sister. He was a ”true” Londoner that went to America for the sole reason to go to war against the new thoughts. As a poor young man he had no other dream than to become a man aspiring for his London, his Britain, his concepts of the Lord.

Then again...perhaps we can imagine about June. Her faith in the Lord had come to fall into a pit itself. Not only was she mildly sad to hear about her brother. And imagine the hard lesson she had to go through getting her brother´s corpse back to the saved soil of Britain. But that kept aside, she cared more for ”bigger” issues than a dead brother. And of course she must have wondered if he came to the Lord´s paradise. He had at least been on the right side…

She sat at the small kitchen table when the priest came with her brother´s letter. It was written in May, in the year of 1776. He was tired,weary, wanted to go back home. He said that he was now in the centre of world´s affair – and it had made him feel at odds with his own belief system. He died one poverty of thought richer. Because poor thoughts can take their toll on or soul, mind and body. Poor thoughts can still give meaning to our inner world, at least for some times – before reality peeps out somewhere!

Blessed be his soul wherever it roams!