The proverbial needle in a haystack wasn't in it - we had no idea where to even begin to look for them. A box of letters, written a hundred years ago, letters that told a story then and could possibly contribute significantly to a story being told now - but they hadn't been seen in years. In fact it could have been that they were no longer in existence.
I've always been a bit like a dog with a bone though - I won't stop worrying at an issue until I'm sure it's dead and buried, with no possible prospect of resurrection. So for the past six months I've searched high and low for those letters. Just as I was about to admit defeat, one last possible resting place for them came to mind. The joy at actually finding them there (and the tale of the discovery will now be an integral part of the story) was indescribable.
The letters were written to the Reverend Alexander Leitch, a fascinating man and my husband's grandfather, who sadly died many years before I joined the family. Four years ago I decided I would write his biography, detailing his involvement in many of major late nineteenth and early to mid twentieth century events. But that undertaking has presented me with challenges I've not experienced with any other writing project. Only recently has access to various archives become available again after the pandemic. Individuals who knew him or much of him are now few and far between and sadly frailty and illness have rendered some of those unable to help. The letters, however, written at the time of his young son's death, give a remarkable insight into his life and times. They've provided an huge impetus to the whole project. And - as someone who enjoys writing and receiving letters myself - the whole episode has certainly made me question the ephemeral nature of so much of our present day communication. Rather different challenges there for future biographers!
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