Telegrams dated between 20th and 26th March 1927, addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Telegram dated 20th March 1927, addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Dear Mama STOP
Do not send Bunty over here under any circumstances STOP
Dengue fever is rife STOP
If the doctor wishes to send him somewhere hot suggest the Sahara STOP
Please also send over foot balm STOP
Stubbed my toe on a Welshman STOP
Love Jack STOP

Telegram Dated 23rd March 1927, addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous.

To Mama STOP
What a stroke of luck Bunty's doctor being an expert in tropical diseases STOP
Pity he isn't an expert in conditions of the mind or he would surely consider him unfit to travel STOP
I admit that I hadn't heard of Dengue fever in Cairo either STOP
New strain apparently STOP
Will send a case back with Bunty for him to peer over his glasses at STOP

Regards Jack STOP

Telegram dated 26th March 1927 addressed to Mrs Mary Courageous

Dear Mama STOP
Distressed to hear that Bunty no longer coming STOP
For the best, I'm sure STOP
No sign of foot balm STOP
Toe has gone black STOP

Loving son Jack STOP

Letter dated 15 th March 1927 to Mr Andrew Langton

Dear Langers,

The threads of my life seem to be converging at one single point with the sole and express purpose of eliciting exquisite annoyance and unparalleled irritation. You remember how I told you that my Auntie had started becoming uncharacteristically nice to me; well since then, my cretinous cousin Bunty has written, or should I rather say, drawn to me for the first time in fifteen years and my mother has been conspiratorially in cahoots with my Auntie which is never a good sign. I had a suspicion that something was up but I couldn't put my finger on it so up until now, I have been enjoying the hampers Auntie sent to me and revelling in the idiocy of my cousin and the several thousand miles between us.

Then it arrived this morning; the gathering storm, the fly in my ointment, the turd in my bathwater. A letter, but not just any letter. A letter from my mother informing me that Buntie was in ill health and that he will be coming to stay with me. Apparently he is under doctor's orders to leave England and take a trip to the sun. Sounds like a good wheeze. I might pay this doctor a visit myself and see if he can prescribe a trip to the Bahamas for me to recuperate from some fictional tropical disease whilst Bunty comes here. My mother is insisting that he come over as soon as possible as there is a influenza epidemic in England and he might catch it in his weakened state. You've met him. What about me! What if I catch something?

Mother has threatened to reduce my allowance if I resist. Fortunately the new business is taking off rather well and I have now moved into trading and shipping of ancient artefacts. All legal and above board and nothing big you know, just a few small trinkets but they seem to sell. If Bunty comes over, I can say goodbye to all that as he has a mouth the size of a small mine shaft and cannot be trusted to keep confidence. No doubt the whole setup will be blabbed to my mother in a telegram together with perfuse and stomach churning thanks for sending here in the first place. No, I will have to find some cunning way of putting him (and her) off.

I'm meeting up with my tutor tomorrow to review my research so far. Could be a very short meeting.

Hope you and Kitty are well.

All the best.

Jack.

Letter sent on 3rd March 1927 to "Bunty"

Dear Bunty,

Thanks ever so for the letter. I have to admit that your handwriting with it's trademark style similar to a woodlouse wandering through a blob of ink style was hard to read at first but the drawings really helped. I particularly liked the one of the barmaid who has caught your eye. Very life like and no doubt anatomically accurate.

Thank you also for the packet of bacon from your finest butcher in Scunthorpe. No doubt it is a rare treat indeed when fresh but sadly its appeal has somewhat waned after a ten day journey by boat. Nevertheless, I appreciated the sentiment and the swarm of flies which accompanied it.

Regarding the questions you posed in your letter, let me answer them in order:

No.
Absolutely not.
Don't you dare.
Over my dead body or yours.

Please do not feel in anyway obliged to correspond to me in the near future; say the next twenty years.

Lukewarm regards.

Jack.

(Editor's note: It may appear to the uninitiated, that in correspondence, Jack is excessively cruel to Bunty but the two do have history together as later correspondence will reveal. Unfortunately Bunty was not a popular fellow either in public or private life, leading one deeply inebriated journalist to once comment that Bunty "took the C##t out of Scunthorpe when he left." An unpleasant comment, but one the captured the popular mood nonetheless."

Letter Dated 27th February 1927, Cairo

Dear Mama,

This morning, I received a letter from Bunty of all people. Bunty!! It came as something of a surprise, that he knew how to hold the pencil the right way up and slide it along the paper to make a discernible mark, let alone form letters into recognisable words that then miraculously fit them together to create sentences that one could understand. True the niceties were missing like those little words that make sentences flow such as 'Dear Jack' and 'from Bunty'. With the appalling spelling and his unique approach to grammar, the rest was largely guesswork on my part. But what can you expect from a man who elevates idiocy to an art form and has on numerous occasions been called a halfwit by people that don't know him and such a term described as overly generous by those who do him. To call Bunty a halfwit, would be to credit him with having any wit at all, which clearly he hasn't.

I know he is my cousin and your nephew and as such, you are bound by family and duty to have some affection for him but if Bunty starts to write to me for the first time in fifteen years, prattling on about his pet goat and a girl from the village who has the misfortune to catch his eye, and Aunty continues to send suspiciously unsolicited parcels, then something is clearly up. Aunty never does anything without you and Papa claims to know nothing, which is a sure fire indication that whatever it is must have pretty dire consequences for me. What's going on? What are you both cooking up?

Looking forward to a speedy and frank response.

Your loving and patiently tolerant son,

Jack.