Dear Mr Bigelow

Synopsis: Dear Mr Bigelow is an enchanting collection of weekly letters written between 1949 and 1961 from an unmarried woman working at the Public Baths in Bournemouth, to a wealthy American widower in New York. Frances Woodsford and Paul Bigelow never met, yet their epistolary friendship was her lifeline. We follow Frances' trials with her ghastly boss Mr Bond; the hilarious weekly Civil Defence Classes as the Cold War advances; her attempts to shake off an unwanted suitor, and life at home with her mother and her charming ne'er-do-well brother. Sparked with comic genius, the letters provide a unique insight into post-war England and the growth of an extraordinary friendship.

Review: I read this at the same time as reading Veronika Decides to Die and I'm glad I did because it was the perfect antidote. Whilst VDTD was (I thought) dreary and flat, Dear Mr Bigelow was lively and full of spark.

This is a book containing the letters sent to Mr Bigelow (and she wrote him a weekly letter for twelve years,) a retired captain living in Long Island, New York by Frances Woodsford a 36 year old living in Bournemouth England, and working as as secretary in the Bournemouth Public Baths. We never ever read Mr Bigelow's replies because Frances didn't keep them. She was told, after Mr Bigelow's death, that her correspondence to him had not been kept and after a few years she discarded his too (she said they were a bit haphazard anyway and were just scrawls written on scraps) but a few years later she was contacted and told that the letters had been found. You get a strong impression of what Mr Bigelow was like though from Frances's replies, they shared a similar sense of humour and anything that was thought could entertain the other would be cut out and sent.

Frances had started writing to Mr Bigelow as a kindness to his daughter who was a good friend and who often sent over precious food/clothing packages etc from America (for though it was the 1950's, rationing was still in strict operation in Britain,) but she soon grew to enjoy their correspondence. Frances always typed her letters during her lunch hour at the public bath's, she called them her 'Saturday Specials' but they were just as likely to be written on any day of the week .. she always mailed them on a Friday though. She has that happy knack of writing letters as if she's chatting to the recipient, they're full of news and gossip and accounts of her daily life. She lives at home with her mother and brother Mac and is often exasperated by the pair of them especially Mac who get's away with murder (not literally .. just that, like a lot of men from that era, he is used to being waited on hand and foot by the women.)

'Dear Mr Bigelow,
... My brother is very fond of telling the story of Dr Johnson who was said to have spat out a mouthful of too hot soup with the remark "some dam' fool would have swallowed that." Not that my brother does more than copy the remark, I would have you know. My brother does seem sometimes to be ashamed to be seen in public with me. One fine day, when I am out with the scion of the Woodsford family, I will do everything I know, and a few things I imagine, to give him really something to be shamed for - I shall scratch, hitch my skirts, smooth my girdle, pick my ear, run my nails through my hair for dandruff; stare at people; laugh like a nosiy hyena, and belch, whenever we come within hearing distance of any and everybody. That'll larn him.
The peculiar thing is that I really know my one and only brother isn't ashamed of me. At least, I am always clean and tidy in public, and fairly quiet. I wore gloves (as I always do) and a hat, and my fur cape, a decent quiet dress and stockings. He wore a tennis shirt (he did have a tie, I will grant you) but no hat (he never does) and no gloves. So why he should act as though I were a leprous barmaid, heaven knows! In the street, we alternately crawled along to avoid catching up with somebody he knew, or raced along side streets to ensure meeting as few people as possible. It brings out the nasty, catty side of my nature, and I dream of becoming the Hampshire Lady Tennis Champion (much chance!) and then joining his club after they begged me to do so on bended knee, just for the pleasure of refusing to associate with Mac. See what a horrid nature I have at bottom, but you won't tell anybody, I know ...'

A great snapshot of what it was like to live in Britain during the 1950's. Frances could draw well too and the letters are full of great little illustrations as well as a sprinkling of photo's. Anyone who loved reading Nella Last's Mass Observation diaries will love this. Frances could be bossy and terribly competitive but you can't help becoming fond of her.