The Elder Sirs

My Dear Dashing Sir,

One memory touches my heart like no other. I find the topic to be unsettling on the one hand and appreciative on the other. I am talking about your parents. They were a paradox to me, because with you being so young your parents were quite advanced in age. They were actually older than my grandparents. You explained that they had you rather late in life, and I knew you were an only child.

We were headed to Newcastle to meet your parents, and boy were you nervous. I had never seen you so nervous.  It was very endearing. I believe I even teased you about it a few times, and you let me! Did I mention how nervous you were?!  We were staying nearby in The Hunter. Your father was in the hospital preparatory for surgery, and we headed over to see him and your mother.

The first thing that I noticed was how much your parents loved you. I could see it radiate from them when either of them looked at you. They adored you. The sun rose and set with you in their eyes, and their faces shown with unconditional parental love. I understood that, because it was how I felt when I looked at you too. I’m sure they saw it reflected on my face. I really couldn’t hide it, nor did I try to.

My first impression of your mother was that she was quite frail, but I equated that to the strain she was under worrying about your father. She was quiet but watchful; consequently, she was a true lady. I knew I was under the intense scrutiny I call the “mother’s microscope,” and I can’t blame her. You were her baby boy, and I was a strange American woman. I was more than happy to be analyzed. We had dinner later on that night with your mother and her friend. I distinctly recall whispering to you that I was worried about your mom. I could see her stress. You promptly went to her and encouraged her to get some rest. Your concern for her was tender, and it touched me deeply.

What to say about your father? He was such a rascally gem (like father like son?).  I can’t even tell you how long I sat next to him holding his hand while he entertained me with story after story. He would laugh and pat and squeeze my hand. I wasn’t letting go no matter how numb my hand went. His face was so animated, and I was an enthusiastic, willing audience. You wandered in and out of the room checking on us as you flitted about making sure everything was in order. You were the dutiful son.

I don’t remember what he and I were discussing, but I said the word “withdrawal.”  (I pronounced it with-drawl.) He looked up at you confused at what I just uttered. You understood instantly and said, “With-dra-wal, Father.” He nodded and looked relieved. He was afraid of offending me. He was a dear. I apologized to him for talking funny. He just laughed and probably made some wise crack.

I vividly recall him gazing intently at me, and I stared back – neither of us saying a word for a few moments. I didn’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed in the slightest. He was still gripping my hand tightly. After some time, he looked over at you and said, “She’s beautiful son. Don’t let this one go.”  I blushed. You reassured him that you wouldn’t.  My heart was so full at this point.

Of course we needed some comic relief by this time, and your father gave us that as well. He went to get up and promptly flashed me when he threw the bedcovers back. You were there in an instant and tucked him back into bed. I’m sure I was a bit mortified, but we laughed about it later. You made some comment about me being privy to the family jewels.

I miss something I never had. How is that even possible?  I miss something I truly thought would happen at that time – a relationship with your parents. I get so angry when I hear you tell me how callous your ex was with your parents. I am not a violent person, but I’d love to pull her hair – hard. Hell, I’d love to snatch her bald. There was no reason to be a grade-A bitch towards them. They were the nicest people. I thoroughly enjoyed them. I feel so cheated out of getting to know them better. I never got the chance to personally tell them how I felt about their son, and to tell them that I loved you. That hurts my heart. I mentioned them briefly in my Epistle letter. I remember wondering specifically about your father and replaying over and over in my mind my short time with him. That memory always made me happy.  I am going to add what I said before in Epistle.

I wondered after your parents for the longest time. It was torture not knowing when your father passed. I assumed it was not long after I met him only to find out he lived another few years! He was a delight to me. Not knowing hurt. You took that from me. Then to find out that the woman of your black heart couldn’t be bothered with him and would callously wish he would die. Damn her. I will never forget him telling you how beautiful he thought I was and to never let me go. My laughter is quite hollow I assure you. I am also so incredibly saddened to hear that your mother has recently passed. Damn you.

At the end of the day, I am happy I got the chance to meet both of them. I would have rather met them and go through all the pain again than miss out on that opportunity. They were your parents. They gave the world you – my Sir. You are a perfect legacy of two great people, and the world is a better place for having known them.

So affectionately yours,



My Dearest Darling

Yes my parents were quite elderly. My mother was older than you are now when she had me. My father was only several years younger than your father is now when I was conceived. Growing up it was not an issue until I hit 5th grade. That’s when I began to notice their age. I remember a message filtered through the school that my grandfather was here to pick me up. What an entirely incongruous statement that was. Three of my grand parents had died before I was born and my maternal grand mother passed only eighteen months later. I never really knew any of my grandparents. Now Dad would have been close to 70 when he took me from school that day. I suddenly realised that they were old.

You are right though. I know my parents loved me very much, as I did them. I could not have asked for nicer people to have filled that role. No doubt I spoilt their retirement plans, though they never mentioned it. My mother was quite a bit younger than my father but even in this age of modern medical miracles it would be quite unusual for a woman of her advancing years to carry a child to term. In her case I was her first and last.

So I was nervous? I really don’t remember. I have no doubt you are right. I didn’t even put a fight when you mocked me about it. I must have been on edge. I can’t believe you took advantage of me in a weak moment. I really thought better of you (smiles).

My mother would have watched you like a hawk, of that I have no doubt and the friend she was with was a cagey one. She would have not been afraid to ask the difficult questions or put me on the spot. If I was nervous, it was with good reason. Up until you I had been a serial monogamist. But you knew then as you know now, things were different. We were going to marry. We had your two children to consider. There were many decisions yet to be made. While I wanted to shout it from the rooftops that I loved you like no other, however there were still many questions that we did not yet have answers for.

She knew you were important to me of that I am certain. I mean your photo made it into the hallowed gallery. I would cringe each time I visited my parent’s home. Like many loving household you would see pictures of family. Well, I being an only child, walking into my parents home was like walking into a shrine to my life. To say my mother was proud would be an understatement. Everything from winning academic trophies to meeting important notables to playing prestigious concert halls was all neatly catalogued on the walls, and you my Darling had a place in that shrine.

My father was quite the rogue. He had lived a colourful life. During the Depression he stowed away on a ship to try and find work in New Zealand. During WWII he had enlisted as a private, made corporal then sergeant, and he’d been busted back to private on a number of occasions before finally being dishonourably discharged for assaulting an officer. Like his son, he always had a healthy disrespect for authority. He could spin a good yarn and cut quite the dashing figure in his youth. I like to think I have adopted his more endearing habits while discarding his more disreputable ones. I have no doubt that he took a shine to you. He always had an eye for the ladies. He lived another five years after your departure.

One of the funniest things I remember after that time was a visit I paid to him in the last year of his life. I was there with my then wife and he inquired after you. Now he couldn’t remember your name but I remember him saying something along the lines of  – “Whatever happened to that American lass? I’m surprised you let that one slip through your fingers. What was her name again? Was it Helen?” Well we both know that is not your name. I corrected him on that fact. All the while my then wife sat seething to my right. I had to turn to my left to hide my considerable mirth at my Father’s quite tactless yet hysterically funny comments. I think it may have been the last time she ever saw him alive. Their relationship was frosty at best and I think his comments tipped her over the edge.

I could go in to quite a bit of depth about my ex wife’s perceived short comings. They would pale under the harsh glare when compared to my own inexcusable behaviour. Suffice it to say my parents were a burden to her. My father, who literally got on with everyone, never took to her and she loathed that he lived longer than her own father (who made his own dramatic exit from this world). 

My mother never really understood where you had gone and why she (my ex) had replaced you (let’s be honest here I never told mum). My ex hated mum’s intrusion into our lives. My ex had trouble understanding that, because I was an only child, all the decisions were made by me. I had no brothers and sisters to help share the load; all help could only be provided by me. With my mother’s failing health (and she being an only child herself), there was no family on her side that could be enlisted to help as well.

The biggest fight we ever had in our marriage was when I paid for her father’s funeral! For the life of me I could not understand her issue. It took quite the argument for me to establish that her real issue was not so much that I had paid for her father’s funeral, but that it set a precedent for me to pay for my own father’s funeral. I was astounded by her line of thinking. With an elderly mother of limited means, and me being the only child, who else would have paid? Would I only be allowed to organise a pauper’s funeral on his death? It was the final straw in our already rocky marriage. It teetered on for several more years but we were really only postponing the inevitable.

I am happy you met them my Darling. I know you didn’t spend much time with them, and that I robbed you of the chance to spend more. That you remember them so warmly makes me smile.


You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir


Are You A Stalker?

Hello My Darling

At 1.25pm on Wednesday 18th September 2013 an anonymous text message appeared on my phone. “Hello Mr………” it read. There was no contact information so I did not know the sender. The number was however showing but I failed to identify it as being international.

Now before I go on I must say I went through an incredibly bitter and acrimonious divorce. During that time I received a number of physical threats. While I am not one to back down from such encounters, I did decide to make myself somewhat difficult to track when I relocated.

I had not received such a threat for some time but I was instantly wary. I somewhat aggressively replied “are you a stalker?” The response “geez no,” followed by a quick “my apologies.” I then asked the sender to identify them self, to which I was advised that their picture should have appeared along with the message. I decided to attempt some humour and stated that the picture was all black and white and that it looked a bit like a poor police sketch and I was therefore having trouble making out the details. In fact all I could see was the generic avatar used by the phone for any caller without an image.

I had no idea who was messaging me, but they clearly knew me. After some banter about messaging apps, it was made clear to me it was an international text. That narrowed the field. Even after 14 years I thought (even fleetingly) could this be Darling? I quickly discounted the possibility. I was actually meant to be in the U.S. on vacation at the time. I thought it could be one of the party I would’ve been travelling with. They would have taken some pleasure in making tasteless jokes about my location in relation to theirs. The other option, and I cringe even now to dwell on it, was my reply. “Being called Mr ……… always make me think. I know a delightful young lady from Texas who calls me that, doubtful she would text however.”

I still had no clue at this stage. The next message however gave it all away . “No…….. I am thinking this was erroneous of me. I am sorry.” To which in part I replied “there is only one person who I could think of, but dare I hope?” The clue my Darling was “erroneous.” Not a common word. A word, I would say, that the better educated amongst us might use. I knew it was you!

So still playfully I thought, well my Darling doesn’t wish to identify herself just yet, so I will play along. You had me download a messaging app. I installed it, but before we switched our lines of communication you made one last statement. “You never said who you think I am.” My reply I thought both clever and elegant “I suspect I may quite literally hold a candle for you, along with your purple pyjamas.”

Now before I go any further, I should remind you that when you were last here we bought a scented candle in Leura. That night we lit it, and as it burned we shared some time together in a gorgeous old claw footed bath. As mentioned briefly, here we both know you’d left your pyjamas behind. However when you departed we also divided the remains of that candle.  

You confirmed that purple was still your favourite colour and my world turned upside down.

I have replayed that text exchange on so many occasions since. After fourteen and a half years you had garnered the strength to text me. My first words, “are you a stalker?” You then wished to know if I knew who it was. My reply, “a delightful young lady from Texas.” Now in reality that line sounds like the introduction to a bawdy limerick*. The truth of the matter is that I do know a young lady from Texas. She is a thirteen year old high school student who had stayed with a close friend’s family while here on exchange. I had gotten to know her at the time as we shared our passion for all things Doctor Who (the British TV show celebrating its 50th season this year). All very innocent, but goodness knows what you were thinking? The last time we had spoken I had run off with another woman, now my current flame is Texan! It is a wonder you even continued the communication.

Well there you have it, our first contact in almost fifteen years. What I really must say is thank you.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love


Dear Lovely Sir,

In an earlier letter, I touched briefly on what led up to our first communication exchange in nearly 15 years. It still seems surreal when I think back on it. I have to constantly tell myself that I’m talking to Sir after all these years. THE Sir.

As I mentioned, I don’t recall looking for you until quite recently, and it wasn’t an extensive search. It’s nearly comical how it all played out. I was looking for a specific place in The Hunter Valley where we had stayed. On a whim, I put your name into the search engine alongside the other words – and there you were. I was stunned. I can still feel the shock wash over my body. I didn’t know what to do with the information presented before me, and I wasn’t sure if I should do anything with it. I let it simmer in my mind for days.

Then the day was here. I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom looking at my phone. I had Googled how to text international numbers and even checked my cell phone plan to get an idea of how much it would cost. I can’t tell you how long I sat there. What was the worst that could happen? You could tell me you didn’t care to hear from me. You could have told me to get bent. All these scenarios ran through my head. My ‘wondering’ got the better of me. I wanted to know if you were happy. I just decided to go for it.

“Hello Mr. ——.”

Then you asked me if I was a stalker. Whoa! Seriously? I let that roll over me, and I immediately apologized. My head was reeling. Did I want to continue?

You asked me who I was, and I am still aghast that I answered by questioning if my picture had shown up with my text message. The rational, thinking side of me knew that wasn’t possible due to the fact that in order for that to happen you had to do it from your side.  That shows how the whole incident was affecting me; I wasn’t thinking properly. I was trying to keep any emotion from overcoming me. I was on auto-pilot.

When you asked if I was a “delightful young lady from Texas,” I wondered what I had walked into. If a woman with a drawl was your lover then I wanted no part of interfering on any level. I admit that I was quickly thinking how to gracefully bow out at this point, but I knew I wouldn’t have an answer to my question if I did. I bit the bullet and carried on. My disassociation cruise control was still working at the moment.

I wanted you to download a free communication app out of consideration. I didn’t want you to rack up international fees by texting. I was surprised when you remarked that you never noticed that the texts were coming from an international number; proof that you weren’t on your game as well. It made sense when you explained about the threatening phone calls, but I was not privy to that information at the time. I was just confused.

When you texted that you still had my purple pajamas, I was beyond dazed. I couldn’t fathom why you’d have them. As I’ve acknowledged prior, I was under the impression that you despised me. You remarked to me that you noted how long it took me to respond after you sent that line. I was having trouble comprehending it all. I was clueless about the candle and what it meant.

As you’ve so sweetly mentioned my stubbornness, it served a purpose and it didn’t let me down during this emotional exchange.  I was determined to get the answer I wanted – if you were happy. I was having trouble believing that you wanted to talk with me. You were and are willing to ford the turbulent waters of mistaken beliefs and set things right. I think your stubbornness rivals my own.

And our journey continues……

Love always,


An example of Sir’s dodgy limerick writing skills
A delightful young lady from Texas
A delightful young lady from Texas
Who never wore more than a necklace
The beads would go slack
When she arched her back
I’m not rhyming this line, I’m not feckless  
©2013 Darling and Sir