I recently wrote a post on another blog featuring possible letters from fictional characters during Lockdown. You can find the post here. Below are my imagined replies. They weren’t as easy to write but it was fun and I hope it raises a smile or two, for you.
Thank you for your lovely letter. If he were still alive, your Uncle Pastuzo would be proud of your paw-writing. He was a bear of little learning but, with the help of the explorer, could spell his name and read marmalade recipes upside down, even when sticky.
I’m so glad you are in London and hope you’re minding your manners and keeping safe. There have only been two confirmed cases of Coronavirus here in the Home for Retired Bears but the social distancing rules are ridiculous. You need a risk assessment to look out the window. I had all my jars of marmalade confiscated, then saw Chief Care Bear with orange lips. That’s stealing.
You need to be patient with Mr Brown. He can’t help being a stressed human. Look out for tell-tale signs – small pupils, red face, bad words muttered in small rooms (where they think no one can hear them). You’ll get used to him and after all, he did take you in, like all those children left at railway stations, years ago, with labels round their necks. I told you the English wouldn’t have forgotten how to treat a stranger.
Now take care, my darling, and don’t forget the ‘friendly advice for the foreigner in London.’ Next time Mr Brown is cross, just mention the weather. Particularly if it’s bucketing down.
Aunt Lucy x
Dearest Miss Woodhouse,
I am all but overwhelmed at receiving your kind letter – such a very kind letter – apologising (apologising!) for your behaviour the other day which was of course impeccable – and is always impeccable, as is that of your dear father – such a gentleman and very dear friend – when it is I – I ! – who should be, and who indeed am, the remorseful one. I cannot think why I clasped your arm, my dear Miss Woodehouse, in these Covid-ridden times when I have been practising social-distancing with dear Jane and Mother at home. They cannot get far enough away from me – imagine! – so that we can all stay safe and follow the government guidelines. I am so grateful – so very grateful – for all our kind and thoughtful friends and acquaintances in Highbury and it is the least I can do – the very least – in offering dear Jane’s handiwork as a small token of our heartfelt appreciation to you all.
It was such a pleasure to deliver them myself when dear Jane took ill. Her symptoms were so very bad that we could not allow her from the house. She tried to persuade me not to go, that it would not be safe – imagine such concern for an aunt! – but naturally I would not hear of it. My deafness is no better, you see! It seems it was your safety she was concerned about. But the Threat Level is now at 3, so all is well.
I remain your very grateful and most affectionate friend,
I don’t understand. You’re always telling me to eat more vegetables. And a run from Mr Mcgregor is my daily exercise. From the veggie patch to the shed to the gate (past the cat) takes almost exactly half an hour and really gets my steps up.
If it’s my destiny to be put in a pie like Father, at least Mrs Mcgregor will put me in a proper old fashioned pie, instead of some rubbish Higgidy Rabbit with Chorizo or something. Anyway I doubt she’s making pies due to the flour shortage. Sourdough Rabbit doesn’t cut it somehow.
It seems most unfair that Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail get milk, bread and blackberries while I’m here in bed with chamomile tea. If I wasn’t so sick. I’d ring Wild-Line. Anyway, Mcgregor was sneezing and coughing the whole time he was chasing me. If the government’s Track and Trace wasn’t so useless, I’d probably be self-isolating by now.
And then who would queue at Baitrose for you?
Love (but not feeling it)
Dear Mrs. Danvers,
I am sorry to hear you are not well. You are right to self-isolate until you feel better. I look forward to your return to work. We have much to discuss.
Thank you for the clean face towels. Unfortunately, Maxim and I were delayed in London and did not return late, as expected. Frith put them away in our absence and I am sorry to say he has also become ill. I am sure this will concern you.
I should say that I have only ever wanted to learn from you. You are clearly very experienced at running Manderley and have a great deal to offer someone young and unsophisticated like myself. Maxim and I have discussed it and when you are better, we would like to invite you into a support bubble. We can run through menus together and you can show me the west wing where Rebecca slept. It will be good company for me when Maxim’s away.
Best wishes for your recovery,
Mrs de Winter
I’m sorry you’re feeling sad. Lockdown is hard for depressed donkeys and Bears of Little Brain, but there are good things, like honey, haycorns and letters from friends. Like this one, which I’ve writ all on my own, without WOL, who is busy policing The Hundred Acre Wood for the animal welfare riots.
I don’t think the world is going to end. At least, not before snack time. I’m rumbly in my tumbly. I haven’t lost any weight even though I’ve exercised every day (sometimes standing up).
Remember, Happiness is like Heffalumps. You spend hours looking and don’t find any. Then you stumble across a whole heap in one go. Also, they begin with the same letter. Christopher Robin told me that’s called precipitation.
I’m sure it won’t be long before we’re sharing a jar together and playing Poohsticks. You’ll win. You always do.
Never forget you are braver than you believe and stronger and smarter than you think. And your friends are rooting for you. Covid has come and it will go. But friendship is forever.
You can do this, eoR.
Love and fur balls,