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My Dearest Owen,
Today started quietly, without trouble, but by
9 a.m. I was up to my neck in it. I was alone in
the office when the phone rang. It was a message to
say a 17 year old girl was being held at the Police
Station and an escort was being arranged for her
to go back to the Tyne, from where she had
absconded on Sunday. But, as there were no
charges against her, and as the Women Police could
not leave their office whilst the girl was there,
would I please keep her at the office until the
escort arrived. I was told she wasn't violent.
I said yes, if the Police could bring her along to
the Office. I couldn't go for her.
About five minutes later the Policewoman
Sgt. arrived, plus Marie, (a policewoman), and
the girl, named Kathleen. the Police left and
Kathleen and I were left together. She was
wearing bright red jeans - a ragged blue turtle
end of page one
necked sweater, and a white leather duffle jacket.
I talked with her. She was picked up by the police
at 11:30 on Sunday night. When asked were she was
going by the policeman, she said 'home'.
"Where's home" - "the way I'm going" - "where home
you come from" - "where I've been"
"What's your name" No reply. and they didn't
get a reply to that one until 2.15 this morning.
All she would say was "your the Cops -- Find out"
A real tough kid. She told me she had run
away before, and got as far as Liverpool
on a platform ticket. I couldn't get anywhere on
a platform ticket. All this escapade had been a
split second deasion on her part - - no arguments,
no fights, just a sudden whin for some
excitment. And all for kicks of some sort.
It makes you think doesnt it ?
It has been a wet, dark, miserable day too;
and that really made the day.
I had a shock on Friday to learn of the very
end of page two
sudden death of my old boss - Mr. Turner. He was
59 years old and died in hospital after a very
short illness. We are also having a little
trouble with Slan. One of her old friends died
suddenly last week, and Slan got a shock.
I'd better go before I become maudlin.
I'll be back tomorrow sweetheart.
Friday 9th May
Sorry I've been so long in writing
again, but on tuesday I suddenly developed
a sore throat, which by Wednesday had
grown to a pip of a cold. Today it seems at
it's peak. I've felt really awful, and have
dazed myself rather by all the tablets and
lot drinks I've taken, but they don't seem
to help at all, and the cold runs it's
course, regardless of what you take.
Are you O.K. honey ? I hope so.
Look after yourself won't you.
end of page three
Page 4, same letter...
Saturday, 10th May, 1958.
My Dearest Owen.
I'm afraid I haven't been much of a
correspondent this week, and I'm sorry, I hope
you will forgive me.
The truth is I haven't done very much at
all since this lousy cold broke on me. I've
carried on at the office, but have come home and
gone straight to bed in an effort to speed it up.
Glory I'm glad the weekend has come around -
out of doors today its rained solidly for hours -
but I've stayed in bed, and must admit that
I think I've passed the Kleenex stage.
All I have done this week is read and
read, plus some knitting, but I did feel sorry
I've written to Ken and Ida, and also to
Jack, so letter writing points me on the way to
It's quite some time since I saw a film