ARTISTS TALKING

# 112 [26 January 2010]

A shame to publish such private and personal letter contents without permission of the writer/recipient.

- Adam, Hong Kong, 9/12/2009 1:08

Click to rate     Rating   79

Maybe it was the SAS dude with all the medals?

- Thud McGuffin, Newtownards, Northern Ireland, 9/12/2009 0:38

Click to rate     Rating   34

The photos are from the 1960s, not the 40s.

- Athena, Greece, 8/12/2009 18:51

Click to rate     Rating   52

I empathise with the situation ...

In 1954 she was 15, I was 18, and we fell in love. Unfortunately her father disapproved of me. I didn't join the Foreign Legion but the RAF fitted the bill all the same.

In Oct 1956 I got posted to Cyprus and she continued writing. But then in June 1956 all letters stopped. I Returned to the UK in April '59 but by then she and her family had both disappeared from the radar - never found any trace.

By a series of coincidences - plus some help from the internet - we were reunited in November 2002. She's now 71, I'm 74 and living happily ever after.

Any good love srtory either starts happily and then ends sadly - or vice versa ...

So all in all this story got to me and I hope there's an ending appropriate to the circumstances which brought it about in the first place ...


miromike london england

- Miromike, London England, 8/12/2009 18:23

Click to rate     Rating   179

Those were far better days, people had so much more style and finesse.

- Barry, Shevington, 8/12/2009 17:13

Click to rate     Rating   129

Geez, you guys really need to clean out your buses more often, at least after every major war.

- Mike Bonner, Ottawa, Canada, 8/12/2009 16:41

Click to rate     Rating   71

How sad that the contents of these , clearly personal letters have been used in the newspaper like this !
whilst I appreciate it would be nice to return them to their rightful owner, the private nature of the letters should have been kept that!! PRIVATE !

- justjospain, spain, 8/12/2009 16:34

Click to rate     Rating   97

"In the poem the author speaks of his longing for Anna by asking: 'Simply to gratify my Anna's curious pleasure is / It really honest to loot poor grave's golden treasuries?"

Nice try. That'd be PALGRAVE'S Golden Treasuries, after Francis Turner Palgrave, anthologist of English lyrical poetry. He put the first Golden Treasury together in the 1860s. They still print them, as I recall.

Handwriting's tricky, you know. Just ask Gordon Brown.

- P. Algrave, Oxford, 8/12/2009 15:00

Click to rate     Rating   69

What lovely souvenirs from a lost age! I do hope they are reunited with their owner or her heirs. If nothing else, the story would make the basis for a marvelous screenplay.

- A J, Ex-pat, Missouri, USA, 8/12/2009 14:31

Click to rate     Rating   94

Interesting story - it sounds to me like maybe the woman in the photos died and someone was moving some of her belongings on the bus and this bag fell out of the box. You probably wouldn't miss things like letters and a birth certificate if they weren't yours.

- Anon, Earth, 8/12/2009 13:52

Click to rate     Rating   103

# 111 [26 January 2010]

A real romantic puzzle eh?

Carlotti in Spain lay off the Sangria because you sound rather detached from reality. Pray tell, where is the filth that you see in this story?

- Doreen, London, 09/12/2009 09:23

Click to rate     Rating   3

How wonderful to have know such love and affection.

Letter writing was so important then and people used their imagination to write beautiful words. Nowadays it's all emails and texts- so impersonal.

I hope the letters and photo's are reunited with the owner and/or family.

Wonder if they should try the Australian press?

- jojo, Swansea, 09/12/2009 08:47

Click to rate     Rating   12

Carlotti, Spain - you sound like a very bitter person. Where is the so-called "filth" in this? What is the matter with you?

- Liz, Brussels, Belgium, 09/12/2009 07:59

Click to rate     Rating   22

The young lovers are standing in front of the Spanish steps in Rome......................................which is not in Portugal.

You guys need to get out more often!

- Mark, Beverley, East Yorkshire, 09/12/2009 07:52

Click to rate     Rating 92

With this kind of explicit filth articulated a generation or two ago, is it really any surprise that we now have a feral society the members of which stop at nothing for self gratification. Such stuff was a time bomb which has now gone off.

- Carlotti, Spain, 09/12/2009 07:37

Click to rate     Rating   93

Why has it taken them a year to try and get help?

- Adam, Dorset

# 110 [26 January 2010]

The photographs, dating from the 1940s, feature a glamorous Audrey Hepburn-lookalike travelling the world on cruise liners and attending weddings and parties.

Airmail love letters from a mysterious 'Xavier' are addressed to a Miss Anna Paton - presumed to be the woman in the photographs - who would now be in her 80s.

The fascinating love story was found, together with birth certificates and important documents, in a purple plastic bag on the back of a coach which terminated in Bristol in August 2008.

The bus company spent the last year trying to trace the owner without success and are now appealing for anyone with information to contact them.

The mysterious purple bag contained more than 70 black and white photos and airmail letters, with many bound together in delicate pink ribbon.

It was left on long-distance coach that terminated in Bristol in 2008 and either came from London or from Devon and Cornwall and was operated by First.

The letters all begin ''to my love'' and are signed off ''god bless you my darling, my lover, X.''

The poems are clearly romantic in nature and one refers to the couple as ''mistress'' and ''lover''.

One two-page poem is titled: ''The lovers' complaynt on his evident incapacity to fulfil his mistress her task''.

In the poem the author speaks of his longing for Anna by asking: ''Simply to gratify my Anna's curious pleasure is / It really honest to loot poor grave's golden treasuries?

''(T'will be the only pinching I am likely to be allowed / Unless I goose her secretly in the middle of a crowd.)''

From addresses on the envelopes, it appears Miss Paton lived at addresses in Chelsea and Knightsbridge in London, St Ives in Cornwall and various overseas locations.

She also lived in Barcelona in Spain, Sydney in Australia, Antibes in France and Lisbon in Portugal during the 60s and 70s.

Anna Paton also spent time on board the Blue Star SS Auckland Star, calling at ports in Senegal in West Africa and Cape Town in South Africa.

Bus company First have written to every UK address on the envelopes to find the elusive Miss Anna Paton - but have so far received no response.

Karen Baxter, spokeswoman for First in the South West, said: ''These letters clearly have special significance to someone.

''Within the bag are also several love notes that would have been sent with bouquets of flowers, and there are also several handwritten poems.

''It would be wonderful to reunite this lost property with its owner. The photos are also amazing; really capturing the spirit of the 1940s, 50s and 60s.

''Looking at the photographs and the dates on the letters, it's clear that the owner would probably be in their 70s or 80s now, and I imagine these letters and photos would mean a great deal to them, or their children.

''I genuinely hope we are able to trace their owner and return them to their rightful home.''

The letters were kept in First's lost property for a month and were retained by the company after that due to their perceived importance to the owners.

Karen Baxter added: ''There's definitely some kind of link to high society, given the extensive travelling this woman carried out during that era.

''It is obviously a love story with swathes of hand-written poetry and romantic letters.''

The lost bag also contained an Australian birth certificate in the name of Muriel Mayklim Jackson (the daughter of Isobel Paton Jackson nee Fitzsimmons and William Sydney Jackson).

There were also two deed poll name change documents, both dating from 1956. Isabel Paton Jackson changed her name to Isabel Paton, and Muriel Mayklim Jackson became Muriel Mayklim Paton.

There is also a newspaper cutting from 1953 showing the wedding notice of Miss Muriel Jackson to Mr Peter Heath, from the society pages of the Sunday Herald Newspaper in Australia.

Anyone with information should contact Karen Baxter, First's PR manager, by emailing karen.baxter@firstgroup.com.

# 109 [20 January 2010]

The tale of Casper the commuting cat, who would politely queue with bus passengers before contentedly riding around Plymouth, made headlines and raised smiles around the world.

Sadly the cat's love affair with the open road has proved his downfall after he was killed by a hit-and-run driver, it emerged today.

A notice appeared at the cat's usual bus stop saying: "Many local people knew Casper, who loved everyone. He also enjoyed the bus journeys. Sadly a motorist hit him … and did not stop.

"Casper died from his injuries. He will be greatly missed … he was a much-loved pet who had so much character. Thank you to all those who befriended him."

Casper's life on the buses came to international attention last year. It turned out that for four years he had been riding the no 3 bus, passing the Devon city's historic dockyard and naval base, en route.

He tended to curl up on a seat or sometimes purr around fellow passengers' legs, all the way to the final stop, stay on and make the return journey. Drivers got used to letting him off at the correct stop.

His owner, Sue Finden, said she had never understood what he was doing until a bus driver let her into the secret of Casper's travelling.

"I couldn't believe it at first, but it explains a lot. He loves people and we have a bus stop right outside our house so that must be how he got started – just following everyone on," she said at the time.

# 108 [17 January 2010]

Last night I came back to my studio. It was like an Aesop tale in horizontal: Embryonic fleas clinging to my pusscats back, pusscat clinging to my back, me clinging to Humphrey my bears back, he clinging to several Amazon box carcasses, they interlocking with the Guardian, they wrapping piles of my paintings, all of us wrapped in duvet.

An ex-boyfriend wrote in a song:

" Bel's bed is full of magazines, bras and broken pencils"

# 107 [16 January 2010]

The flat dissapointment of a going to a New Years day party. The flatness of a new year and the first day of it and the air of hangover-expecting to feel a sense of recognition with someone-a longing for a lost love or homeland. A neutral, clean and comfortable home.
When I was almost thirteen years old my mother moved to Vatican City Rome to mend Papal robes. My father dissapeared. My sisters were at university. My mother left me a copy of her signature so that I could fake school letters. I moved into Canon Sherlocks house. The Canon had died two weeks previously. The shape of his body still (imprinted) on the ticking sheet upstairs. A well like the dipmade for water in flour for pastry in the mattress. His rubbish was still in the bin, mostly paper and pelargonium heads maybe he had given up eating. Radio 4 was turned down but on. And so I adopted his habits. From a very strict upbringing to no rules at all I started to live like the ninety one year old Canon who had just died. The ship was waiting for a new captain and I was it.
Tinned peaches in syrup next to Birds powdered custard. I made the obvious connection and tried them and liked them. Post war treats for a child born in 1975. I turned the radio up and enjoyed Humphrey Littleton on Sorry I haven’t a clue and several other radio programmes. The Times that came through the door for a while I read over several days. As I did with: Lolita, Pnin, Tess of the D’urbevilles. The cat seemed to accept me as the new master. Drawers and drawers of things-even a table that I thought had false pockets opened and yeilded a set of silver asleep on cobalt velvet beds.
Wine stains on the wall
The rope on by the stairs shiny with grease
Birds custard powder
Peaches in syrup
Radio 4 (turned down not off)
Threadbare cat used to pee by the fireplace guessed it’s name began with E  ‘Worm E”  in a seven year old engagement diary was known by me as ‘E puss and Mr E’ ever after. I found out that Epuss was calle Edgeware several years after he died. He had brought a copper pipe slow worm in from the compost heap he briefly returned to kitten before the excitement killed him.
Portraits of past Sherlocks-dark etchings with Spaniel ear wigs
Christ in the corner looking down as an out of body experience
Two bedrooms
Walls covered in fabric-only other place Liberty of London (and Indian restaurant)
Cold in the final room and could hear next doors jacuzzi
Airing cupboard-walk in where I did a lot of my English A level essays
Painted on the landing looking out through the diamond windows under the spiders webs, slugs, snails, caterpillars and moths that lived in the overhanging thatch
Apple tree rotten in the garden and a tame fox and pheasant
Antlers on the outside of the shed-brought inside.
The kitchen- not the same.
Lined with paper sticky and rings of Lyles golden syrup Midwinter and Meissen crockery

# 106 [16 January 2010]

A man doing The Knowledge on his moped. The heavy push of the gate and his physical memory of the space (Bachelard) Knew this space far better than I. The people that live in Lane End have dreams about other places they have lived as I do about the rooms they are sleeping in. The carpet, The look of the gloss paint on the alcove where the post used to wait to be opened. Bills lying there for months. Estate Agents enquiries, Pizza delivery adverts for years.  The Staffordshire Shepherd and girl looking on over to a pastoral Scottish landscape engraved and in glass on the other side of the hall. Now they look toward s a turbulent sea scene a reminder of on my stepfathers heritage: his father was a lifeboat man.  Realise the miserable Christmases that happened. My father taking one of our present to the children in the home he ran. My Mason and Pearson hairbrush I had waited for a year to get instantly taken and used by another less fortunate little girl causing me to go hot in the face with frustration.

# 105 [16 January 2010]

Damien Hirst’s recent self portrait as model of Picasso’s portrait in his studio wearing nothing but pants: charisma, reports of sexual energy and mystical power; a minatour in his lair George Jamesone is the first recorded artist to be painted in his studio in the 1640s. Powerful and cultured, surrounded by his work and a well chosen group of objects that demonstrate his culture, wealth and status to rival even the famous Antwerp studio of Rubens.

# 104 [16 January 2010]

 “ it was an apartment turned pigsty…filled with piles of pictures, reams of paper, stacks of books, packages, wrapped models for sculptures, all lying helter-skelter on the floor, everything covered with a thick coating of dust…Except for a few friends, Picasso allowed no one in. The dust could fall and settle wherever it like, without fear of some cleaning woman’s feather duster.”

In conversation with Picasso, by Brassai, on the subject of Picasso's studio

# 103 [16 January 2010]

On April 8, 1947, workman Artie Matthews found the body of Langley Collyer just 10 feet from where Homer died. His partially decomposed body was being eaten by rats. A suitcase and three huge bundles of newspapers covered his body. Langley had been crawling through their newspaper tunnel to bring food to his paralyzed brother when one of his own booby traps fell down and crushed him. Homer, blind and paralyzed, starved to death several days later. The stench detected on the street had been emanating from Langley, the younger brother