Love Letters

My friend Kirsten Cronin is a personal historian living in Maine with her husband and three children. Learn more about Kirsten, her work and her passions at Kirsten Transcribes. She shares with us the first letter of her 1912 Love Letters Series.

With Valentine’s Day approaching I thought it would help put us all in the spirit by sharing some love letters. This is the beginning of a series of love letters written in 1912. You will note that spelling of some words is different from the way we write them today, for example the word “wether” instead of “weather”. You will also notice that the “e” is frequently left off the end of words. When I transcribed these letters the family and I decided to leave them as is and did not change spelling or grammar in any way.

Unfortunately we only have the letters written to her to look at, we do not have a copy of those she wrote. As a result you need to use a little imagination and try to figure out what she has said to receive some of the responses he sends.

I hope you enjoy this series and hope it inspires you to write down how you and your loved one met and some stories about your romance! For more information or ideas please go to Kirsten Transcribes or visit the Association of Personal Historians.

July 19, 1912

Dear Miss Hudes,

Your letter brought back the sunshine. Bless you for it. We too has had stormy wether here, but [sic] I was not frightened; it agreed so well with my mood. Particularly Wednesday night when it thundered and lightend incessantly. It was not one of those skies that enforce the grandeur and majesty of the power that does not emulate from us; but a dull, gray, dismal affair that could not always even hide the stars completely. And just above the northwestern horizon the livid, snaky lightening kept darting about, accompanied only by a long, low, distant rumble; no vigorous thunder shock that inspires. I sat out among the trees in the dark and became a part of it all. It continued overcast yesterday, but when your kind letter arrived at noon the sun made a wide breach in the clouds. These continued to gather and hide him but every now and then he would show his cheerful face just to remind us that the clouds were of his making and that in due time he would dispel them.

You were younger and happier a few weeks ago then you think you shall be again?  Younger yes, but not happier, no, not happier. You deserv great happiness, and shall have it.

You remember the little child I told you of that we are taking care of here? She was leaning beside me while I was reading your letter. She was imprest by your decoration and commented: “lady, flowers, and music.” Didn’t you quote to me something about truth coming from the mouths of children? The music she described as golden. A few minutes ago she came up to me while I was writing and said: “Uncle Dave, I’m angry with you. I’m angry with you for real.”  Why? “Because you’re going to New York.”  At this very moment she interrupted me: “angry, angry!” You see, she heard me say that I must be in New York tomorrow. If nothing unforseen prevents it, I hope to see you tomorrow afternoon. Now don’t be ill. You won’t be if you make up your mind not to be. For example, when you have a hedache if you say: “I will not have a hedache,” and mean it for real, your hedache will disappear at once. Now don’t have occasion to try it.

The mail leavs here once a day and in slow, so perhaps this note won’t get there any sooner than I do.

I am grateful to your mother for her kindness, and I trust your father’s condition is not serious.

Hoping to find you all in good-health, I remain, with best regards,

Very sincerely yours,

David Klein

The above has been reprinted with the permission of Ida Hude’s family.

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