• 1961

    December 29, 1961

    December 29, 1961 Dear Frank, I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to write back, but I couldn’t get my feelings down on paper. If I had been right there it would have been different. My first reaction probably would have been to put my arms around you – and then we would have talked, but this way I couldn’t put it down on paper. Only when something similar happened to me could I explain it. I hope you can read the enclosed scrawl. I think I’ve found one clue for that episode. When the lad left I felt cold, alone and afraid. Instead I should have felt warm and more…

  • 1961

    November 26, 1961

    Sunday November 26, 1961 61 Ardwold Gate   Dear Frank, I sat down last night and read over the pages enclosed here that I wrote to you a few days ago and proceeded to have a very quiet chuckle at myself. Poor stupid bitch! One would think that the whole world was against me and my life nearly over, when in reality my life is just beginning. The poem is still one of my favorites, but forget the mood of the rest of it – just feeling sorry for myself, a thing I would not do if I can help it in the future. I find it prevents so much…

  • 1961

    November 19, 1961

    November 19, 1961 61 Ardwold Gate 11:00 PM   Dear Frank, Have been sick in bed all weekend and therefore not really tired enough to sleep. When I get like this – thinking too much, I always pick up a book of poetry I have by Robert Service – great, feeling, man. I thought I’d just drop you a few that are my favorites. You may have read them already – but here they are anyway. The Quitter When you’re lost in the Wild, and you’re scared as a child, And Death looks you bang in the eye, And you’re sore as a boil, it’s according to Hoyle To cock…

  • 1961

    September 26, 1961

    Tuesday, September 26, 1961 On the train [on small notepad pages]   Dear Frank, Please excuse the very weird paper but right now I am on the train from Brantford to Toronto. The strangest thing just happened, and I feel the immediate urge to write you and tell you about it. I hope you can read this – I think I’ll write on every other line – any help? There. Well, I got on packed train and sat down – the seat facing the opposite way to most. Two seats down and facing me sat a boy who, surprisingly enough, looked a good deal like you – dark hair, intense…

  • 1961

    February 8, 1961

    February 8, 1961 61 Ardwold Gate, Toronto   Dear Frank,   I feel a great urge to get this letter off to you as soon as possible. In your letter you stated that my letter held a similar “last-gasp effect.” Frank, I haven’t died – not really. I’m very much alone – and realize it (as Chas. Wanted me to) – but I haven’t died. Chas will even reassure you of this. The warmth and softness and desire to please that Charlie loved so much (and at times I suspected you did too – in a different way of course) is still there, it’s just all inside, directed or channeled…

  • 1961

    February 2, 1961

    February 2, 1961 61 Ardwold Gate   Dear Frank, I’m sorry I haven’t written ‘till now but I have 2 good (?) reasons. The first being I haven’t had much of a hear to write letters and the second being I wasn’t able to get hold of Mrs. Owen until recently. The poor woman sounded quite distraught – as though in a haze. She was very hesitant to say anything and so I didn’t push it – thus [getting] no concrete facts whatsoever. I think perhaps I shall try again in a few weeks hence – Perhaps I can obtain better results next time. I reached your friend Peter and…

  • 1961

    January 2, 1961

    January 2, 1961 1:20 AM 61 Ardwold Gate   Dear Frank, Your letter was waiting for me when I arrived home after a New Year’s dinner with a few favourite relatives. It has been a rather sad and shocking X-mas for the ‘Peace’ household. Mother died on December 20, and, as if often the case, brought a terrifying realization to each and every one of us. I miss her terribly, but it would be unfair to wish her back. She fought like hell for five years, and I guess she couldn’t try any more. Also, she only had a year at the most to live, with only a great deal…