A Girl Named Anthea

In about 1957, when I was in the 5th grade and living in Valley Stream LI, I began a correspondence with a pen-pal named Anthea who lived in Nottingham. I was given her letter during one of the Hebrew classes I attended when the teacher held in her hand many letters that children (who were looking for pen-pals) from all over Europe had written.

I remember how excited my mother was the early Saturday rainy morning when Anthea's first reply arrived. She awakened me and sat on my bed and we both read the letter written on fine blue stationary. And so, Anthea and I began to exchange letters and our friendship lasted for some time. She was an interesting girl, a few years older than I, and talked a great deal about her love for Cliff Richard. I remember how devastated she was when he "got hitched." Today, that confuses me because his bio states he never married...

Well, one day Anthea said: "Marjorie, I never asked you about your religion. Do you go to church?" Without any hesitation, I told her I was Jewish and sealed the letter. I walked down Westgate to place that letter in a mailbox that stood on a grassy patch. That mailbox is no longer even there.

I remember telling my mother that I thought I would never hear from Anthea again after my "big reveal." Even at that early age, I knew. And I was correct. I never received another letter from Anthea. That did not surprise me at the time, but now I wonder why she was unaware of my religion especially since her first letter reached a Hebrew School. Sometimes when we are young we just don't connect the dots I suppose.

Well, Google maps allowed me to view the street where Anthea lived at that time so long ago. I looked at that sort of dark and grey street which was covered with low clouds and where so many decades ago a postman walked with my letters and delivered them through the mail slot on her front door. I think the house with the red doorway was her home.

The passing of time is so sad really. Nothing remains of her letters from long ago because as it goes, I threw them all away when I moved to NYC. But, they exist in my memory as does the address I wrote on the envelopes of my own pink stationary with red hearts in 1957.

I laugh when I imagine how Anthea's jaw must have dropped and her eyes widened when she read my last letter. She must have been horrified to realize she had been interacting with "a Jewish girl." The hatred must have lived inside her bigoted head and my disclosure must have made her furious. I enjoyed you Anthea, but that's right.... you talked to a shayna maidel! Mic drop. 

Nevertheless, this is Anthea's Nottingham, in all it's glorious and somewhat mysterious beauty: