When I was a young girl, way back before iPads, smartphones and laptops, thanking someone for a present, or asking Santa Claus for something special, meant writing a letter. I’ll let that sink in for a moment for those born after the dawn of the keyboard.

Have you recovered? Yes, I really did say the words ‘writing’ and ‘letter’, ancient terms that bring to mind the horse and carriage, knights in shining armour and the invention of the wheel. But that’s not all. I am going to shock you even more: I still hand write letters! And thank you cards, and post cards, and invitations.

Why do I do this in an age when messages can be sent with a few button presses or key strokes and people no longer expect whole sentences in communications? Well, partly it is precisely for that reason, because it is unexpected, outside the norm, and I do like to be a little bit different. 

It also makes me feel good using all of those words that I have stored in my brain over the years and rarely get a chance to use. There is an undeniable pleasure in grouping together just the right words, in just the right order, and creating something that is far more than simply a combination of letters and spaces. Words can evoke emotion, describe a landscape unseen, put substance to an idea and take the reader back to a shared memory.

Can we do the same in a conversation? In part, but conversation throws words away, writing saves them. Also, when we speak we are hampered by other factors; time, convention, the natural reserve of sharing too much in public, the need to be liked and take other people’s opinions into account. When we are writing we can stretch out in our own space, take as much time as we need, be selfish, get all the emotional stuff out in the open, use those big words that would make us sound la de da in public, because we can.

There is a freedom to express in writing that is difficult to find in conversation. No matter how many times I speak by phone with my Aunt back in the UK, who I have always had a close bond with, I can somehow never get her past the discomfort of speaking on the phone with someone thousands of kilometres away. It is like talking with someone I barely know. So, in between phone calls, I write, and in those letters I can share all of the things I can’t by phone. And it works; we connect far better by writing than long distance talking.

Some time ago I began writing to my goddaughters. I have a few, seven in fact, all fast-growing girls and young ladies towards whom I feel a moral responsibility. The letter-writing with them is a little hit and miss, but I am pleased that my eldest goddaughter (17) and I now regularly write back and forth, and this has added a new level to our relationship. We share things that I am sure we would not do when speaking; writing somehow creates this lovely intimate and trusting environment, separate to the ‘real’ world.

We recently ran a contest at the centre, asking the kids to write persuasive letters to Kip McGrath, convincing him that their families were deserving of an all-costs family ticket to the Royal Adelaide Show. I was surprised by the number of entries, and more so by the obvious care taken in writing them. The winner was written by one of our younger students, who has struggled with the early stages of reading and writing, and spent three days writing his letter. He included a bribe in the form of a ‘bucket of fairy floss’ for Kip, but the main reason for his win, apart from the quality and honesty of his letter, was the use of an envelope, properly addressed to Mr Kip McGrath. I was genuinely moved by his efforts and, obviously, so was Kip.

All of which, dear reader, brings me round to you. I want you to try, writing that is. A little thank you note, or a letter to your Mum, or your children; something that forces you to stop, pick up a pen and focus on the act of writing, just for a few minutes. Then, let that letter float away from you, straight in to the nearest post box. You may be pleasantly surprised by the reaction you get, first to the use of ‘snail mail’, but then, just perhaps, to the time and care you have invested in sending them a special message.