A postcard a man sent to his parents while on holiday arrived through the letterbox 28 years after it was posted.
Jim Green, 66, went to Benidorm, Spain, in September 1991 with friends when he sent the card back home to Essex.
He assumed it got lost in the post when his parents never received it at their Finchingfield address.
The painter and decorator said he "couldn't believe it" when the postcard landed on the doormat, as first reported in the Dunmow Broadcast.
1) In my youth, I liked to shop in a wonderful second-hand shop in Toronto that sold all sorts of wonders: jewellery, lamps, clothes, books, buttons -- you name it. I was browsing through a selection of old postcards and found one addressed to my long-dead maternal grandmother in the 1930s. It was addressed to the house in which my mother grew up.
2) When I was a poor student living in Toronto, I received a flight reimbursement cheque in my name from a Canadian airline via a travel agent. Because I have never booked such a flight, I called the travel agent to find out what was up. She said that another women working at the travel agent knew my sister from whom she got my address, and forwarded the cheque to me. But again, I never booked such a flight. So I looked in the phone book to find another person with my not-very-common name and found one. I called the number and asked for "myself" when a man answered, but he informed me that "I" had moved to London UK.
3) Much later in my life, I was living in a small city in Russia. I had told my mother how to address mail to me in Cyrillic since not many people in this city used or knew the Latin alphabet. Of course, she screwed it up so I didn't get mail from her for a while. One day, I went to the post office to send a package and the women behind the counter, whom I had never seen before, asked me to wait. She went into a back room and brought me a badly addressed letter from my mother. Now, although this city was smallish (about 800 000 pop) I was shocked to think that strangers would know who I was. Perhaps she just guessed that, since I was a foreigner in a city that had been a closed city until fairly recently, the letter might have been for me.
Can't blame postal workers for these non-deliveries.
On Christmas Eve, 1907, Mary McGann, 10 years old and living in an apartment in the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of New York with her mother and younger brother, wrote a letter to Santa. The young Irish girl asked for a wagon for her little brother, “which I know you cannot afford,” and also asked of Santa “please do not forget the poor.” For herself, she simply requested “something nice what you think best.”
Mary’s letter to Santa, along with one by her younger brother, Alfred, wound up tucked into a crevice in the apartment’s fireplace. Miraculously, they remained there, intact, for almost 100 years, weathering flames and evading the attention of new residents.