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Strange Letters

GNC

King-Sized Canary
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Aug 25, 2001
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I was leafing through an old book of strange true stories, and found the tale of Trevor Silverwood, a Yorkshire ex-councillor who was plagued by postcards written in shorthand, and signed with the "Saint" matchstick figure. They came from all over the world, and knew the most intimate details of his life.

When he went to the local newspaper, he received a postcard telling him not to be naughty, and the messages continued. They were still going on at the time the book was published (late seventies).

Anyone know anything about this? It sounds similar to other "strange letters" stories, I suppose it would be called stalking nowadays. The fact the postcards were postmarked from all over the world is an odd element.
 
Whhhoooaaaahhh! Maaaaad!

Tell us more, somebody, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease!!!!!!!!!!!1
 
I tried a google, but it didn't turn up anything.

Did ti say whether the postcards were written in the same hand?

Carole
 
Sounds vaguely familiar. I'll see if I can dig up anything else on the story.

Two options I guess.

1) He was making it all up.
2) There was someone in his local village that was getting friends to send these postcards to him.

Very bizarre!:cool:
 
Sounds like the gnome that was nicked from a garden, pictures were sent of said gnome from locations all over the world.
 
It does sound like the garden gnome story, doesn't it?

Anyway, the book doesn't go into much more detail, except that Mr Silverwood threatened to go to the police, and got another card from Tenerife telling him not to be naughty, and then a Christmas card saying what a good picture the local newspaper had published of him!

The cards were postmarked from places like India, America, Canada, the Middle East, and nearer home like Rotherham and Sheffield.

The culprit must have been someone who knew him, but Mr Silverwood had no idea who.

I tried Google and came up with nothing.
 
Er, OK, Mr Silverwood was an ex local councillor and parliamentary candidate from Bridlington, and had been receiving the cards for ten years at the time the book was written (1979).

The book doesn't say whether the shorthand was written in the same handwriting, but it implies it was. Maybe they were written by someone who objected to his politics?

The book is called "Truly Bizarre" and is by Harold E. Priestly.

That's all I can tell you!
 
Well, I've told you everything! I can't be bothered typing the whole thing out!

Here's a couple of quotes from Mr Silverwood:

"I would dearly like to get my hands on the Big Brother or Sister who is watchng me. It was amusing at first, but now no longer."

"To scare the devil off I let it be known that I was going to the Police. Bless me if I didn't get a card from some outlandish place letting me know he knew. I received another from overseas after I had been questioned by the police after a driving matter."
 
Yeah, me too... For God's sake come on GNC spew your guts about the rest of the story....

:) :) :)
 
Sigh...

OK, I'll type it out... it may take a while... see you in half an hour...
 
The Unknown Correspondent

[I'll do paragraph by paragraph so you don't have to wait too long]

The unknown correspondent confronts us at every turn; sometimes we can explain it, somethimes not. There is probably a very good explanation for the experience of Mr Trevor Silverwood, a former English local councillor and parliamentary candidate, but he would be grateful to anybody who can give it.
 
For ten years he has been regularly receiving postcards at his home in Bridlington, Yorkshire, and he hasn't the slightest idea who sends them. They are always written in shorthand, always signed by the matchstick figure of the Saint - the hero of the novels of Leslie Charteris - by somebody who seems to know what Mr Silverwood is doing from day to day, even some of the most intimate details of his private life, and they bear postmarks of places in all parts of the world - India, America, Canada, the Middle East, and from places as near to home as Rotherham and Sheffield.
 
Just before Christmas 1977 a card, posted in Australia written in the usual shorthand - "JUST FOR YOU," dropped through his letterbox.
 
"I would dearly like to get my hands on the Big Brother or Sister who is watchng me," says Mr Silverwood. "It was amusing at first, but now no longer." At one he time he thought the cards were being sent to these distant places by somebody who knows him well, then sent back with the postmarks on them. This seems an obvious answer, but nothing can be proved.
 
In October of 1977, weary of receiving the accursed cards, he put an advertisement in his local newspaper begging his unknown correspondent to identify himself. The only answer he had was from Teneriffe telling him not to be naughty, and a Christmas card saying what a good photgraph of him the newspaper had published.
 
"To scare the devil off I let it be known that I was going to the Police. Bless me if I didn't get a card from some outlandish place letting me know he knew. I received another from overseas after I had been questioned by the police after a driving matter."

Mr Silverwood would still be glad if the real correspondent would kindly come forward.
 
And that's all it says! What do you think?
 
GNC, you're going to hate me, but are there any pictures of the postcards?

Jane.
 
No, there are no pictures, unfortunately. No sources either.

I suppose someone in Yorkshire could check out whether there were any parliamentary candidates called Trevor Silverwood still around.

There are a few other interesting stories in this book, but I'm scared to mention them now!
 
I reckon it was the wife. ;) You know what these politicans wives have to put up with....

Seriously, it has to be someone with a grudge, but not totaly malicious, someone with access to offical records (The police matter.), travels a lot possibly, or has many contacts in other countries (And so a large 'phone bill! ;) ) , would be on a good wage due to that fact (Air travel wasn't so much for the masses in the late sixties/early seventies was it? ), and probibly a lot more that I've missed. :D Sounds to me like an opposition councilor. :confused: Anyone got a comment or spotted holes in that? Lets debate! :)
 
The fact that the notes were written in shorthand suggests 2 things to me

1. This is a good disguise for handwriting- it would take a very special expert to distinguish between various shorthand styles. So there are probably several culprits, as with the garden gnome jokes, where incidentally all the cards are normally written in caoitals- another good handwriting disguise.

2. Shorthand has to be learned so the person(s) sending the cards would need to be in the right sort of job. Secretaries used to learn shorthand back in the 60s when the cards started arriving. Journalists have always used it- they learn it at college.

GNC- many thanks for sharing this great story and especially for taking the trouble to type it out. :spinning
 
This also assumes that Mr Silverwood could read short hand. Or did he have to get someone to translate?
 
A very long shot, I know, but I wonder if this story was reported in the local newspapers? Maybe something exists in those archives.

Carole
 
a little theory, just in nuce (i'm too tired to fill all the blanks):
halfway between prank and stalking. the <mastermind> has never moved from bridlington or whatever the name of the place was. he HAD to stay there, because he had to check on his victim (what he was doing, what happened to him etc.). then he called/wrote/cabled/whatever his <correspondants> all over the world, updating them with the latest news and telling them what to write in the postcards. if i got it correctly, the victim was a <small time politician>, so it's easy to imagine that he could have <small time enemies> (all politicians have enemies), maybe another politician who had acquaintances in public offices and/or in the police and could therefore keep track of every single action of his victim. which could even be easier if, as i am understood, bridlington is not a metropolis.

is this reconstruction absurd?
 
Yeah, that makes sense on the face of it, but why go to all that trouble for ten years?
 
Not quite on topic .....

This somewhat reminds me of the time I had a damaged pelvis and was bedridden and doped to the eyeballs on seriously strong painkillers, I got into the habit of labouriously handwritting really long letters to people, I'd often drop or mis-place the pen I was/had been using so I'd find another writing implient and carry on ... several of them I put into envelopes and were helpfully posted by my dear mamma ...

:eek!!!!:
 
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