The Jan Wendelken-John Last correspondence, 1955-56

Janet Wendelken and John Last's letters, November 1955-June 1956

For months I hunted vainly high and low for the box that contained the letters Wendy and I wrote to each other after the fateful day of our first meeting. At last I asked Jonathan to get some of the boxes down from the shelves in our basement locker and there, finally, we found this precious treasure trove. I haven't counted but the photo tells eloquently that it was a rather prolific exchange of letters. (we wrote at least 125 letters to each other between October 18 1955 and May 31 1956)

I have spent many happy hours during this holiday weekend, rereading the first dozen or so letters in the increasingly affectionate, even amorous exchange. Amorous at my end anyway; Wendy was more cautious, more restrained.  Even so, she could not altogether hide her feelings.  

My first letter to Wendy, timed to welcome her home, revealed a little of the emotional impact on me of meeting her:

“I have thought of you often in the last few weeks… That was… one of the happiest days I can remember, not because it took me back to the carefree days of my own vagabondage, nor because it was such an ideal day to go wandering in the country, but because you and Louise (especially you) were two of the most delightful and charming girls I have ever met.  I am deeply thankful for the odd way of chance, or fate, that took me along that rather out of the way route to the golf links just at the moment you were waiting for some kind stranger to pass by.  I wish you didn’t live so far away though!  I’d dearly love to see more of you, get to know you a whole lot better than was possible in a day.”

Wendy wrote her first letter to me on the ship that took her from Sydney to Wellington so it was her second and third letters that contained her reactions to what I’d written:

“How very sweet of you to have a welcome home letter waiting for me... “  But she went on to show more caution and restraint in her letters, although paradoxically complaining in her third letter that she’d waited a long time to hear again from me:

“For three weeks I have been eagerly scanning the letter rack and I had convinced myself that our correspondence had died a natural death….  It makes me so happy to hear from you …” But she went on to say “I mistrust swiftly moving events … and any sentimental or romantic thoughts, however sweet to hear, mustn’t spoil our relationship at present.”

Nevertheless I couldn’t, didn’t even try to suppress the affection I felt, affection that grew stronger as her letters eloquently displayed her command of language, her intellect, her empathy for others, and most important, her irrepressible affection for me.

As our correspondence evolved we both grew less restrained in our expressions of affection. By the time she decided to come back to Australia our affection for each other was open for all to see, although both of us proceeded slowly, cautiously in our first overt displays of affection for each other.

In March 1956, after Wendy had decided to come back to Adelaide, she sent me more photos of herself including this one. She apologized for not having a glamorous bathing-suit photo, but this one enhanced my ardour and impatience to see her again.