Popping the kettle on, I heard a knock at the door behind me.
After putting my teabag in the mug, I walked over to the door and opened it.
In front of me stood a tradesman holding a huge box.
‘Hi Marjory, I’m Alistair,’ he began. ‘Morris said these might belong to you.’
Morris was my granddaughter Sara’s husband, and had been working with Alistair, fitting windows in a loft.
‘What have you got there?’ I asked him.
Handing me the box, Alistair smiled brightly.
‘We found some letters in the house we were working
