Pebbles Postcards

At the heart of Pebbles on the Beach is the power of the letter or postcard sent and received. Part of the story is about the letters we should have written. That we wanted to write. We needed to write. And the letters that we sent and then regretted. Within the play, the letter is a source of inspiration, of pain, of love and of anger.

We have invited people to send us their letters or postcards - real thoughts or imagined - and here are some we've received to date-

Dear Dad,
I'm writing this to you but you'll never get to read it, the postman doesn't deliver to your address. I'm angry dad, I'm angry at you leaving me, at all the things you missed, and I missed, the birthdays we never celebrated and the Christmas presents never bought. I'm angry that I didn't know, that I never said goodbye properly, that no one told me what was happening or what was going to happen - even though I understand that you can't explain those things to a child I'm still angry no one tried. And sometimes, when I'm alone, I'm sad, so sad, sad for the things that are, and the things that might have been and the things that never will be. And I feel hurt, and lost, like there's a huge hole right in the middle of my soul and no matter what I do to fill it, nothing ever will because time doesn't heal, and anyone who says it does, doesn't know. But most of all I miss you dad, I miss everything that was and everything that should have been, that you missed out on and I missed out on. And I miss your cuddles.
I love you dad. xxx

I'm so sorry I had to say goodbye. So sorry that we can never see each other again. I think of you often. But your face is fading from my consciousness. I stumbled across some photos of you this morning and the memories came flooding back. The memories of what it was like to spend time with you. But now they've faded again. I don't know whether it's denial or self-preservation. All I know is that you are truly gone from my life.
Ines

I don't think you are my brother. 60 years of wondering why he hit you and hated you but not me. I got sweets, which rotted my teeth and you got none, which rotted your mind, so you hit me. I suppose that's what war does.

Dear T,
Who would have thought that something I was treating with derision would put us back in contact again? I'm sorry that I lost my phone, and for all the things I wasn't there for in the time it took to get your number again (which still haven't changed- I think you're stuck in time!).
I'm holding back on saying what is on the tip of my tongue so much recently because I've said it too much and too early in the past, and because just a little bit it scares me to think that I could lose you again. Or that you might say it too. And that this time I wouldn't lose your phone number. Or you.
M x

To my cousin David,
I miss you. We have wept everyday for you since the news came. I wish i had known how sad you were, perhaps then I could have done more to help you. My heart aches with the silence of these burdens we carry alone. I know many of these were carried by you.
My mom dreamt you were greeted by your mother above a sea of yellow. I hope you have found each other and that the next world is filled with joy. You are loved, whatever you thought, you are loved.
Louise

I know you never wanted to hear from me again, but please read this, it's important, or I wouldn't pester you with it, You must know that by now.
You have proved your point. I was indeed an 'emotional void'. I have learnt, and I am not empty now. Thank you. I heard last night that you had moved out of town, and realised that I no longer have to save your feelings by avoiding you. Realising today, just one year after we first met, just what I have denied myself since Spring out of deference to your pain, I have had my Road to Damascus moment. It suddenly felt as if I had your permission, by word of mouth, to come out of hiding. I now understand; that thing that makes me waste time thinking about you is guilt. That thing that kept me away from all 'our' friends was fear. Those are not emotions. That thing that feels like a physical switch setting off bombs behind my eyes, that made me throw up when I put the phone down, that is an emotion. That is pure blind rage at the time I have wasted, assuming that poor, fragile little you had to be protected ever having to question yourself by seeing me again. A whole year which, as you yourself put it, I do not really have to spare. That is my first real emotional experience in years and it is your personal gift, and I thank you. It obviously didn't last, as I now really do not care, and I mean do not care, one way or the other, if our paths cross when you come back in the New Year. Never mind, it's a start. Your call.
Be happy.
Andi.

and this one came all the way from Antigua!

Forget the cry of gulls and the deep sea swell, and the profit & loss.
A current under sea picked his bones in whispers.
Phlebas.

Keep sending us your postcards to ensemble@weaverhughesensemble.co.uk