Local historians are ecstatic following the discovery of a letter written over 250 years ago. The epistle, which was found during excavation work at the telephone box, was written in 1756 in America by Portglenone native, Wilbur Tweeps.
Tweeps, who had to leave Ireland following a warning from ‘Direct Action Against Ether’ was writing to his sister Eliza and it gives us a fascinating insight into the lives of the new continent’s early residents.
The manuscript (below) is almost illegible but our ‘Historical Research Unit’ was asked to decipher the document and we can exclusively reveal what Wilbur had to say for himself.
Floods, droughts, famine, uncivilised red-skinned barbarians in the hills chanting godless threats! Only a few of the reasons I decided to leave my beloved Carmegrim and seek my fortune in this new world.
Oh Eliza this is a land of wonder, the sky stretches from one horizon to the other and below it thousands of buffalo roam across the prairies making cheese as sweet as any to be found in The Pizza Box. I have a little farm of my own which is called Tennessee and there I grow stuff that looks like grass for making bread and tumbleweed for when they finally invent moving pictures.
Just this week, I have new neighbours on both sides of me. They are two families from home and I hope we will become a happy little community soon. I’m sure both The Hatfields and The McCoys think the same.
A man is free to do what he wants in this land, except for once a week when we have to go to a large hall in town where a little man dressed in black instructs us on health & safety issues, particularly how to avoid tumbling into the underworld and getting burned for eternity.
I hope soon to be wed my sweet Eliza, I am betrothed to a child of our local gunsmith. They are a strict Baptist sect so the marriage cannot take place until she is of shaving age, usually around 11.
My dear sister, I know you would love this new country and I would invite you to join me but unfortunately the postal service is so slow that by the time this letter arrives in Portglenone, we will both have been dead for 30 years.
On a lighter note, there are no Catholics here yet!
Your Loving Brother,