In Norfolk, on England’s east coast, Keith yawns. It’s too wet to work in the garden and he’s been for his daily run. It’s hard to fill the days since he retired and he’s starting to drive his wife crazy.
“You joined that new Facebook group the other day,” says his wife, putting a cup of tea down in front of him. “Memories of Newbridge or whatever it was called. Why don’t you upload some of those old photos?”
Not a bad idea, Keith thinks. He enjoyed scanning the old pictures of him and John. It brought back good memories. Whatever happened to John, he wonders? They were close friends for a long time then somehow John just disappeared.
Across the country in Bristol, Lyn is getting ready for bed when her phone beeps to tell her someone has added another post in that Facebook group. Probably another picture of old buildings, but she decides to have a quick look, just in case. She reads Keith’s post and calls her husband, Phil to come and look. She doesn’t remember Keith, but he and Phil were in the same class and that looks like him in one of the photos. Lyn knows John, though. He’s been a friend of her sister’s since high school and used to visit them when he came to see his family, before Sally moved to Australia. Lyn opens the message app and types a quick message to her sister before going to bed.
In Bundaberg, on the Queensland coast, Sally decides three degrees is too cold for a walk and puts the kettle on instead. A ping from her phone alerts her to a message. Her sister Lyn has sent a link to a Facebook group Sally might be interested in. Probably one of those nostalgia groups Sally avoids but she’d better have a look. She finds the group and hits the button requesting admission. Within minutes a message tells her she’s been accepted. While drinking her tea, she skims through the posts and finds the one Lyn wanted her to look at. Once she’s read it, she types a message to her best friend from school.
“Check out this group, Pauline,” she writes. “We were only wondering the other week what happened to Keith.” Then she sends a message to John, with a link to Keith’s post.
Pauline puts down her book and reads Sally’s message. Back when she was going out with John – half a century ago, she realises – Pauline saw a lot of Keith. She’s pretty sure he went to university in the north of England somewhere, but has no idea where he or John got to after that. She requests admission to the group, takes off her glasses and gets out of bed. It’s so hot in London tonight it will take her ages to get to sleep. She might as well get a drink while she waits for a reply.
Back in Queensland, Sally rummages through a box of old photos. The ones she wants have faded badly but the faces are still recognisable. If the scanner works she can upload a couple to the group. She’s pretty sure there’s one of Keith and John in there somewhere.
She spots the two boys in the football team with Lyn’s husband Phil. Another one shows her and Pauline huddled on the sidelines, wrapped in coats and scarves against the cold weather, her little sister snuggled between them. Almost everyone has a mop of long hair, boys and girls. In the early seventies long hair was practically mandatory. These days she feels lucky to have hair at all, even if it is grey.
She uploads the two pictures, together with a couple of class photos from high school, taken in the early 1970s. It’s amazing, she thinks, after all this time she can still put names to most of the faces. It’s actually easier than remembering people she met last week. In fact, forgetting people’s names is becoming an embarrassment lately.
In Wales, Pete is still wide awake, though his wife went to bed hours ago and the grandkids are sound asleep upstairs. As he flicks through Facebook, Sally’s name catches his eye. He shakes his head in disbelief. He hasn’t set eyes on Sally since the last day of school, hadn’t even thought about her in forty years. Her profile picture is a cartoon and she has maximised her privacy settings, so all he can see is her name. After some consideration, he types a comment, reminding her that she got a better result than him in their final exams. Her reply that it doesn’t matter because Martin beat them both, makes him laugh till she adds that Martin has been dead for at least twenty-five years.
Pete responds to Sally’s questions. He’s been married twice, he tells her and has three grandchildren now. The band he played with recorded one album in 1969, but broke up not long after. The album’s available on the internet if Sally’s interested. He adds a smiley face so she’ll know he’s joking.
“Which is more weird,” Sally types to Pauline that evening, “That I’m talking on Facebook to my boyfriend from fifty years ago? Or that he still resents me beating him in our final exams?”
“Neither,” Pauline replies immediately. “Just be glad we’re still alive and capable of communicating with anyone at our age.”
In Newbridge, Robert peers at the photo of the football team. Even with his glasses on he can’t make out the faces clearly, but once he works out how to enlarge the picture, he realises he knew some of those blokes in school. He types a comment and adds names to two of the faces, wondering if any of the boys are still around. It might be good to catch up with some of them. He opens the school photo next and laughs aloud. Then he types a short message to his cousin Jean.
At the sight of the message in her inbox, Jean sighs. Robert’s always tagging her in something stupid but she’d better take a look or he’ll only complain. This time, she admits, he’s struck gold. There she is in the front row of her class, 1970, first year of high school. Thirty eleven-year-old girls in their uniforms, long-sleeved white shirts under black gymslips, school ties knotted at the throat. She examines the faces carefully looking for Susan. Susan was her best friend at school. Jean would love to know where Susan ended up and what she’s done in the forty-odd years since they last spoke. Maybe the woman who posted the pictures knows.
Sally’s about to close her laptop when she sees Jean’s question. She can’t help a squeal of delight. Sally’s kept in touch with Susan, though not for ages, she realises. Over the years Susan has repeatedly asked if Sally had any idea where Jean ended up, or even knew her married name. At last she can give her the good news. Before replying to Jean, she texts Susan in Sydney. “Jean’s contacted me – is it okay if I give her your contact details?”
Thousands of kilometres away in Perth, Susan shrieks with delight and sends an immediate answer. “Yes, yes, yes. I’d love to hear from her.” It’s been over forty years. There’s so much to tell, so many questions to ask.
Keith and Sally have moved their conversation to a private chat group, rather than reminisce in public. Messages have been flying back and forth for days now. Keith and his wife are planning a trip to Australia next year, he tells Sally. Sally offers them a place to stay in Queensland. They can go whale watching and tour the rum factory. It’ll be great to catch up.
In Frankfurt, John is engaged in a long, nostalgic conversation with Keith in Norfolk. They reminisce about holidays they took together, girls they loved, hearts they broke. They update each other on births, marriages, divorces and deaths; explain how they ended up so far apart. They mock each other’s recent photographs, wondering where the time went, where the hair went, when they got so old. John promises to visit Norfolk next time he’s in the UK and Keith tells him to stay as long as he likes. They have so much to talk about.
Susan in Western Australia and Jean in Wales are deep in an email exchange, catching up on forty years of marriages, children, divorces and careers. They can’t stop smiling. Susan is driving her husband crazy, exclaiming over each new nugget of information. He’s never met Jean and doesn’t really care, but if it keeps Susan busy that can only be a good thing. Susan can’t believe Jean still lives in the same house she grew up in. So she’s had the address all these years and could have written at any time.
After an afternoon spent scrolling through the comments and posts about Newbridge, Sally’s about to close her laptop when another message pops up. She doesn’t recognise the sender’s name, but opens it anyway.
“I think our mothers were friends,” she reads. “Mum’s ninety-four and doesn’t do Facebook, but if your mum is still around, she’d love to see her. Maybe we could organise something?”
“I’m sure Mum would love that,” Sally replies. “I’m in Australia but Mum lives with my sister. I’ll get Lyn to contact you and sort something out. Just don’t mention Facebook – Mum thinks it’s a complete waste of time.”
“You joined that new Facebook group the other day,” says his wife, putting a cup of tea down in front of him. “Memories of Newbridge or whatever it was called. Why don’t you upload some of those old photos?”
Not a bad idea, Keith thinks. He enjoyed scanning the old pictures of him and John. It brought back good memories. Whatever happened to John, he wonders? They were close friends for a long time then somehow John just disappeared.
Across the country in Bristol, Lyn is getting ready for bed when her phone beeps to tell her someone has added another post in that Facebook group. Probably another picture of old buildings, but she decides to have a quick look, just in case. She reads Keith’s post and calls her husband, Phil to come and look. She doesn’t remember Keith, but he and Phil were in the same class and that looks like him in one of the photos. Lyn knows John, though. He’s been a friend of her sister’s since high school and used to visit them when he came to see his family, before Sally moved to Australia. Lyn opens the message app and types a quick message to her sister before going to bed.
In Bundaberg, on the Queensland coast, Sally decides three degrees is too cold for a walk and puts the kettle on instead. A ping from her phone alerts her to a message. Her sister Lyn has sent a link to a Facebook group Sally might be interested in. Probably one of those nostalgia groups Sally avoids but she’d better have a look. She finds the group and hits the button requesting admission. Within minutes a message tells her she’s been accepted. While drinking her tea, she skims through the posts and finds the one Lyn wanted her to look at. Once she’s read it, she types a message to her best friend from school.
“Check out this group, Pauline,” she writes. “We were only wondering the other week what happened to Keith.” Then she sends a message to John, with a link to Keith’s post.
Pauline puts down her book and reads Sally’s message. Back when she was going out with John – half a century ago, she realises – Pauline saw a lot of Keith. She’s pretty sure he went to university in the north of England somewhere, but has no idea where he or John got to after that. She requests admission to the group, takes off her glasses and gets out of bed. It’s so hot in London tonight it will take her ages to get to sleep. She might as well get a drink while she waits for a reply.
Back in Queensland, Sally rummages through a box of old photos. The ones she wants have faded badly but the faces are still recognisable. If the scanner works she can upload a couple to the group. She’s pretty sure there’s one of Keith and John in there somewhere.
She spots the two boys in the football team with Lyn’s husband Phil. Another one shows her and Pauline huddled on the sidelines, wrapped in coats and scarves against the cold weather, her little sister snuggled between them. Almost everyone has a mop of long hair, boys and girls. In the early seventies long hair was practically mandatory. These days she feels lucky to have hair at all, even if it is grey.
She uploads the two pictures, together with a couple of class photos from high school, taken in the early 1970s. It’s amazing, she thinks, after all this time she can still put names to most of the faces. It’s actually easier than remembering people she met last week. In fact, forgetting people’s names is becoming an embarrassment lately.
In Wales, Pete is still wide awake, though his wife went to bed hours ago and the grandkids are sound asleep upstairs. As he flicks through Facebook, Sally’s name catches his eye. He shakes his head in disbelief. He hasn’t set eyes on Sally since the last day of school, hadn’t even thought about her in forty years. Her profile picture is a cartoon and she has maximised her privacy settings, so all he can see is her name. After some consideration, he types a comment, reminding her that she got a better result than him in their final exams. Her reply that it doesn’t matter because Martin beat them both, makes him laugh till she adds that Martin has been dead for at least twenty-five years.
Pete responds to Sally’s questions. He’s been married twice, he tells her and has three grandchildren now. The band he played with recorded one album in 1969, but broke up not long after. The album’s available on the internet if Sally’s interested. He adds a smiley face so she’ll know he’s joking.
“Which is more weird,” Sally types to Pauline that evening, “That I’m talking on Facebook to my boyfriend from fifty years ago? Or that he still resents me beating him in our final exams?”
“Neither,” Pauline replies immediately. “Just be glad we’re still alive and capable of communicating with anyone at our age.”
In Newbridge, Robert peers at the photo of the football team. Even with his glasses on he can’t make out the faces clearly, but once he works out how to enlarge the picture, he realises he knew some of those blokes in school. He types a comment and adds names to two of the faces, wondering if any of the boys are still around. It might be good to catch up with some of them. He opens the school photo next and laughs aloud. Then he types a short message to his cousin Jean.
At the sight of the message in her inbox, Jean sighs. Robert’s always tagging her in something stupid but she’d better take a look or he’ll only complain. This time, she admits, he’s struck gold. There she is in the front row of her class, 1970, first year of high school. Thirty eleven-year-old girls in their uniforms, long-sleeved white shirts under black gymslips, school ties knotted at the throat. She examines the faces carefully looking for Susan. Susan was her best friend at school. Jean would love to know where Susan ended up and what she’s done in the forty-odd years since they last spoke. Maybe the woman who posted the pictures knows.
Sally’s about to close her laptop when she sees Jean’s question. She can’t help a squeal of delight. Sally’s kept in touch with Susan, though not for ages, she realises. Over the years Susan has repeatedly asked if Sally had any idea where Jean ended up, or even knew her married name. At last she can give her the good news. Before replying to Jean, she texts Susan in Sydney. “Jean’s contacted me – is it okay if I give her your contact details?”
Thousands of kilometres away in Perth, Susan shrieks with delight and sends an immediate answer. “Yes, yes, yes. I’d love to hear from her.” It’s been over forty years. There’s so much to tell, so many questions to ask.
Keith and Sally have moved their conversation to a private chat group, rather than reminisce in public. Messages have been flying back and forth for days now. Keith and his wife are planning a trip to Australia next year, he tells Sally. Sally offers them a place to stay in Queensland. They can go whale watching and tour the rum factory. It’ll be great to catch up.
In Frankfurt, John is engaged in a long, nostalgic conversation with Keith in Norfolk. They reminisce about holidays they took together, girls they loved, hearts they broke. They update each other on births, marriages, divorces and deaths; explain how they ended up so far apart. They mock each other’s recent photographs, wondering where the time went, where the hair went, when they got so old. John promises to visit Norfolk next time he’s in the UK and Keith tells him to stay as long as he likes. They have so much to talk about.
Susan in Western Australia and Jean in Wales are deep in an email exchange, catching up on forty years of marriages, children, divorces and careers. They can’t stop smiling. Susan is driving her husband crazy, exclaiming over each new nugget of information. He’s never met Jean and doesn’t really care, but if it keeps Susan busy that can only be a good thing. Susan can’t believe Jean still lives in the same house she grew up in. So she’s had the address all these years and could have written at any time.
After an afternoon spent scrolling through the comments and posts about Newbridge, Sally’s about to close her laptop when another message pops up. She doesn’t recognise the sender’s name, but opens it anyway.
“I think our mothers were friends,” she reads. “Mum’s ninety-four and doesn’t do Facebook, but if your mum is still around, she’d love to see her. Maybe we could organise something?”
“I’m sure Mum would love that,” Sally replies. “I’m in Australia but Mum lives with my sister. I’ll get Lyn to contact you and sort something out. Just don’t mention Facebook – Mum thinks it’s a complete waste of time.”