Stardust Memories

The photographs, dating from the 1940s, feature a glamorous Audrey Hepburn-lookalike travelling the world on cruise liners and attending weddings and parties.

Airmail love letters from a mysterious ‘Xavier’ are addressed to a Miss Anna Paton – presumed to be the woman in the photographs – who would now be in her 80s.

The fascinating love story was found, together with birth certificates and important documents, in a purple plastic bag on the back of a coach which terminated in Bristol in August 2008.

The bus company spent the last year trying to trace the owner without success and are now appealing for anyone with information to contact them.

The mysterious purple bag contained more than 70 black and white photos and airmail letters, with many bound together in delicate pink ribbon.

It was left on long-distance coach that terminated in Bristol in 2008 and either came from London or from Devon and Cornwall and was operated by First.

The letters all begin ”to my love” and are signed off ”god bless you my darling, my lover, X.”

The poems are clearly romantic in nature and one refers to the couple as ”mistress” and ”lover”.

One two-page poem is titled: ”The lovers’ complaynt on his evident incapacity to fulfil his mistress her task”.

In the poem the author speaks of his longing for Anna by asking: ”Simply to gratify my Anna’s curious pleasure is / It really honest to loot poor grave’s golden treasuries?

”(T’will be the only pinching I am likely to be allowed / Unless I goose her secretly in the middle of a crowd.)”

From addresses on the envelopes, it appears Miss Paton lived at addresses in Chelsea and Knightsbridge in London, St Ives in Cornwall and various overseas locations.

She also lived in Barcelona in Spain, Sydney in Australia, Antibes in France and Lisbon in Portugal during the 60s and 70s.

Anna Paton also spent time on board the Blue Star SS Auckland Star, calling at ports in Senegal in West Africa and Cape Town in South Africa.

Bus company First have written to every UK address on the envelopes to find the elusive Miss Anna Paton – but have so far received no response.

Karen Baxter, spokeswoman for First in the South West, said: ”These letters clearly have special significance to someone.

”Within the bag are also several love notes that would have been sent with bouquets of flowers, and there are also several handwritten poems.

”It would be wonderful to reunite this lost property with its owner. The photos are also amazing; really capturing the spirit of the 1940s, 50s and 60s.

”Looking at the photographs and the dates on the letters, it’s clear that the owner would probably be in their 70s or 80s now, and I imagine these letters and photos would mean a great deal to them, or their children.

”I genuinely hope we are able to trace their owner and return them to their rightful home.”

The letters were kept in First’s lost property for a month and were retained by the company after that due to their perceived importance to the owners.

Karen Baxter added: ”There’s definitely some kind of link to high society, given the extensive travelling this woman carried out during that era.

”It is obviously a love story with swathes of hand-written poetry and romantic letters.”

The lost bag also contained an Australian birth certificate in the name of Muriel Mayklim Jackson (the daughter of Isobel Paton Jackson nee Fitzsimmons and William Sydney Jackson).

There were also two deed poll name change documents, both dating from 1956. Isabel Paton Jackson changed her name to Isabel Paton, and Muriel Mayklim Jackson became Muriel Mayklim Paton.

There is also a newspaper cutting from 1953 showing the wedding notice of Miss Muriel Jackson to Mr Peter Heath, from the society pages of the Sunday Herald Newspaper in Australia.

Anyone with information should contact Karen Baxter, First’s PR manager, by emailing [email protected].

The tale of Casper the commuting cat, who would politely queue with bus passengers before contentedly riding around Plymouth, made headlines and raised smiles around the world.

Sadly the cat’s love affair with the open road has proved his downfall after he was killed by a hit-and-run driver, it emerged today.

A notice appeared at the cat’s usual bus stop saying: “Many local people knew Casper, who loved everyone. He also enjoyed the bus journeys. Sadly a motorist hit him … and did not stop.

“Casper died from his injuries. He will be greatly missed … he was a much-loved pet who had so much character. Thank you to all those who befriended him.”

Casper’s life on the buses came to international attention last year. It turned out that for four years he had been riding the no 3 bus, passing the Devon city’s historic dockyard and naval base, en route.

He tended to curl up on a seat or sometimes purr around fellow passengers’ legs, all the way to the final stop, stay on and make the return journey. Drivers got used to letting him off at the correct stop.

His owner, Sue Finden, said she had never understood what he was doing until a bus driver let her into the secret of Casper’s travelling.

“I couldn’t believe it at first, but it explains a lot. He loves people and we have a bus stop right outside our house so that must be how he got started – just following everyone on,” she said at the time.

Last night I came back to my studio. It was like an Aesop tale in horizontal: Embryonic fleas clinging to my pusscats back, pusscat clinging to my back, me clinging to Humphrey my bears back, he clinging to several Amazon box carcasses, they interlocking with the Guardian, they wrapping piles of my paintings, all of us wrapped in duvet.

An ex-boyfriend wrote in a song:

” Bel’s bed is full of magazines, bras and broken pencils”

The flat dissapointment of a going to a New Years day party. The flatness of a new year and the first day of it and the air of hangover-expecting to feel a sense of recognition with someone-a longing for a lost love or homeland. A neutral, clean and comfortable home.
When I was almost thirteen years old my mother moved to Vatican City Rome to mend Papal robes. My father dissapeared. My sisters were at university. My mother left me a copy of her signature so that I could fake school letters. I moved into Canon Sherlocks house. The Canon had died two weeks previously. The shape of his body still (imprinted) on the ticking sheet upstairs. A well like the dipmade for water in flour for pastry in the mattress. His rubbish was still in the bin, mostly paper and pelargonium heads maybe he had given up eating. Radio 4 was turned down but on. And so I adopted his habits. From a very strict upbringing to no rules at all I started to live like the ninety one year old Canon who had just died. The ship was waiting for a new captain and I was it.
Tinned peaches in syrup next to Birds powdered custard. I made the obvious connection and tried them and liked them. Post war treats for a child born in 1975. I turned the radio up and enjoyed Humphrey Littleton on Sorry I haven’t a clue and several other radio programmes. The Times that came through the door for a while I read over several days. As I did with: Lolita, Pnin, Tess of the D’urbevilles. The cat seemed to accept me as the new master. Drawers and drawers of things-even a table that I thought had false pockets opened and yeilded a set of silver asleep on cobalt velvet beds.
Wine stains on the wall
The rope on by the stairs shiny with grease
Birds custard powder
Peaches in syrup
Radio 4 (turned down not off)
Threadbare cat used to pee by the fireplace guessed it’s name began with E ‘Worm E” in a seven year old engagement diary was known by me as ‘E puss and Mr E’ ever after. I found out that Epuss was calle Edgeware several years after he died. He had brought a copper pipe slow worm in from the compost heap he briefly returned to kitten before the excitement killed him.
Portraits of past Sherlocks-dark etchings with Spaniel ear wigs
Christ in the corner looking down as an out of body experience
Two bedrooms
Walls covered in fabric-only other place Liberty of London (and Indian restaurant)
Cold in the final room and could hear next doors jacuzzi
Airing cupboard-walk in where I did a lot of my English A level essays
Painted on the landing looking out through the diamond windows under the spiders webs, slugs, snails, caterpillars and moths that lived in the overhanging thatch
Apple tree rotten in the garden and a tame fox and pheasant
Antlers on the outside of the shed-brought inside.
The kitchen- not the same.
Lined with paper sticky and rings of Lyles golden syrup Midwinter and Meissen crockery

A man doing The Knowledge on his moped. The heavy push of the gate and his physical memory of the space (Bachelard) Knew this space far better than I. The people that live in Lane End have dreams about other places they have lived as I do about the rooms they are sleeping in. The carpet, The look of the gloss paint on the alcove where the post used to wait to be opened. Bills lying there for months. Estate Agents enquiries, Pizza delivery adverts for years. The Staffordshire Shepherd and girl looking on over to a pastoral Scottish landscape engraved and in glass on the other side of the hall. Now they look toward s a turbulent sea scene a reminder of on my stepfathers heritage: his father was a lifeboat man. Realise the miserable Christmases that happened. My father taking one of our present to the children in the home he ran. My Mason and Pearson hairbrush I had waited for a year to get instantly taken and used by another less fortunate little girl causing me to go hot in the face with frustration.