Category Archives: The Letter

The letter, part 4: Meeting Margaretha

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If you haven’t yet read parts one through three, you can read all four parts chronologically here. In fact, it’s a good refresher for everyone, as the first post dates back to almost a year ago.

I’ve been meaning to deliver the letter to Margaretha, but for a variety of reasons the opportunity did not present itself until earlier this week, when she and her daughter and I agreed to meet at Tranan after workI was early so I spent half an hour in Stockholm’s public library and its remarkable reading room, designed by the renowned Swedish modernist Erik Gunnar Asplund..

I sat myself at a table, ordered a glass of wine and waited, somewhat nervously, with the letter in my bag. I was on the lookout for a woman in her early fifties accompanied by her daughter. Margaretha arrived alone, however, and as neither of us knew each other, there was some hesitation before we ventured to introduce ourselves.

Within minutes, it was clear we were going to get along wonderfully (in Swedish). She is engaging and witty, and I realized I lucked out with my letter delivery. Monika, her journalist daughter, soon joined us. They share the same gestures and flash the same smile. It’s obvious they are close.

I produce the letter. Margaretha produces photo albums from 1970. She’s even managed to unearth a photograph of the letter’s author, Bengt M—, courtesy of a move in the last few monthshim.jpg. Here he is doing his military service, from the exact period they were going out. From her photo album, here is a picture of Margaretha doing her studenten, a high school graduation ritual, a month or two before the letter in question was written:

her.jpg

And then, over the course of an hour or so, she fills in the details. When Margaretha graduated, she was was going out with Bengt, who was doing his military service. That summer, she moved to Stockholm to study while working at the central bank. For a few months she stayed at student housing at the address to which Bengt addressed the letter.

Within weeks of arriving in Stockholm, however, she had met and was dating Rolf, who also worked at the bank. Bengt was not aware of this when he wrote the letter, in which he mentions visiting her in Stockholm in the coming days. He did visit, and she broke up with him then. Margaretha winces a little when telling this part. Apparently, Bengt asked her why she couldn’t just have phoned him the bad news, thus saving him the trip. A debate ensues with her daughter about what the etiquette is for breaking up in such circumstances. Bengt didn’t get angry, however, just disappointed, Margaretha says. He was gentle and kind.

She met Bengt one more time, during the Christmas holidays later in 1970, when things were still a bit awkward, and they lost touch after that. The group of friends they had in common also drifted apart over the years, though most of them still live in the same area in southern Sweden.

Margaretha married Rolf, the man she broke up with Bengt for; they’ve had two children and lived in Luxembourg and Gothenburg before settling in Stockholm. It turns out that when I called, the children were under the impression their dad was her first love. But how many of us know the details of our parents’ pre-marital love lives? I certainly don’t, and it will stay that way unless somebody calls me with news of a long-lost love letter addressed to my mother from somebody patently not my father.

After I called and Margaretha saw the letter online, she looked for Bengt M— online, found him living in the area where they grew up and called him. He remembered her without prompting. In brief: He is a construction engineer and recently divorced. This summer, Monika is travelling to southern Sweden, and she says she will try to meet up with Bengt, so he can tell his side of the story. When she reports back, you’ll read about it here.

Then, it was time for photo ops:

Note the lovely Swedish summer weather.letter0002.jpg

letter0003.jpg

As to what this letter was doing on a ledge on St. Marks Place — that mystery remainsMargaretha and Monika, if parts of your story got lost in translation, need clarification or if you want to add anything, please go right ahead.. I don’t think we’ll ever uncover its trajectory, from student housing in Stockholm in 1970 to the sidewalks of New York in 1999.

The Letter, part 3: Margaretha writes back

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[If you haven’t yet read The Letter, parts one and two, please do so first. This post won’t make any sense otherwise]

Margaretha wrote back this afternoon. I think it is time to take a backseat and let the story tell itself…

After our conversation my son absolutely wanted to have a look at the letter so we checked it out yesterday already. Today at work I told several colleagues and also my daughter. Everyone thinks it’s a great story and wants to hear more.
 
I grew up in Halmstad and had just graduated from high school in 1970, after which I found work at the Swedish Central bank in Stockholm. In the spring of 1970 I was going out with Bengt, who that year began his military service at P2, which was an armoured regiment in Hässleholm. Bengt came to visit me in Stockholm, but I had made new friends and so I broke up with him when he visited. I met Bengt one more time during the Christmas holidays that year, but since then we have not been in touch.
 
I don’t remember the letter, but it is correctly addressed to me so I could well have had it. In the autumn of that year I moved to Vasastan. The theory about the bookmark may well be right, but I do not remember the letter, alas.
 
In 1976 I married Rolf, with whom I have two children — Monika, who is 22 and studying to become a journalist, and Olof, 18 and in high school. We have lived most in Stockholm, but also some time in Luxembourg and Gothenburg. I work as an economist at a waste management firm called S—.Efter ditt samtal igår ville absolut min son titta på brevet så vi gick in redan igår. Idag har jag berättat om det för flera arbetskamrater och även för min dotter. Alla tycker det är en fantastisk historia och vill gärna höra mer.

Jag växte upp i Halmstad och hade tagit studenten 1970, därefter fick jag arbete på Sveriges Riksbank i Stockholm. Under våren-70 hade jag sällskap med Bengt som det året påbörjade sin militärtjänstgöring på P2 som var ett pansarförband i Hässleholm. Bengt besökte mig i Stockholm, men jag hade fått nya vänner och hade väldigt roligt så jag gjorde slut med Bengt vid hans besök. Jag träffade Bengt ytterligare en gång under julhelgen det året, men sedan har vi inte haft någon kontakt.

Jag minns inte brevet, men det var rätt adresserat så jag kan ha haft det. På hösten det året flyttade jag till Vasastan.

Teorin om bokmärke kan stämma men jag minns inte brevet, tyvärr.

1976 gifte jag mig med Rolf som jag fått två barn med Monika som är 22 år och utbildar sig till journalist och Olof som är 18 år och går på gymnasiet. Vi har bott mest i Stockholm, men även en tid i Luxemburg och i Göteborg. Jag arbetar som ekonom i ett företag i sopbranschen som heter S—.

Margareta, who signs her name without an h, goes on to mention that she’s found a Bengt M— (the letter didn’t contain his last name) living outside of Halmstad. And shall we contact him?

This story isn’t over yet, in other words.

The Letter, part 2: Finding Margaretha Lennerbring

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[If you haven’t yet read The Letter, an earlier post about a letter I found on a New York City sidewalk sent to a Swedish woman in 1970, please do so. The rest of this post won’t make any sense otherwise.] I don’t know why I didn’t follow my one big lead on this story until tonight; I’ve been meaning to, and were I a paid private detective all this would have been over months ago. Maybe I was afraid the lead would be a dead end; perhaps the mystery of the letter was something to savour before solving, much like one lets fine wine linger under the palate. Or perhaps my Swedish was just so godawful until now that I didn’t want to subject anyone to a cold-call of mine.

But tonight I did call Gunnar Lennerbring, the only Lennerbring I had found in the Swedish phonebook. After a few rings, a woman picked up. I couldn’t tell from her voice how old she was. I asked for Gunnar Lennerbring, and she immediately said Gunnar är död, Gunnar is dead.

What a start.

I knew that there is a phrase in Swedish for such moments, and I knew that I had forgotten it. So instead of saying Jag beklagar — I’m sorry (for your loss) — I stammered Ursäkta — excuse me. Dumb dumbMaybe I should have waited a few more months before finally calling.. I thought I should perhaps explain, before she slammed the phone down on my manners, that my Swedish wasn’t in fact that good, and that I was looking for a person called Margaretha, and that this phone number was my only lead.

Margaretha is my daughter, the woman said gently. She married. She lives in Stockholm. Her married name is I—. Would you like her number? Here it is…

Suddenly somewhat breathless, I now dial Margaretha’s number. A male voice picks up. Can I talk to Margaretha? The voice calls for his mom. And then I’m talking to her. Aware that all this might sound a bit bizarre, and nervous because of it, I begin telling the story of how I found a letter in New York four years ago mailed in 1970 to someone that I believe to be her.

I read out some of the letter’s place names. Do they sound familiar? She sounds noncommittal, though my ear is untrained in the various ways Swedes signal assent…and there are many ways of signalling assent: Å, Nja, Ja, Jo, Jaha, Just det, Kanske det, Visst, Klart, Möjlig, Säkert, silence… And then there are all the ways in which they don’t: Å, Nja, Jaha, Kanske det, Möjlig, silence…. Perhaps she is understandably wary of disclosing her personal history to a stranger bearing leading questions.

Not knowing how I’m coming through, I ask her if she has web access. She does, at work. Then she can see the letter online, just type Lennerbring into Google and it’s the only page that comes up… Does she know about Google? She asks, does her son know about Google? Yes, he does. I posted the letter there in my attempt to return it to the addressee, I say — and in a retreat to the tentative — if that is her.

But about that she is sure: She is the only Margaretha, maiden name Lennerbring, there isMargaretha should stay anonymous, I’ve decided, because while I’m fine with posting anonymous letters on the web, I am not, absent her permission, fine with posting personal letters on the web..

In that case, I say, perhaps she could look at the letter tomorrow, and then email me, so that I could arrange to meet her sometime and return it?

She will. She said so.

The letter

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In the summer of 1999 my morning commute went thus: I would walk up St. Marks Place to the N/R subway under Broadway, which took me to the Financial District, home of the whopping equity bubble.

Just off St. Marks and 2nd Ave, I would stop by the Porto Rico Importing Co. to pick up a coffee. At the time, I still smoked, and because it is hard to light a cigarette with matches while holding a scalding beverageI always used those free flat matchbooks from grocery stores because the half-life of any lighter in my possession was measured in hours., I would first set the cup on the window ledge of a bank just next to the store. The cigarette and coffee lasted exactly as long as it took for me to get from there to Broadway. My commute was well-rehearsed.

One drizzly morning, the window ledge had an old, damp letter lying on it. Absent an owner, I took it. Two things were immediately clear: It was addressed to a Margaretha Lennerbring, living in Stockholm, and it was mailed in 1970. I couldn’t read Swedish, but I knew several people who did. I showed it to them. It was a love letter! A young Swedish man doing his military service had written to his girlfriend
 
Lucidor turns out to be a renowned 17th-century Swedish poet, not the least for having composed some of the country’s favorite drinking songs..

I kept the letter. Over the past four years, I’ve come to feel responsible for it, and these last 9 months, as my Swedish has gotten progressively better, I have returned to it periodically, as a yardstick for my comprehension.

I have a theory as to why it was on the ledge that morning: In 1999, the corner of St. Marks and 2nd Ave still had second-hand book peddlers on the sidewalk. The peddlers feature tangentially in the 1992 King Missile cult spoken word/song hit Detachable Penis (Lyrics). I imagine somebody bought a book there, found this incomprehensible letter in it, and discarded it. Perhaps they couldn’t bring themselves to actually throw it in a garbage can, so they left it on the window ledge, feeling guilty, not wanting to favor the cause of entropy (our common enemy).

This letter has been important to someone, important enough perhaps even to drag it across the Atlantic. All would be clear were I to find Margaretha. To that end, the Swedish studies task I set myself yesterday was translating the letter in full:

Page 1
 

Hässleholm, 1/7/70 (the night before)

Hey sweetheart,

Thanks for the letter, it was really kind of you. I was in such a good mood all Monday thanks to your letter. It’s really great that you have already met Timo, and, by the way, say hi to him for me.

I have been to Sergels– and Hötorget [Shopping center in Stockholm].

Here at PZ [P2? army regiment?] it’s the same shit as usual, lying and crawling in shit, and last night (Tuesday) we thoroughly cleaned our whole [military] company, although it was not approved, so we can do it all again, unfortunately.:

Page 2
 

It is not so fun to go home to Halmstad when you aren’t there, the only fun thing was when I, Kent and Gustav (Kent’s father) worked on Kent’s boat and drank beer (and I thought of you, you sweet “witch”). I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you a witch. On Saturday we were in Mellby, first at Christer’s house, and we were all in a good mood (Christer, Kent, Roger, and I), although after a few hours in Mellby, Liza came with another boy, whom I’ve never seen before, and then Kent became angry (I think it was jealousy) and we went home early.:

Page 3
 

On Sunday we continued to work on Kent’s boat until 5pm and then I had to dash home to eat and then I took the train to Hässleholm. By the way, little Maggan didn’t come down because Ryden and I were at her aunt’s place (I think) and she said that Maggan had hurt herself and so couldn’t come, but we got a free snack [fika] out of it.

Now you have to wait a moment because I am going to take a smoking break. I’ll be back soon, darling. Now I have smoked.

I’ll write a letter before I come up to you because I must figure out train schedules:

Page 4
 

and connections so that I can tell you when I come up to Stockholm so that you can come and meet me at the station. I can perhaps already come on Thursday noon, if that’s okay with you, because I long for you so much. I get paid about 350 kr now in wages because we will definitely go to Göteborg LV 6 on July 27.

Kiss and hug from Bengt and I hope that you don’t forget me.

Write soon darling and I will read your letter many times so that I stay in a good mood. Bye [Maggan…?] sweetheart.:

Here are the most important clues, then:

  • It is addressed to Margaretha Lennerbring, who lived at an address in Gamla Stan, Stockholm. Today, it is student housing, and most likely it would have been when the letter was written. Perhaps “Lucidor” refers to a building, floor or university society named after the poet.

    Update (29/6/2003): It does indeed: The building is called Lucidor, and here it is on the web.

  • The author writes from Hässleholm, where he is doing his military service.
  • They both seem to be from Halmstad or nearby Wellby, where they have friends in common.
  • The letter was written and sent on July 1, 1970. If Margaretha was around 18 then, she’d be around 50 today.
  • She seems to have just arrived in Stockholm: The author refers to a previous letter, wherein she must have mentioned that she had “already” met a common friend (Timo).

While there is plenty of information here, there are also plenty of questions, namely:

  • Did she take the letter with her to New York, perhaps as a bookmark?
  • Did she come back to Sweden or did she stay in the US?
  • Is she married to the author? There is nobody with her name in Sweden, according to a cursory search on Eniro, but she would likely have dropped her maiden name if she got married.
  • If she did not marry the author, how did the relationship end?
  • What does PZ or P2 signify? Is there a military connotation?
  • What or who is a Maggan?

    Update (30/6/2003): Maggan is the diminuitive for Margaretha, says Joachim.

So, does anyone reading this know these people, or know how to find them? Or perhaps someone can answer some of the military or university clues? There seems to be only one Lennerbring living in Sweden — perhaps I should send him a letterUpdate Dec 1, 2003: The story continues here.. Posting this information here is not as passive as it seems; I expect Google to hoover all this up, and between now and 20 years from now I am sure I will get searches that refer to this post, perhaps even a Lennerbring googling him or herself. I can wait.