The Mrs Henshaw Letters

The correspondence that follows covers a period from October 2024 to January 2025. Except for the final letter, no replies from Mrs. Henshaw are documented - the correspondence is presented as one-sided, with the reader left to fill in the gaps.

Letter dated 25th October to Mrs. Iris Henshaw.

Dear Mrs. Henshaw

I was somewhat delighted to receive your letter of 19th October, following on from our meeting and subsequent time together on the Excelsior cruise ship. How lovely to make new friends! We did indeed have ‘a laugh’ as you so simply recalled; your husband’s bawdy humor was particularly memorable, eliciting some rather unique mental images that I still carry with me. My Percy seemed especially pleased that you had made contact; his eyes lit up at the mention of your name. Whilst on board the ship, it was heart-warming to see the two of you discover a shared love of traditional games such as shuffleboard and boules. That the pair of you were up and about sometimes as early as 6am to have a shuffle together - or whatever it is you say – shows, I think, what a rich experience cruising can be. And you are clearly very skilled at boules; since our return, Percy has commented several times on your most impressive wrist action.

I do apologize that the address I gave you when we parted contained numerous errors, including an incorrect house number, street name and town. But your doggedness has paid off thanks to your remarkable recall of our vehicle plate number from our hurried goodbyes on the quayside and the investigative skills of your nephew from the police force. Do thank him from me for helping you to make contact; as you said in your letter, we are indeed people of a different ilk (I assume you meant ‘ilk’; ‘elk’ is a large Canadian moose, which has no business featuring in a discussion on heritage) – but our differing backgrounds have proved no barrier to a singular determination on your part to maintain contact. Bravo to that!

Of course, we were bound to bond so sturdily, given that we are, each one of us, dog people. Our three corgis – ‘Keaton’, ‘Chaplin’ and ‘Trump’ – continue to wreak havoc on our beautiful home, digging up whatever Gideon – our Head Gardener – plants out. They are our furry demons! I do hope your ‘Cath’ recovers from her ordeal. Until our lengthy conversation on the subject, I had no idea that dogs could contract gout, but there we are. I suppose these things are bound to happen when you have such an unusual mixture of breeds! (Is a Pekinese/Poodle crossbreed really called a Peka-Poo?)

Anyway, please forgive this rather curtailed reply; the fullness of my social diary means, alas, that writing letters of a similar length to your recent missive (19 pages! What a treat!) is something of a luxury I can ill afford.

Yes, we must get together for a meal soon, although I fear that it could be a while before a gap appears in the aforementioned diary. The price of popularity!

Warmest regards,

Hettie Bunberry-Smythe

***

Letter dated 5th November to Mrs. Iris Henshaw.

Dear Mrs. Henshaw

What a stroke of luck! Who would have thought that, despite living 50 miles apart, you would have bumped into my Percy simply through a chance encounter at the Post Office. I nearly came along myself, but Percy was insistent that I remain at home, due to the likely length of the queue and my disliking for being breathed on by the general public.

It was also remarkable that Percy was able to identify an evening so soon, on which we are free to invite you over for supper. I felt sure I had checked all available dates for the foreseeable. Nevertheless, we are looking forward to seeing you next Wednesday – please arrive for 7.

Best regards,

Hettie Bunberry-Smythe

P.S. I understand you enquired about bringing dessert. That’s quite unnecessary; please just bring a bottle! – H.

***

Letter dated 18th November to Mrs. Iris Henshaw.

Dear Mrs. Henshaw,

Your ‘thank you’ letter for the meal arrived this morning – a quite unnecessary gesture, but a welcome one. I’m glad you enjoyed the evening.

Please don’t fret any further about the whole ‘bottle furor’ (or ‘bottlegate’ as my Percy called it). I sometimes forget that not everyone has the full social life that Percy and I enjoy and so should have been aware that the short-hand phrase ‘bring a bottle’ wasn’t to be taken literally; it is customary to also bring an alcoholic beverage contained within!

But no matter – as you observed, the blue-glass bottle you brought along was sufficiently decorative to be used as a vase or simple ornament. Unfortunately, wherever I have tried to site it, it has clashed with the carefully designed color scheme of our tasteful ‘salle a manger’, and so regretfully I have had to recycle it. But thank you again for bringing along such a well-made item! Indeed, it took Percy several hits with the mallet to break it up so it would fit into the bottle bank.

Thank you also for the apology in your letter for the unfortunate behavior of your husband towards myself. I feel I should take some of the blame for not warning you both about the strength of Percy’s home-made wine, but your husband’s stream of bawdy jokes at my expense did become rather tiresome, despite our status as trusted friends. I am aware that my bosoms are large, Mrs. Henshaw – indeed for health and safety reasons, I rarely eat soup – but Mr. Henshaw was fixated on them like some kind of predatory owl. I do appreciate that I didn’t help the situation by accidentally dropping an olive down my cleavage at the start of the meal, but the offer by your husband to send in a small Indian boy on a rope to retrieve it was unnecessary and crass, despite my Percy’s stifled sniggers (about which I have issued a severe admonishment!)

It was also an unexpected treat to welcome your strange-looking dog into our home. ‘Cath’ is such an unusual name for a dog – it can’t really be short for ‘catheter’? I wasn’t sure whether your Ernie was joking with me when he said it was so-named due to its propensity to urinate everywhere. Either way, he certainly lived up to his name, but no worry – our corgis also have the occasional accident, which is why we went for parquet flooring throughout.

Anyway, a pleasant evening was had by all. Please don’t worry about reciprocating; I know you don’t have the space, and I would worry that the local youths might see Percy’s car as an easy target. I imagine a Mercedes badge is a rare spot in the neighborhood!

Yours truly,

Hettie

***

Letter dated 1st December to Mrs. Iris Henshaw.

Dear Mrs. Henshaw

I write with warmth but also some annoyance at your repeated attempts to set a date for us to come to supper at your small house before Christmas. Your letter inviting us over at the end of November was received, but alas I was unable to respond in time due to a massive social undertaking: the annual early writing of our Christmas cards. There has simply been no time to acknowledge your letter – or even important correspondence - received in recent weeks. And so your repeated telephoning has been rather pointless and has only succeeded in annoying Gideon, who keeps having to traipse in and out of the conservatory in his wellington boots to answer the phone. He forgives you, however, and therefore so shall I.

However, it is clearly unfair for us not to give you the opportunity to shine in the same way as we did for you, and so we would be happy to accept your invitation to supper (or “dinner” as you so quaintly call it) on the 22nd.

I trust we will be exchanging presents; in which case, let us save ourselves the embarrassment of spending wildly differing amounts of money on each other, and cap the amount being spent on each person at $300. Any more than that would be quite unfair; I remember seeing you watch the pennies on the cruise ship, proclaiming a round of Champagne and then ordering Prosecco. We felt for you!

The cruise was indeed a memory to savor. Percy, for example, can remember what you wore pretty much every day! He’s never taken such an interest in fashion before – I don’t know what the attraction is this time. It must be his age!

I shall bring a bottle (containing wine! Ha!)

Yours,

Hettie

***

Letter dated 23rd December to Mrs. Iris Henshaw.

Mrs. Henshaw,

I am writing to express my disappointment about our time at your house yesterday evening. It was not the most pleasant of experiences.

After parking on the street and enduring the stares of a gang of feral youths who were using the pretense of playing football to stake out our car with a view to stealing it, we rang the doorbell.

After enduring Ernie’s puerile greeting through the electronic doorbell while the neighbors were within earshot (“If you’re here for the orgy, strip off, lube up and make your way up the stairs”) we entered, red-faced with embarrassment.

It was then clear that you were both “under the influence” of nefarious substances. I berate myself for not turning around straight away and leaving. However, I was willing at that point to let it pass and attempted to make small talk with your husband while yourself and Percy went upstairs to attend to the problem you have been having with your boiler.

After what seemed like an eternity, with much rhythmic banging and shouting, you both re-emerged downstairs looking somewhat disheveled.

Then it was time for the presents. And in this case, the presence of tat! Our gifts to you of his and hers Cashmere knitwear were, I felt, imbued with the correct amount of thought and love that one expects from a friendship such as ours. Your gifts to us - a ‘Big Mouth Billy Bass’ and a box of Nestle Goobers - were just meaningless, throw-away tat. And thrown them away I have.

But just as I thought the evening had reached its low point, it was time to eat.

The soup starter was terribly bland. I decided to be kind and ask you for the recipe; I was not expecting to be handed the label from a tin. Is that all we are worth – opening a tin? Next time, why not just hit us over the head with it!

The main course was merely adequate. Although it presented yet another opportunity for your Ernie to leer at my chest; don’t think I didn’t notice his pronunciation of the boeuf bourguignon as ‘beefy boing-boing’ while gesturing towards me. Disgraceful behavior!

And finally – dessert was an abomination, which can be best illustrated by your question: “Would you like me to pour you some more meringue?” No, I very much wouldn’t – and didn’t! Your ‘Eton Mess’ was more ‘Borstal Disgrace’. Shocking!

I’m sure that in your heart, you know this wasn’t an evening of sufficient standard to pass muster. The food was well below par and even the atmosphere seemed to be tainted. In fact, it couldn’t have been any more awkward if you had actually been having an affair with my husband! That’s really how awful it was.

Yours with deep disappointment,

Hettie.

P.S. Your dog has pissed in my handbag.

***

Letter dated 29th December to Mrs. Iris Henshaw.

Dear Mrs. Henshaw,

So, you’ve been having an affair with my husband.

I should have known, of course. Percy has recently started using his old chest expander that’s been languishing in the garage since 1978. It’s rather pathetic really. It’s not his chest that needs expanding, but you will have discovered that by now, won’t you. I’d wondered why there was a look of recognition on your face back in November when I served you that cocktail sausage.

But I’m not writing to have a go at you about your sordid little affair. I’m actually writing to thank you. Because had you and Percy not kept disappearing to play ‘plant the parsnip’ on that cruise, I would never have discovered the delights of Ernest Maurice Henshaw.

That’s right, Iris. Your husband and I have also been partaking in horizontal refreshment. We’ve been bumping uglies. Groping for trout in a peculiar river. We’ve been taking a turn at bushy park!

And let me tell you; it knocks sex with Percy into a cocked hat. Because while I’ve been sampling the finest caviar with Ernie, you’ve been noshing on Percy’s rather underwhelming winkle.

Of course, I was kicking up a fuss at the attention Ernie was giving me to put you all off the scent. Ernie finds me irresistible and could barely hide it when we all met up. Hence the sexually-charged comments about my appearance. In reality, I was flattered. The most attention Percy has given my body in the last 10 years is when he tried to take out a tiny splinter from my finger when I was forced to creosote the front fence.

Well, you’re the one who has to put up with the tiny splinter now, Iris. And trust me – you’re in no danger from having it stuck in you or taken out. Because splinters need wood, my darling, and you won’t be getting any of that from Percy, despite his best efforts thus far.

So, why not come round next Thursday week when we can do an official handover of our husbands? I’ll prepare a list of likely disappointments that you can expect from Percy over the next few years, and you can return that Catherine Cookson I lent you in Naples which I never saw back.

Or we can do it the old-fashioned way, and I’ll just come round to yours and kick you in the head for stealing my husband. I’d say I’m easy either way, but that’s very much your territory.

See you then.

Hettie.

P.S. Please tell Ernie I shall be bringing my fabulous breasts.

***

Letter of reply dated 1st January from Mrs. Iris Henshaw to Mrs. Hettie Bunbury-Smythe.

Dear Mrs Bunbury-Smythe,

Congratulations on your acquisition of my husband into your life of one-upmanship and narcissism. You are well suited.

The tenor of your letters to me seems to suggest that you thought I was desperate to curry favor with you so I could imitate your expensive lifestyle. It was not. I simply wanted your husband because I saw he was a good man who was thoroughly unhappy with his domineering wife and who had a lot of love to give. The total opposite of Ernie – who can’t make a decision for himself and who only thinks of himself. Good luck with him.

You will soon discover that it is not only your “physique” that interests Ernie. Since we married over ten years ago, he has salivated over, ogled and leered at many women’s bodies, with the exception of my own. Percy, on the other hand, is a gentleman who was unfortunate enough to have married a woman who judged him by his propensity to obey, rather than by his tenderness, warmth and gentleness. He treats me like a queen.

It is true that with Ernie, you will have available to you male sexual parts that would more usually be found on a horse. However, to employ some equine metaphors, the going is often soft, the odds on you winning are poor and the tired nag’s race is often over way before the finish line.

For Percy and me, it is not a race to the finish, but a voyage of discovery. And I have to say that the discovery made is always one of exquisite pleasure. In contrast, Percy has described sex with you as like being suffocated by a deflating zeppelin.

I served you terrible food the other night because the food you’d served me was bland, pretentious rubbish. It was also not enough to feed a mouse. Sticking an edible flower on a lump of mashed potato and referring to it in French is not sophisticated, it is pathetic. I had a Big Mac on the way home and enjoyed every bite.

I gave you back the Catherine Cookson I borrowed a week after I’d borrowed it, but you probably don’t remember because you were talking about yourself at the time. Its title was deliciously ironic: ‘The Silent Lady’.

I am refusing your weird invitation to an exchange of husbands. I won’t bother to give a reason other than that I would rather suck off an elk (You see! I’m learning!)

In the meantime, do go to hell.

Warmest regards,

Iris Henshaw (Mrs.)