Picture me under a tree

I may have found a niche market here.

Yesterday I had phone call from the librarian to say that he was trying to write a letter to a distant relative in New Zealand and he was stuck on a particular word, and he wondered whether I would be able to help. I suggested that I visit him at the library today and have a look at what he wanted.

It may have been a ruse because he kept me there for nearly two hours showing me all sorts of information about his family. Numerous books have been written about this Hvar family from Sucuraj (with a ‘ch’ for the ‘c’), and descendents have been flung around the world in a pretty erratic but impressive way. He told me about his grandmother who died at 103 years old, and about the poem that he wrote when she died which was then translated into English by a New Zealand poet (Pervin?) – and he promised me a copy.

He explained that the original family moved there from Bosnia to get away from the Turks, and then explained what the Italians did when they took over the village, and then what the Germans did when they took over the village, and then what the English did when they bombed the village to get rid of the Germans… Sucuraj (with a ‘ch’ for the ‘c’) was a wonderful village to control strategically. A perfect sleepy Island village for war participation. I was totally engrossed in all of this information and his stories.

I wrote the letter back to the relative for the librarian, explaining that the person he was looking for had died in Switzerland, and even though they had been told that he was a lawyer, the fact that he died at age 21 made it unlikely that he had finished his qualifications. The librarian said that he didn’t know how to thank me, and shook my hand and kissed each cheek.

Which gets me back to my niche market. There are men who sit under trees in Indian Villages who work as letter writers! I could to do that!!! What do you think?