Two days ago, as I was walking home with Maggie, I noticed something was amiss with my right sleeve. Peering towards it, I found a cuff without a link.

This cufflink no longer has a partner.


Normally, losing things does not bother me greatly. If I bought something, the thinking goes, I can afford it. If I can afford it, I can replace it. And anything that doesn’t fit into that category – a car or a house, for example – ought to be insured.

But this lost cufflink doesn’t fit that mould; it’s a bit unique.

Here’s the story I was told.
Or, perhaps, this is the special mangled replication of the story I was told, produced by my memory and brain:

Before I was born, my mother did her fair share of traveling. And on one of these trips, she came back with a couple of Turkish coins, which she gave to my grandfather. My grandfather had them made into cufflinks. And when he died, the cufflinks came to me.

So the cufflinks are now a heirloom. They’re not just a piece of jewelry, but a connection to my mother and my grandfather. A bit of each of them, and a bit of their relationship, all in these little things that hold the end of my shirt sleeve together.

If you live in Wapping, or have visited it recently, and have found a cufflink that looks like this, please leave a comment and I’ll get in touch.

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