Je t’embrasse mon bien aimé...

Le Nord isn’t exactly famous for its brocantes and antique shops. There are far fewer of them than in the south or in the more tourist‑heavy regions. And yet, a handful of places have become dear to us—spots we return to again and again. One of them is the charming little shop La Houppa Antiquités Brocante in Abbeville.

There’s much to say about Abbeville itself, but that’s a story for another time. For now, picture the shop’s owner: a stylish man in his fifties, lamenting the lack of buyers in his town. He survives mostly on tourists, a category in which he—incorrectly—placed us: les Belges sympas. We gently corrected him and were promptly promoted to “locals.”

In any case, he told us he was planning to close the shop and move to a quartier bobo in Paris, as he put it. But what does any of this have to do with “I embrace you, my beloved”?

Everything starts with the stacks of old postcards lying around the shop. You know the kind—cards once kept in a kitchen tin, now abandoned to time and dust. Among them was the card from Cécile.

On the front of this 1920s (?) postcard, a tender little scene: young boys riding a donkey along the beach of Berck. A moment so simple, so innocent, and now—due to all kinds of reasons—almost impossible to imagine today. The whole image is printed in a soft monochrome blue, perfect for enlarging and hanging as a decorative piece in our home. It radiates the atmosphere of a bygone era: wide beaches, pretty houses, people dressed in their Sunday best, enjoying the seaside. Not so different from today, and yet entirely different. Hard to put into words. You’ll see what I mean when I upload the images to the site.

But it’s the back of the postcard that truly captivated me. Cécile—the sender—writes:

“J’ai passé hier une journée épouvantable, à cause de ta lettre !”   “J’ai peur d’être dure, mais tu m’aurais fait trop souffrir.”

What a story, hidden on the reverse side of a simple card. Could Cécile ever have imagined that her words would be read in a kitchen in Antwerp in the year 2026? I find that deeply intriguing. It means nothing and everything at the same time—a tiny fragment of a life, carried across time and space, linking us to an unknown past. It brings humility, and a sense of how finite everything is. A valuable insight in these times of turmoil—Ukraine, Gaza, Iran, Nigeria, Congo…

What happened to Cécile? Why was she upset? What was she determined to forget: “J’oublierai tout.”   We will never know. And yet, she ends with an invitation to her (ex‑?) husband: “Je t’embrasse mon bien aimé comme autrefois… si tu veux.” To top it off, their two children scribbled little kisses to their father at the bottom of the card.

These small things can brighten an entire day. Away from the noise and thunder of the news cycle, back to a single fragile postcard with a handwritten message from a time when people loved, argued, hoped, and hurt—just as we do now. And suddenly you feel how fleeting everything is, but also how beautiful the beach of Berck remains, how gentle the countryside of Le Nord still feels… and how precious these tiny discoveries can be.

Dear Cécile, wherever you ended up, I hope things turned out well for you.