Chapter 1: Long Lost Friends
I saw Marta's post and within minutes was sending her a message. It was instinctive. And not very me. I don't do instinctive like this. I was sure she might struggle to remember me, and anyway, what I was about to say was likely to be overly complicated and... weird.
I worked with Marta 10 years ago.
Although, "worked with" is probably a reach. My team in Internal Comms didn't interact with her Recruitment team all that often.
That said, she was friends with my then girlfriend. And although I forgot it until a recent reminder, apparently we hosted Marta and her husband at our place for dinner once 😳 I am of course embarrassed I didn’t quite remember this.
We were, then, friendly. Acquainted. But not — friends, as such.
Why “long lost friends” then?
Because it felt it.
When I reached out to her, it felt like reconnecting with an old friend. In a way, I recognised a shared something. A common sense of… wonder. A passion. A spark of imagination that united us.
As a tech-nerd, code writing, graphic designing, filmmaking digital creative it's strange to admit I’m not the biggest user of social media. Growing up around the explosion of the internet, I'm often expected to be across the width and breadth of social media.
The truth is, I'm just not that present or invested.
It is, therefore, quite the twist of fate or good fortune that I logged onto the one platform I always left half an eye on during this particular day. If I hadn't, none of this might ever have been happening.
The Post
LinkedIn. February 8 2024.
I saw Marta's post and within minutes was sending her a message.
It was instinctive. And not very me. I don't do instinctive like this. I was sure she might struggle to remember me, and anyway, what I was about to say was likely to be overly complicated and... weird. She was only asking her network for a little advice maybe. This was unlikely to be the sort of thing she expected to receive in response.
It was a proposal. That I would grab my camera, and as fast as humanly possible make my way on a flight to Warsaw to go on an adventure with her.
Given Marta's own activity on LinkedIn matched mine — her last post according to the feed there was some 5 years earlier — I guess there was also the chance she'd never even see my message, let alone respond.
I was so wrong.
Marta's imagination and sense of adventure meant it was in-fact inevitable she would see, respond, and completely embrace the note.
She'd posted about an incredible discovery she'd made back home in Warsaw after years away travelling the world. And jaw-dropingly-incredible discoveries are simply never to be ignored.
So, I have a remarkable story to share with you. A few years ago, during my short stay in Warsaw, near the place I used to live, I found a manuscript in the trash. It was among some old books and other items thrown away in what looked like a basement cleanout. The manuscript I now hold in my hands is an extraordinary find. I am still trying to figure out how it ended up in the trash and, most importantly, why. I discovered that this novel was likely written by Baroness Zofia Schenk during World War II, using the pseudonym Rita Rey. Her words vividly illustrate pre-war Warsaw and Paris, where fashion and customs intertwine in colorful life patterns. The yellowed pages bear traces of the author’s handwritten notes, and the missing final pages left me in agony. I think it goes without saying that I have had the incredible fortune to find this book, and I think, at this point, it is my moral obligation to make this book see the light of day.
A found-in-the-rubbish, nearly-swept-away-and-forever-lost, unpublished novel. Written in 1930-something, war-torn Poland.
Maybe such discoveries are commonplace. Maybe many more of us than I imagine have stumbled across something so unique. Maybe it is ultimately worth no more than a cursory glance before moving on from.
But I didn't feel that was so.
This was, at least in my experience, the first time I'd ever heard anyone say "I found a 100 year old unpublished novel"
I guess it was Marta's sense of obligation to uncover the mystery behind Rita Rey's story — and clear belief in her moral duty to see a novel lost for 90+ years published for others to enjoy — that encouraged me to write.
Her message... impossible to ignore.
This, the stuff of my filmmaking dreams.
It was abundantly clear to me. Marta was one of those people. She couldn't simply ignore the discovery. It was too precious. It needed and deserved respect. She wanted her network, or the networks of her networks, to advise on ways and means to get this incredible novel published. Maybe an introduction to a publisher, a link to someone with experience in such things.
Whatever the case, to me this was a story that needed documenting. The story of the 100 year old, lost and re-found novel. Who was the author? What was their tale? How did it end up in the trash? Why was it never published?
And critically — was there, somewhere, some distant relative who never even knew that their great, great grandmother wrote? Someone we could find. Meet. And reunite with this piece of family history.
I also wondered, as Marta went on the journey to answer some of these questions, how would this discovery impact her life?
Maybe it wouldn't — let's not get ahead of ourselves.
But in that moment I felt it was clear — this was an adventure waiting to be adventured. And I'm forever grateful that Marta felt the same.
No platitudes. No feigned interest to be polite. Just pure engagement. And willingness to do something crazy. To pause, so I could gather myself, finish a couple of bits of work that I was obliged to deliver, pack some kit, book a flight, and get myself to Warsaw.
"Try and not do anything" I told her. I didn't want to miss it. I wanted to be there for moments. The discoveries she might make whilst researching, the phone calls she might have, the unfolding of the story that I'd want to happen on screen as much as humanly possible.
And just like that, we had begun.
Me. Marta. And Rita Rey.
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