Dear Lumpy (13 page)

The Miller’s House

16 November

Dearest L,

I am delighted to hear you are going to increase the population of this troubled world. I sometimes wonder what sort of world it will be in 50 years time; or whether there will be a world at all! When I was born there were far more horse-drawn vehicles in London than cars. No one had flown the Channel and middle-class families had six indoor servants, some of whom were paid less than £20 a year. Golden sovereigns were in use rather than £ notes. Happily no one could foresee two ghastly wars with the cream of the nation destroyed in the first one. Cinemas were just starting and the posh one was at Marble Arch. Life was more peaceful with out wireless or TV. People died in large numbers from tuber culosis, bronchitis, appendicitis, pneumonia, diphtheria, typhoid and scarlet fever. In 1919 more people died of a virulent ’flu germ than were killed in the whole of World War I. The country began in the Edgware Road and I well remember the blacksmith’s shop there. My grandmother had a large estate with a farm at Harrow which was as rural then as Kintbury is now.

We have got 24 people for lunch on Sunday and I foresee hideous chaos.

Best love to you all,

D

Doom and gloom with the world as I announce that I am pregnant again.

The Miller’s House

Sunday

Dearest L,

How are things going with you? Have you flogged your house yet and found a new one? Life is fairly quiet here. I got a £10 fine for a parking offence in Newbury. I am refusing to pay so may end up in gaol. My bed is very uncomfortable so I am going to jump on it for quite a long time today to try and alter the contours. I keep losing my spectacles, car keys, house keys, cheque book, pension book and library cards; part of the gagadom inseparable from old age. I am now on the Committee of the Animal Health Trust; whether any animals will benefit from my appointment seems doubtful. Unlike most other members of the Committee, however, I do not kill animals for pleasure, though of course I eat a good few. I think tearing corpses apart with your teeth is rather disgusting and I rather wish I was a vegetarian tucking into nut cutlets and fricassée of parsnips. I wonder how many dead animals one devours in a lifetime? Quite a lot if one includes shrimps and whitebait. How awful if the animals got organised under a sheep like Scargill and started devouring humans. I must say any animal getting my liver would be dead unlucky. Only 23 shopping days till Christmas! How I look forward to the traditional Yuletide songs like the one that starts

‘As she toasted him a crumpet

He tickled her under the umpet.’

Thank God we are not going away for Christmas and no one shows the faintest inclination to spend Christmas here. I expect your mother and I will share a Sainsbury’s meat pie in front of the electric one-bar fire.

XXX D

‘This will be my last Christmas, you will all miss me when I am gone,’ my dad was frequently heard to say around this time of year.

The Miller’s House

12 January

Dearest L,

I hope you had a happy birthday and lots of presents. It is horribly cold here but this house is much warmer than Budds. Last Wednesday I had to let Otto out at 7 a.m. Unfortunately, dressed only in pyjamas and dressing gown, I fell down on an icy patch in front of the house and could not get up! As Nidnod was in London, I felt I might freeze to death but after taking my slippers off I managed, despite two more falls, to reach the door. I had some coffee with whisky in it followed by a hot bath and gradually recovered but I am still bruised and shaken. How I loathe old age with all the horrible things it inevitably brings with it! I’m very clumsy and forgetful these days and I fear Nidnod finds me boring and irritating. I can’t really blame her. We met Dr Keeble having lunch in the Dundas Arms with a v. plain lady (wife?) whom he did not introduce to us. I had to buy a new loo seat – £40. The electricity bill is double what it was at Budds. The Gaselees’ daughter nipped off just before a party and had her hair dyed purple. Her parents were NOT pleased! No hot water in Aunt Joan’s flat and all the loos on the floor above have frozen up. A nasty three-car crash at our turning up to the house yesterday. You can get rather good whitebait at the Three Swans in Hungerford. I’ll take you one day. I have bought a birthday card of quite hideous vulgarity for your sister.

Best love,

D

Moving to The Miller’s House was supposed to make my parents’ life easier. Unfortunately my dad was not as stable as he used to be. This incident shook him up badly and he was very lucky not to have broken something.

Budds Farm

19 January

Dearest L,

A good start to the morning: Nidnod fell on the stairs, upset a cup of coffee, injured her knee and shouted Fuck! A lot of snow here but we are still mobile, but only just. Poor Aunt Joan has no hot water and there is not a loo working in her block. No lark when you’re 77. Poor Major Surtees, moving into a new house in Salisbury, has found that four crates containing all his most treasured possessions have been stolen. I hear you’ve bought a mansion in the fashionable SW area. Let me know something about it. I was born in SW3, 11 Cadogan Gardens, a big house but short of loos and bathrooms. From there my parents went to 49 Charles Street, W1, just off Berkeley Square, then to 40 Sloane Court, SW3, and finally, their last house before shifting to a flat, 28 Cadogan Square, SW3. I think Lord Cadogan has a flat there now. Their first flat was a very posh one at 76 Sloane St. The flat underneath was owned by a retired Ambassador, Sir Percy Loraine (Pompous Percy) who went abroad for the winter during which time his butler used the flat as a brothel. My mother could not understand the weird noises that could be heard from 2 p.m. onwards. I think my father rather enjoyed them. The Van Straubenzees came to lunch with a son of 20 who is already as bald as a billiard ball. Nidnod never takes her wig off nowadays as it keeps her head warm. Reverting to my parents’ houses, they had some weird domestic servants: a butler who forged cheques and went to prison; a parlour maid called Murphy who was usually pissed and fell flat on her face at a dinner party when carrying in the soup; a butler called Ellis who helped himself from the cellar and peed in the bottles he emptied (he went to prison too); a butler who had been wounded in the head and chased the cook with a bread-knife; a very good butler who came from the Camerons but unfortunately was a roaring homo; and an admirable cook whose brother was a big noise in the CID. We also had a chauffeur who drowned himself in quite a shallow puddle.

Best love

R

P.S. My parents’ old daily, called a charwoman in those days, lived in Cadogan Street where I believe houses now cost about £250,000!

When my father visited me in London we would often make a tour of the houses where he had been brought up. He had learnt to ride a bicycle in Upper Sloane Street – only a lunatic would attempt to do that now.

The Miller’s House

Dearest LL,

Was it you who sent me an alluring Valentine? If so, many thanks. I’ve been feeling so mean and frozen, I simply lacked the heart to send any this year. I got a very saucy one from the ex-Mrs Surtees. The winter is tolerable when you’re young and active but a proper bugger when you’re old. Most of my exercise consists of filling coal scuttles and log baskets and cleaning grates. The Vaughans came to lunch last week; I gave them a ‘Between the Sheets’, 1/3rd Naval Rum, 1/3rd Cointreau, 1/3rd Spanish brandy, a squeeze of lemon. It got them talking which was one of the objectives. In the evening we went to a truly horrible party in aid of the Vine & Craven. Noisy, boring, and I have never seen so many plain individuals under one roof before. Lupin comes down here tomorrow. Has he married a dusky beauty, do you think? The Parkinsons are still pushing the boat out in Australia. The Wallis’s son John runs the posh hotel in Sydney. Major Surtees enjoyed Kenya where he saw several wart-hogs. Joy’s husband has had his hip operation which was a success. I saw frogmen searching for a body in the Canal on Sunday but they did not hook out anything when I was watching. Poor Old Lord Carnarvon is now 87 and sadly a complete cabbage. He lives in Edgecombe Nursing Home. A lot of rich people crawl off there to die. I watched Crufts on TV. When I was a boy the Crufts Champion one year was poisoned by suffragettes.

Best love to you all,

D

P.S. Thanks so much for coming down yesterday and cheering me up.

Each year my dad and I would send each other the most unsuitable Valentine’s Day card that we could find and sign them from totally inappropriate people, such as Myra Hindley or Bernadette Devlin.

The Miller’s House

1 July

Dearest L,

How are you behaving, pretty indifferently I suppose. Nidnod has just left for Wimbledon and it has just started to rain. This evening we are due to attend some bizarre festivities in a marquee given by a local bigwig whom I hardly know. Horrid scraps of food in cardboard pastry and warm white wine bottled at Staines. I stayed at Brighton with Cousin John on Monday. He has some muscular affliction and can hardly walk, while in addition his lower intestine is giving tiresome trouble. I was nearly killed when I had (or rather my car had) a tyre burst doing 70 on the M25 in the rush hour. However I faced Demon Death with a sangfroid based on indifference. I am not good at changing wheels and the tyre was in ribbons. Two young men came to my rescue and spurned any form of reward. Ghastly party chez Carden next Monday. Tepid Pimms and fish salad! Whoopee! Joy had a good holiday in Malta but was slightly surprised to find her excellent hotel was owned by Colonel Gaddafi. Had a very nasty lunch with the Oldfields; meat you could re-sole an army boot with. Bent my false teeth quite badly. Jane sent me a poem by Piers. A second Lord Byron? On the whole I think not.

XX XX D

Demon death was always waiting round the corner for my father. Luckily (I am not quite sure how), he survived a variety of prangs. Despite my father having once been an excellent driver, his driving skills were very poor in the last years of his life.

The Miller’s House

8 October

Dearest L,

I gather your Scottish holiday was a flop. I don’t care for Scotland or the Scotch; take my advice: never go north of Watford. How is that cheeky Benjamin? Thank you, I will come to the christening if I can. I ought to be at a funeral at Honiton today but I really can’t drive there and back on my own. Nidnod is in poor form and keeps on grumbling about this house, Kintbury, and the locals who are mostly elderly, tedious members of the middle class, just like ourselves. Next Saturday we go to Colonel Thistlethwayte’s 60th birthday party. I must try and keep sober for the drive home. Otto pinched a liver sausage at breakfast and doubtless will be horribly sick. The Burnaby-Atkins are just back from a smashing trip to China. Aunt Joan is pushing the boat out in Cyprus.

XX D

When my parents first moved to The Miller’s House my mother took an unwarranted dislike to Kintbury, mainly because she could not keep her beloved horse nearby. Sadly she did not keep this to herself and could often be heard complaining about there being too many worthy, bridge-playing octogenarians in ‘effing Kuntbury’, which is what she rechristened Kintbury. When the dust settled she actually made a number of good friends in the village.

The Miller’s House

27 October

Dearest Lumpy,

Thank you so much for inviting me to Benjamin’s christening. I think it all went off very well. Benjamin is very much in my good books as most babies take one long, hard look at me and are then sick in a slightly cynical but thoroughly offensive way. You have not told me yet what he would like for a christening present. I think I told you the very nice tall parson who took the service is a son of my former Commanding Officer, Sir John Whitaker, a huge man who smoked 80 Gold Flake per day and who died suddenly out shooting. I once had to share a room with him in Jerusalem and he snored like a Chieftain tank in bottom gear. I thought Rebecca looked very nice. What does she want for Christmas? Have you seen this month’s Tatler? Who is the girl on the front cover? She looks a really saucy little number! Nidnod is in very bad form: she never stops banging on about how she hates this house and the inhabitants of Kintbury. I like it here but I suppose I shall be forced to leave.

Best love,

D

Benjamin’s christening went off without a hitch or any family rows. My brother Lupin had just returned from New York and came with my parents. For some unknown reason he had dyed his hair bright orange but kept denying it.

The Miller’s House

10 November

Dearest L,

I hope you are all thriving. We have ten people to lunch today which means a lot of fatigues. I am giving them a fair whack of vodka on arrival to cheer them up. They are all about 74 years old. Your mother has been to church but I stayed behind to do the grate, fill log baskets, decant the port etc etc. It was supposed to be a short service but there were six hymns and a long sermon by a man with a beard. There was a murder down the road on Thursday, not an exciting one, just a domestic row that got out of hand. There have been two rather frightening rapes at Silchester. Your mother is in poor form and complains that the house is damp. Aunt Joan is 78 on Nov 18, I am 76 on the 22nd. There is something rather horrible about old age. I think Jane is going to send her sons to Marlborough. My father was there, also, I think one of Henry’s brothers. It used to be very Spartan and the moral standard was low as so many of the boys were the sons of parsons. An extremely large cat has taken up residence in the garden here. I think he is quite capable of eating both the dogs. I have a nasty feeling that something is wrong with our drains. More expense! I had a nice two days at Brighton with Cousin John who is slightly eccentric but very rich.

Best love,

D

My father loved to escape to his cousin’s luxury penthouse flat in Brighton, complete with an extremely inebriated butler. I am unsure what held the greater appeal: comfort or an extensive library of pornography.