Love
xx D
The Ministry of White Fish
[Mid 1970s]
I saw an orthopaedic surgeon from Oxford about my knee last week. I rather liked him (Dr Spivey) as he is young, not given to bullshit and keen on racing and gardening. He said an operation would be painful and possibly unsuccessful; the joints are worn out and cannot be replaced. I have just got to put up with an infirmity which may get progressively worse. I must not kneel in the garden or walk more than 2 miles. The danger is that the leg will get crooked and I shall end up looking like a retired jockey.
How grisly prospects were for knackered knees back then.
Budds Farm
[1974]
After 2 glasses of Cyprus sherry these days I am apt to think I am Halfdene the Dane; and behave accordingly.
Chez Nidnod
Monday [early 1970s]
I went to the funeral of a good friend of mine last week. The vicar, who looked like a well-worn lavatory brush, started the service by appealing for money for the church. This annoyed me. The address was entrusted to a grandson, a priggish youth of 19 who chose to give a pompous sermon advising the older members of the congregation to study the Bible as they would be ‘for it’ themselves before long themselves and it would be foolish to leave things too late! I could have kicked him down the aisle! Finally a Royal Artillery trumpeter played ‘Lights Out’ but unfortunately this did not deter the organist from blasting away at Bach on his instrument. The resulting din was horrific!
Love,
RFM
Budds Farm
2 February 1975
Death came as a relief to the poor old Duke of Norfolk whose arteries had ceased to function and no petrol was reaching the carburettor.
Bernard, Duke of Norfolk, had a racing stable at Arundel. My parents used to stay with him and his wife Lavinia, sister of my father’s notorious chum, Lord Belper.
Budds Farm
14 October 1978
We are all much saddened by John Pope’s death. I have known him since 1922 and he was a loyal and generous friend to your mother and myself. Behind all the jokes, the stories and the ragging, he was a man of high principles, immensely public spirited, and devoted to his faith and his Church. He set high standards for himself and never fell below them.
The House of a Thousand Draughts
Burghclere
17 November [mid 1970s]
Most people I know are either dying or getting married (the latter the worse misfortune) and in either case I am faced with unwanted expense. This week’s boring quotation: ‘Le bonheur consiste simplement à se fermer les yeux’ (Happiness consists simply in shutting your eyes) – Baudelaire.
The Many Leakings
Burghclere
31 October 1981
A sad week for me as Gerry Feilden, a good friend for 52 years, died very suddenly. Two days previously he had asked Nidnod and me to join him in Bali for a holiday! Last Tuesday he lunched with friends at White’s, drove home and died reading the evening paper. Not a bad way to end the long journey. He was 77 and his life had been happy and successful.
A fellow Coldstreamer, my father had been second-in-command to Gerry Feilden in the BEF in France in 1940. Ultimately he became a major-general and senior steward at the Jockey Club. An annual race at Newmarket – the Feilden Stakes – commemorates him.
Budds Farm
19 February 1978
Don’t let your husband work too hard. After all, youth passes fairly swiftly and it is very seldom in later life that one regrets memories of self-indulgence and extravagance. After all, what on earth is the point of temptation if no one ever yields to it? I don’t regret periods of indolence etc. in my twenties; only time wasting, lack of enterprise and allowing myself to be bored when there was so much for me to do.
Best love,
xx D
The Old Slagheap
Burghclere
17 December [early 1980s]
The late H. Balzac wrote in ‘La Femme de Trente Ans’: ‘La jeune fille n’a qu’une coquetterie, et croit avoir tout dit quand elle a quitté son vêtement; mais la femme en a d’innombrables et se cache sous mille voiles; enfin elle caresse toutes les vanités, et la novice n’en flatte qu’une.’ I thought that might cheer you up now that you are over thirty and on the road to the dreaded kingdom of Old Bagdom from which no woman ever returns. Men over thirty head swiftly for Old Bufferdom which is rather worse. Another quotation from Balzac: ‘Il est facile de nier ce que l’on ne comprend pas.’ I feel about 97. I have just been reading about a man who is convinced he will live to 300 because he has never washed his face in hot water.
Love,
xx D
‘Cheering’ thoughts for the over thirties? More of an exercise in French comprehension.
The Crumblings
Burghclere
[Early 1980s]
I have to have the wound on my leg dressed daily by the district nurse. Nurse Simcox went on holiday and told me that Nurse Leech would call here instead at the usual time. At 9.30 a.m. sharp the doorbell rang and there was a charming little blonde creature, quite saucy but a teeny bit dirty, I thought. I ushered her into the sitting room and began to remove my trousers. This seemed to surprise her, even alarm her, and she said ‘There must be a mistake, I am here from the farm with a tractor to harrow your field.’ Thus as distressing and humiliating scene was narrowly averted. Nurse Leech arrived shortly afterwards.
Chateau Geriatrica
Saturday [mid 1980s]
My blood pressure has been a bit high lately and the other day someone reminded me (unkindly) of the old blood pressure song which starts off:
Singing in the brain, I’ve got that singing in the brain, It’s a horrible feeling, blood pressure again.
I believe there is an alcoholics hymn that begins:
Lead blindly tight, amid the revolving room.
The Old Crumblings
[Mid 1980s]
Where did you leave those pills you picked up at the surgery for me? I can’t find them, not even in the deep freeze. If I am without them for 48 hours, I run the risk of cardiac arrest, impetigo and a rare disease called ‘curates clap’ caused by eating green rhubarb.
Maison des Gagas Kintbury
[Mid 1980s]
A lot of lunch and dinner parties lately. Mostly jolly young people, barely a day over 68. Your godfather Brig. Robin has been very poorly with a poisoned toe. Possibly a love bite from the redhead in a local shoe shop. Lucky it was only his toe, I say!
The Miller’s House
[Mid 1980s]
I went to the surgery for a chat with Doc Yates: we get on pretty well together and he is certainly nicer than the average GP. He thinks I may last out till Christmas but some days I’m as weak as a vole.
The Miller’s House
17 March [mid 1980s]
People are dying like flies round here. Our charming friend Dame Ann Parker Bowles dropped dead without warning two days ago. I first knew her fifty years ago when she was a real ‘Tatler’ girl of that era, pretty, lively and more intelligent than most. Her father won the Derby with Parthia. Pre-war, you could not have pictured her as Girl Guide yet she became a most efficient head of that body. She was mad on racing and was a fellow committee member of mine on the Berkshire Animal Health Trust. Her very amusing husband died quietly one morning while reading the ‘Sporting Life’ after breakfast. I knew her father, Sir Humphrey de Trafford, pretty well.
Dame Ann Parker Bowles was the mother-in-law to Camilla, now the Duchess of Cornwall. Her Coldstreamer father, Sir Humphrey de Trafford MC, was a prominent racehorse owner.
The Miller’s House
15 May 1987
Nidnod is now all set for her stay in hospital. Though not, happily, a dangerous operation, it is not a pleasant one and she is being calm and courageous. How lucky that women are far braver over health than men are! The dogs are going to be very unhappy without her and I myself will be
completely lost.
My mother was soon home and up and about again.
The Miller’s House
16 January 1987
I enclose a small birthday present which will just about cover the cost of a couple of bottles of tonic water. Oh, for by-gone happier days when a new novel by a leading author could be obtained for 7/6d! Happy birthday and best of luck! Looking back 78 years, my life seems to be an extraordinary mixture of hideous misfortune and quite unmerited good luck. Perhaps they cancel out, but I don’t really think so. I don’t actually regret much except appalling ingratitude, odious snobbishness, moral cowardice and a few other things I won’t mention!
Best love,
xx D
My father’s lifelong advice was: ‘My dear child, life is essentially unfair and the sooner you realise it the better.’ I have had more than my fair share of good luck.
The Miller’s House
17 January [late 1980s]
Very many happy returns for your birthday. When I think of what has happened in my lifetime, I wonder what sort of world it will be when you reach 80! I imagine the population of this country will be composed largely of incontinent geriatrics who can be cured of everything bar the ghastly frailties of old age. Enjoy yourself while you still can.
Very best love and come and see me before Demon Moss uproots my middle stump.
xx D
The Miller’s House
16 June [late 1980s]
Just back from London. I watched the Queen’s Birthday Parade on TV. I rode in the parade in 1947 but of course we had a king then! My horse was called Virile (a gelding!) and was frequently ridden by senior policemen at race meetings in the suburbs. He used to pee when the National Anthem was played. We went to a huge drinks party at the Guards Club. Purgatory! Nidnod has given me an eye lotion which has virtually robbed me of my sight. I’ve had to buy a new electric pad – no warmth, it’s like being kissed by an Eskimo. I shan’t go to Ascot. I first went in 1958. I think I’ve had my ration.
The Miller’s House
3 May 1990
I recently paid my first visit to London this year and went to a lunch at Boodle’s for Coldstream officers who served in Egypt and Palestine between 1937 and 1945. There were 24 acceptors among the survivors and two I remembered as spry young officers turned out to be the Bishop of Lincoln and the Regius Professor of Modern History at Oxford. The Duke of Devonshire said my strong language made him nervous!
The Many Leakings
Burghclere
31 October [early 1980s]
I am a great admirer of Gertrude Bell, one of the outstanding Englishwomen of this century. She was born in Co. Durham and I think there is a memorial to her in a church not far from you. It consists of a translation she made of a verse in Persian:
Thus said the Poet: When death comes to you
All ye whose life-sand through the hour glass slips,
He lays two fingers on your ears, and two
Upon your eyes he lays, one on your lips,
Whispering: Silence!
I’d rather like to see it.
Best love,
xx D
I wish we had managed to visit Gertrude Bell’s memorial at the church at East Porton, in North Yorkshire. These beautiful lines were from her translation of the works of the Persian poet, Hafez, and were later inscribed on the card for my father’s thanksgiving service.
Budds Farm
Sunday [late 1980s]
I enjoyed most of this summer but frankly I do not anticipate seeing another. If you can only remember some of the old jokes, that is as much immortality as I expect.
xxxx D
My Dearest Father – We have. xxxx
Newly commissioned Coldstream Guard’s officer Roger, 1930.
Roger as a POW in autumn 1940 – the first of five he would spend in prison.
Roger’s first class exam pass in German, in prison.
Roger’s military ID card, 1946.
Roger and Cynthia’s wedding day in 1947.
What have I got here? My mother and me at my christening, 1949.
My father and me in Dorset, 1951.
Me at Barclay House, 1952.
Grandpa Denison-Pender, my father and me at Barclay House, 1953.
Duffle coats for me and Lupin in the snow, late 1950s.
Grandpa Denison-Pender with me, Lupin and Lumpy, 1960.
My father and me on the beach, 1960s.
My teenage self in the garden at Barclay House, 1964.
Lupin shows some bottle – with me in 1968.
Pongo, and Moppet on the sofa, 1960s.
Happy family outing, 1950s.
My mother Cynthia, pretty in yellow, 1950s.
What a radiant lady – Nidnod in the 1960s.
Nidnod and Turpin, 1960s.
Aunt Pam (Ham) and Uncle Ken (Honkel) in Oslo, late 1960s.
Grandpa Roger with little Piers at Budds Farm, 1975.
Brothers Piers and Nick, 1977.
A bit bigger than me! Piers and Granny Nidnod’s pony, 1975.
Grandpa Roger and baby Nick, 1977.
Solicitous Grandpa with Nick, his arm in plaster, and Piers in one piece at The Miller’s House, 1983.
My father and me celebrating Christmas in Northumberland, 1988.
The happiest holiday in Provence – my parents, 1987.
My parents on the beach, 1960s.
Roger in classic pose – reading the paper – beside Lake Como, 1960s.
Roger penning a piece in a racecourse Press Room, 1969.
Dearest Jane... Page 31