Dear Lumpy
Page 3
If you can’t be good be careful.
‘Safety first, safety first, look before you leap.
One false step, if you don’t think twice,
Bang goes your motto and mother’s advice!’
etc etc.
xx D
Dad decided on a vivid tomato red BMW.
Budds Farm
Dearest L,
I hope you are in rude health and are not eating too much. Do you weigh 11 stone yet? Your dear mother is totally immersed in this ghastly local election in which she is a candidate. Talk about flaps! I don’t know what she will do if she is beaten as she may well be as her opponent is very popular and has lived here a long time. Cringer is very well and sends you a big wet kiss backed by slightly smelly breath. We had the Parkinsons and Roper-Caldbecks to dinner – not very original or exciting. The Bomers are still in Minorca. Val Haslam is leaving to go and work in Newmarket. No news of your unpredictable brother Lupin but your lively sister Jane seems quite happy in Harrogate. I am off to Newmarket for 3 days next week, leaving on Thursday, the day after the election. Brigadier Gerard is running his last race on Saturday. He is now worth about two and a half million pounds. Nice work if you can get it!!
Best love,
D
My father tries to educate me about outstanding racehorses, which is slightly more interesting than my mother’s council elections.
Brigadier Gerard’s owners and breeders John and Jean Hislop, great friends of my parents, were two of the more entertaining characters in the racing world. Jean Hislop’s outrageous behaviour, both on and off the racecourse, always amused my father.
On Brigadier Gerard’s final appearance he defeated Riverman by one-and-a-half lengths to win his second Champion Stakes. He retired at the end of his four-year-old season, a winner of seventeen races from eighteen starts.
The Sunday Times
29 October
Dearest Lumpy
I hate Sundays. They really do depress me. Yesterday we went to a wedding at Wantage, a very pretty girl called Selina Meade, whose mother is an old girl friend of mine and who has presented her husband with no sons but six pretty and charming daughters. The reception was in a large marquee and luckily it was a warm, sunny afternoon. The flowers had to be seen to be believed. Your mother wore a purple hat and talked incessantly, few people hearing a single word she said. The evening before, Gypsy Lola and her husband, who is slightly cross-eyed, came to dinner. There was a lot of boring talk about the Garth Hunt. I just switched my mind off and thought of other things. There are a lot of rats here but the dogs and the cat are too overfed, lazy and stupid to catch any. I have no news of your sister Jane or your brother Lupin but very often no news is good news. You will be highly amused to hear that your slightly gaga father has been awarded a prize for being the outstanding racing journalist of the year (Loud cheers and some muffled laughter). I get presented with the ghastly thing at a large lunch (300 people) in London and look forward to the whole thing about as much as a visit to a Pakistani dentist. Anyway, to celebrate what would otherwise be a dreary incident, I am enclosing a small present. Don’t spend it all on gin and improper magazines if you please. I trust Snouter is well and that you are looking after him as he is subject to colds from November onwards. Can it be true that you are coming home soon? If so, I think I will take a long weekend in Brighton.
Best love,
D
My father – always self-deprecating, even about the most serious of issues – is presented with the Clive Graham Memorial Trophy for racing journalist of the year.
The Sunday Times
25 November
Dearest Lumpy,
Thank you so much for your birthday card which I liked very much. I do hope you are having good fortune in your examinations papers and have not made too many gigantic blots on your answers. By the way, I simply cannot remember if I told you that Lord Belper was very pleased with the card you sent him and wishes you to give 2 lumps of sugar to Leo on his behalf. Your sister Jane came down here for a night, ate a lot and seemed in good form. I had to go to a big dinner in London last Wednesday. Princess Anne made a speech and was really quite amusing. Driving back through Newbury at 1.30 a.m. I was stopped by the police. They were making a check for stolen cars and I was NOT breathalysed. I have given Nidnod ear-rings for her silver wedding present; pearls with diamonds round them. She seems very pleased. Cousin Tom has given us a lovely ice bucket in which the ice keeps for a day or so. Last night we had a very good dinner with the Mayhew Saunders. I had Sarah Bomer on one side which was good but a truly tedious lady on the other. Tomorrow we have a singularly unpromising luncheon for Nidnod’s hunting friends. One of the papers I write for is sending me a dozen bottles of champagne to celebrate winning the Derby award which is nice of them. I will keep a bottle for you and Emma in the holidays.
I bought a new toaster yesterday, only to return home and find Nidnod had bought an identical one in London. Give my love to Kate. Cringer sends you a big, wet, slightly smelly kiss.
Best love,
D
Lord Belper, without doubt my father’s most disreputable friend, was a good laugh. He would encourage me to recite rude poems I had picked up from my dad. ‘If skirts get any shorter, said the walrus with a sob, there will be two more cheeks to powder and a bit more hair to bob.’
‘Chez Nidnod’
Sunday, 3 December
Dearest Lumpy,
I hope you are big and well and looking, as usual, like a plump Dutch cheese. How are the O levels going? Have you been caught cribbing yet? I took your mother to Newmarket last week. In the town she put the key of my car into the lock upside down, tried to force it and broke it in half. I could not get another key and the car was immobilised for 48 hours. Thanks very much! We are all rather sad here as Mrs Henderson, whose daughter was at Daneshill, fell on the road out hunting last Tuesday and died soon afterwards. The new people were supposed to be moving into the cottage today but never turned up. Not a very good sign! How did the Tudor Hall bazaar go? Is it true that a shortsighted lady tried to purchase you under the misapprehension that you were a stuffed meat-ball? Your mother was hunting today and got very wet. I cannot tell you other details as I dozed off while she was recounting her exploits. Cringer came racing with me this afternoon and ate 10p worth of chocolate on the way back. I played bridge with old Lord Carnarvon on Thursday. He plays, if anything, rather worse than your mother does which is saying a great deal. Tomorrow we have lunch with Nika the Squeaker.
Best love,
D
My poor mother was frustrated that my father took very little interest in her hunting exploits. These often involved the horse falling – it was never an option that she had fallen off the horse.
Budds Farm
Dearest L,
I hope you are well and not giving the Head Mistress too much trouble. What a revolting story you told me! I suppose you learnt that from one of your delightful friends at Tudor Hall. You ought to be strung up and flogged with bunches of nettles and thistles! Last night I had to go to Frimley and lecture to members of the Garth and South Berks. Your dear mother told me it was a smart affair and made me put on evening clothes, while she was decked out as if she was off to a Ball at Buckingham Palace. On arrival I found she had got in a muddle (nothing new in that) and everyone else was dressed as for a wet afternoon at Twesledown! Rather embarrassing, don’t you think? However I think my little talk went down all right. We had quite a good supper and your poor mother was sick this morning. Moppet made a gigantic mess during the night in your poor mother’s bath. On Thursday we went to Charlie Jamieson’s wedding reception. He has married a girl like a twittering bird. Jane was there and was very put out because someone thought I was her husband! I gave dinner to Jane, Paul and Gale afterwards. Jane ate and drank as much as ever and is smoking so much her lungs must be like an unswept factory chimney. I am off to Sandown today where I am judging a competition for the best tur
ned-out horse with sweet Mary Gordon-Watson. Your mother does not want to go to Corfu (why?) so I am now thinking of Rhodes or Crete. A helicopter crashed near here yesterday and two people were killed. Lady Darling turned up in the afternoon. She had been to a funeral wearing a dress she bought for 40p at a jumble sale. I don’t think it was cheap at the price. The funeral had been of a cousin of Uncle Ken’s shot in Ulster. You may have seen pictures of it in the paper. Is it true Bernadette Devlin was at Tudor Hall a few years ago and captain of the lacrosse team?
xx
My father hated standing out in anyway, so a big faux pas for him was turning up at an event in his best bib and tucker and finding the other guests in casual wear. Nidnod gets the blame again.
1973
Budds Farm
27 April
Dearest L,
I suppose your pillow has been soaked with tears as you lie in bed and think of the old folks (or is ‘soaks’ the more appropriate word) at Home. I miss you here as the house is tidier and the plug has been pulled in my loo. Your poor mother got ticked off by Aunt Pam for arriving late on Tuesday. Those two sisters!! Cringer slept almost on my pillow that night and I would have relished his company more had not his breath smelled strongly of rather ancient fish. I trust you will work hard this term. Take some exercise, too, and try and get into the Lacrosse fifteen or the football eleven or something like that. I will come down with a big smoked salmon picnic as soon as the weather is a bit warmer. Bring Snouter with you and one or two really cheeky friends. I met the toad in the herbaceous border again this morning and we are becoming friends. He has a crafty look so I address him as Harold Wilson. Cringer is very popular at the Carnarvon Arms where he dances for cold sausages. I had lunch at Ascot yesterday with old Lord Carnarvon and his bird who is about Jane’s age but not such a vast eater. I hear there is a beach at Corfu reserved for nudists. What price Emma landing up there?
Best love,
D
I loved going on picnics with my father, always a jolly affair. After one such picnic the school matron caught him doing the sailor’s hornpipe down the passage wearing my school boater.
Budds Farm
Dearest L,
Not much news from here except a cow got into the garden and did a lot of damage. Also an objectionable mole is creating much havoc and an elderly thrush elected to expire just outside the front door. Your brother is now living in London and I HOPE he manages to stay out of trouble! Your dear mother is flapping like an over-excited hen about various things to do with the Garth Hunt and I am expected to listen to her tales of woe and frustration. Your Aunt is back from Corfu and apparently enjoyed herself. When do you come home next so that I can lock up the silver and go away? How did you get on in your examinations? If you did badly, I shall probably export you to work in the salt mines in Poland so just WATCH IT!! The weather continues chilly, too cold even for croquet. I have not been able to wear my new leopardskin bathing pants yet.
The new car continues to go well and is much admired by one and all. I have no news from Jane but assume she is still alive, not having heard anything to the contrary. Everything in the garden is horribly backward and the strawberries do not look like ripening till the autumn. There seems to be a good crop of raspberries. What a pity they upset your stomach and you will in consequence be unable to consume any. I will ask your dear mother to provide a health-giving junket for you instead.
Best love,
D
In a moment of madness I had given Dad a pair of skimpily fitting leopardskin bathing trunks – they did not go down well. A few weeks later I caught him trying to palm them off on Mr Randall, the gardener.
1976
Budds Farm
Dearest L,
I was very pleased to hear from you and I hope you are surviving the heat-wave and the novel experience of having to do some work. I expect it is dull for you down here but I sincerely hope you will come and visit your aged parents occasionally. You are always welcome, particularly if you can give a little notice of your impending arrival. As I am very old-fashioned in my ideas on the conduct of life, I would like to know quite clearly your position vis à vis Henry. Of course if you elect to live together there is nothing I could do about it even should I desire to do anything. But since I am your father and you are only eighteen, I would like to know more or less what the set-up is. Perhaps Henry would be kind enough to come down one day and explain his plans and what he visualises happening in the future. I think it would be only civil to your mother and to myself. I do not grudge you any happiness you may derive from your current arrangement and I am not in the habit of applying moral standards that have largely ceased to exist. All the same, I do feel a certain responsibility towards you, and apart from which I love you very much and have no wish to see you hurt. I had a long talk with Loopy the other day and he is far from happy about the way things are at present. That, however, is a matter for Henry to settle.
Pongo collapsed after a walk the other day. Luckily I revived him with cold water and was not compelled to administer the kiss of life. Your mother’s trip to Jersey was fraught with drama and one member of the party achieved the rare feat of breaking his ankle while doing a pee. Lucky it was only his ankle! A local lady has been bitten by an adder (on the Forestry Land where I go with the dogs) and is in a parlous plight. I had lunch with the B-Atkins on Sunday. They sent you their love and Rosamund is keen to meet you. Mark and William went to the Test Match and enjoyed seeing the streaker! Last night I took your mother to Longparish and gave that saucy rook a bag of nuts. He enjoyed the paper bag slightly more than the nuts. Lupin was here yesterday; he seems to be doing some rather peculiar jobs.
Best love,
R
My brother Lupin persuaded me to buy a vomit-coloured Fiat from a job lot of twelve that he had purchased from a bankrupt coach company, no mean feat as I did not drive let alone have a driving licence. His original offer of ‘buy two get one free’ was not of great appeal. By then Henry had been my boyfriend for almost a year and had already been given the nickname ‘Hot Hand Henry’ by my father for obvious reasons. Luckily, or unluckily depending from whose point of view, he had just passed his driving test and so we set off for a camping/fishing holiday in Scotland. Miraculously the car got us there and back. Instead of returning to my parents’ home afterwards, we drove to London and shacked up in a friend’s house in Fulham.
My parents’ hopes that I join the Foreign Office are dashed. Instead Charlie Shearer (my brother’s most disreputable friend) gives me a job working as a general dogsbody in a massive junk shop in Fulham called the Furniture Cave.
Budds Farm
24 October
Dearest Miss Plumpling,
A lot of people are coming to lunch and your dear mother is in a fine old flap. Lupin has gone to Derbyshire, looking rather yellow and with eyes like badly poached eggs, in the company of C. Hurt who is very pale and whose face now resembles a crumpled towel. Jane is apparently renting a country house with wall-to-wall carpeting and a large garden. Mrs Bomer has bought a new car; the colour is that of the messes made by dogs after de-worming pills. How is the revolting Chappie? Not too exuberant, I trust. Mr P. is back home after his kidney operation and feels weak. This afternoon I am visiting the Surtees in their new house at West Ilsley. The Income Tax Authorities are pursuing me with a relentlessness worthy of a nobler cause. I reply with insults and post-dated cheques later cancelled. Prison looms. Moppet was very sick yesterday after emitting three blood-curdling screams. Your great-aunt stayed here and is as deaf as a telegraph pole. The TV had to be turned on at maximum volume and gave me fearful headaches. Your mother was kissed by The Mayor of Basingstoke and called ‘Darling Cynthia’ when in an intoxicated condition (The Mayor, not Nidnod). She has had her hair done three times since and has bought some gaudy new clothes. Can you beat it? She got sloshed the other night and gave a monologue on religion that went on till 1 a.m. I went to bed at 11 p.m: the guests were to
o polite to do so. More fools them, I say.
Kind regards to H.
Love,
D
My parents’ dinner guests are a captive audience for my mother’s current obsessions and grievances. She is clearly firing on all cylinders and convinced that she is the talk of Hampshire after her encounter with the Mayor of Basingstoke. Not exactly Sean Connery.
The Old Ice Box
3 November
Dearest L,
V cold here and Nidnod is bedridden with a vicious brand of catarrh. We were asked to go away this weekend to Newmarket but declined. The whole business of packing up, coping with the dogs etc is too arduous. Old Queen Mary, when she spent a weekend with chums, used to take dressers, one footman, one page, two chauffeurs, one Lady in Waiting, one maid for the Lady in Waiting, and one detective. The Lady in Waiting wrote beforehand to request for a chair to be placed outside the Queen’s bedroom on which the footman or page sat all night: fresh barley water every two hours during the day; ice in the bedroom at 11.30 p.m; 6 clean towels every day. The Queen brought her own sheets and pillow cases.
The annual Budds Farm shoot took place on Wednesday and was a great success. Three pheasants were mown down, in varying stages of mobility, between the rubbish heap and the bottom end of the croquet lawn; after which the guns, or more accurately the gun, a boy of fifteen, retired for a cup of mazawatee tea and crumpet, or more accurately, crumpets.
Did you know (why should you?) that the last occasion that someone in France was eaten by a wild wolf was October 1918? In some remote parts of France there is still an ‘officier de louveterie’ or officer responsible for wolves. In some French regiments there is an ‘officier colombophile’ or officer in charge of carrier pigeons! Here is another piece of valuable information: eggs produced by pond ducks are much nastier than the eggs of running water ducks.
Farmer Luckes has had another stroke and is v groggy. A lady in Newbury has strangled her ever-loving husband with a dressing-gown cord. A row is going on about the proposed Highclere by-pass. If the alternative route is chosen, lorries will pass where our stable is now.