Dear Lumpy Read online

  Best love to all,

  RM

  V. dull letter but news in short supply.

  My father once told me that if he was reincarnated he would like to come back as one of my mother’s dogs.

  Dearest L,

  I hope you are all well and flourishing. Jane and Piers have just left. Jane was in good form but looked distinctly tired and seems busy.

  When I drove her to the station she found she had no money and touched me for a tenner. Goodbyee ten quid!

  Nidnod is much the same as ever but managed to get bitten by Moppet with whose private life she was interfering. I had a letter from Lupin today. It was a catalogue of minor disasters and uncomfortable encounters with weird animals. He rated Nairobi a second class Camberley. He has adopted a toad and named it after Patrick Fisher. I have a severe cold in the head which makes me morose (more so than usual). I took Jane to the Bladon Art Gallery yesterday. She addressed me as ‘old Frump’ and the lady who runs the gallery thought Jane was referring to her and took umbrage! I bought some fudge there which tasted like a very old cowpat. Cringer very wisely would not touch it. A woman at Newbury has strangled her 82 year old husband with a dressing gown cord. She said he made too many sexual demands but of course she was really after the poor old wreck’s money. William Bomer has won a prize at Bradfield for an essay on Oscar Wilde. Not bad at 14!

  Best love,

  RM xx

  P.S. I seem to have got involved in helping to run some racing competition for the ‘TV Times’ with Brough Scott. I have also let myself in for a BBC radio programme with John Oaksey. My new book ‘Derby 200’ is due out any time now. I have just read a flattering review of it in some paper. On April 4 we have been asked to the opening of an exhibition of Derby pictures and relics at the Royal Academy. I must make sure I have a clean collar.

  Always a mine of information about all sorts of things, local murders in particular.

  Chez Nidnod

  Dearest L,

  Here we are just back from Wales, land of male voice choirs, non-stop rain and ladies with dark moustaches. The weather was perfect when we drove up and perfect when we drove back but it rained without pause when we were there. The country is beautiful and made Scotland look like something on the southern railway about eighteen miles from Waterloo. The hotel was excellent, very comfortable, good service and rich food. The rest did Nidnod good though she slept very badly. The dogs had a marvellous time and loved the huge empty beaches. Solomon is now known as Canute because of his absurd conduct in respect of the sea. I hear Jane has been unwell at the seaside. I expect she has been tucking in unwisely to prawns, crabs etc. I have no idea where Lupin is. I have an idea he may have got bored with those dreary old German lorries he was endeavouring to flog. Your mother has been doing some rather odd microwave cooking including a toad-in-the-hole that gave the impression of having undergone a thorough going over at the local crematorium. We have a fair amount of fruit here and I must start picking blackberries. The Burghclere Barbecue and Firework Display was a success and 2000 people attended. The Lambourn Lurcher Show was good fun too though most of the dogs would be better employed as doormats.

  Best love to you all

  D

  My mother was addicted to buying all the latest gadgets for the kitchen. She bought a microwave literally the second it came on the market. We all groaned when we saw it as we knew what the result would be. Terrible food boiling in the middle and stone cold on the outside. However, she was thrilled when she won a competition held by the manu facturers with the poem, ‘Ode to a Microwave’. I can only remember the last line: ‘the marvel of a scientist’s eye run by electriciteye’. My brother claims my mother’s misinterpretation of poetry successfully put him off it for the rest of his life.

  1981

  Budds Farm

  26 April

  Dearest Miss Plumpling,

  I’m sorry to hear you are not feeling all that well. Try and rest as much as possible. I went to Newmarket last week and the cold was intense. A fat man in a sheepskin coat dropped dead just in front of me. I hear you are off to stay with your sister in Northumberland. If you take that mobile doormat you choose to call a dog, remember that Miss C. is not a dog-lover and that her cat, besides squinting, is very highly strung. I have just bought my summer outfit at Marks and Spencers: i.e. a blue wool and canvas jacket slightly too small, and a pair of shoes (£5) that will disintegrate for sure if they ever get damp. We had a dullish lunch-party last Sunday: a middle-aged lady who had bicycled across America, a man with a beard and another with a speech impediment. The wine I had bought was just short of nasty but they lapped it up and politely suppressed wry grimaces. Lupin has just turned up here; he looks comparatively healthy. Newbury is more tolerable now they have banned cars from the main street. Your mother is seeing an oculist; perhaps the one with slight halitosis who puts his hand on ladies’ thighs. Moppet has just brought a decapitated mouse into the kitchen.

  Best love

  D

  My father should never have been allowed to purchase clothing without strict supervision.

  Budds Farm

  1 July

  Dearest Lumpy,

  Not much news from here. July has started and I am still in my winter clothes. We did however have a fine evening on Monday so decided to go for a picnic. No expense was spared and your mother opened a tin of Libby’s corned beef. Unfortunately she cut her thumb very badly on the tin and I had to drive her to Newbury Hospital where seven stitches were inserted. End of picnic! As a matter of fact the corned beef was not all that good. Last Friday I arranged to meet your scatty sister Jane at 11.45 at an art gallery in Duke Street. I arrived on the tick; no sign of Jane, who turned up 30 minutes late having gone to the wrong Duke Street! It was difficult to see the pictures as the gallery was narrow and the viewers kept on getting in each other’s way. We had lunch at a place called the Lafayette. Two watery cocktails (tasted like orange Kia-Ora and ice, nothing else) cost me £6. For lunch we both had sardines in mustard sauce, some boring chicken, raspberries and a bottle of white wine. The bill was £35. Coming out of the restaurant we met Jane’s godfather Peter Black, just back from America, and we walked with him to Hatchards where I bought Jane a book. I couldn’t get a taxi to Waterloo and the underground was crammed with belligerent adolescents and Germans reading street-maps. I caught a very crowded commuter train to Basingstoke, and between Surbiton and Brookwood a man with really appalling dandruff slept with his head on my shoulder. I was glad to get home to fish-fingers and early bed. Your mother was in Gloucestershire watching polo. We went to a splendid golden wedding lunch party given by Gar and Nancy Barker. A sit-down spread (excellent lobster) for a hundred, lots to drink and admirable service. Gar’s speech was not an outstanding success as he quite forgot to mention his wife (the mainstay of the household) and was just sitting down when his daughter shouted out ‘What about Mum?’ We gave them rather a good book on dogs with many illustrations. I saw Loopy on TV. Old men often do stupid things (don’t I know it) and I don’t think Loopy was wise to get involved with the SS even though some of them purported to have blue blood and enjoyed hunting and shooting (chiefly Jews).

  Have a nice time in Scotland,

  XXX R

  Loopy (aka Lt-Col Sir George Kennard, my father-in-law) had a very different view on the SS to my father. Richard Schulze-Kossens, who had been a member of Hitler’s personal bodyguard regiment, became friendly with Loopy for a period of time. Loopy, in a moment of comradeship (or madness) invited Richard to his annual regimental dinner and to the Cavalry Memorial Parade in Hyde Park. It was nothing more than a miracle that either or both were not taken outside and shot before the first course.

  Budds Farm

  12 July

  Dearest L,

  I hope you had a good time in Scotland. Take as many holidays as you can when you are young: they are apt to be sad affairs when you are old and are really happier pottering about at home and going to be
d after the nine o’clock news. Nidnod is in good form but finding her injured thumb painful. Her cooking activities are restricted but she drummed up some rather good macaroni cheese last night. I was at Newmarket last week where it was extremely hot. I drove home during a fearful storm; visibility was almost nil and at one point I found myself going the wrong way round a roundabout. Old Lord Belper asked after you; he is very fat but has not changed much in other directions, I fear! His mother is 88 and in a very bad mood, having lost her driving licence. Patrick, our paper boy, is just off to Scotland (perhaps you’ll meet him) for three weeks; he usually goes abroad but he had a fortnight in Spain at Easter! Cousin Tom is trying to persuade me to go to Bali (look it up on the map) in March but I think I am too ancient to disport myself amid all those dusky beauties. Cousin Tom drove his car into a tree last week. The car was wrecked but he was only shaken. The dentist had put 6 stitches in his mouth and then gave him a painkiller which unfortunately sent him to sleep! I heard a rather funny story about a postman but I think you are too young to hear it. Your mother thought it was in very bad taste. Jane’s sons are due here soon; I suppose they’ll smash the old place up. If it gets really nasty in London, bring Rebecca down here. I had an impudent bird in my room last night and had great trouble in evicting it. It made three messes and annoyed me quite a lot. Did Loopy get any rude letters after his TV appearance? At any rate he has not been bombed (yet)! I’m making one of my rare visits to London this week in order to lunch with Major Surtees. I expect I shall drink too much and get on the wrong train at Waterloo. The police are expecting riots in Reading where there is a large black population. Personally I think this country is slithering towards bankruptcy and bloody revolution. Nidnod is arming herself for a last-ditch stand.

  Love to you all from both of us,

  RM

  In 1981 the United Kingdom suffered serious riots across many major cities in England, including London. At the time we lived in Fulham and my father was concerned for our safety largely because he thought that Fulham and Brixton were one and the same as they were outside Kensington or Chelsea.

  Budds Farm

  Dearest Lumpy,

  Nidnod meant to have her first day’s cubbing on Friday but it was cancelled as the head groom at the Old Berks stables wounded a girl groom with a humane killer and then shot himself dead. He had been with the Old Berks for 25 years and was 30 years older than the girl! It is odd how demon sex is always obtruding into fox-hunting. Good old Weavers Gloom trotted up at Folkestone, winning £1,025 and a silver bowl which I have no intention of cleaning.

  Lupin seems to be settling down to his work and was last heard driving a crane at St Albans. Your mother is launching out with a lunch party for 22 on Sunday so, as you can well imagine, King Chaos reigns supreme. The guests tend to be elderly and unexciting (like the host and hostess). The dinner Henry kindly asked me to was quite enjoyable though quite different from what I had anticipated and had about as much to do with the racing as had the Labour party conference at Brighton. The theme I discovered on arrival (no one had previously told me) was the presentation of prizes to men and women who had ridden a large number of point to point winners. (Apparently the dinner is an annual event.) There were several speeches, some very long and one farmer from Dorset surprised the ladies with a lengthy story about a horse that could not stop farting. Nick spoke quite well considering he did not really comprehend the theme of the occasion till he got there. I did not realize that Grand Marnier was just one of several hosts and the only person I met representing Grand Marnier was an agreeable man with a beard and unglamorous wife. I baled out soon after the disco started. Major Surtees and I drove back to Newbury in torrential rain. Before the Reading Exit on the M4 it was painfully clear that as a result of the generous Grand Marnier hospitality we both were in dire need of a pee. On the other hand we had no wish to leave the car, dressed as we were in evening clothes. At one point it looked as if my hat would have to be sacrificed but we managed to hold on (not quite literally). At Newbury I transferred to my own car and with singular folly left my suitcase with Major Surtees. I did though, remember to take out 24 bottles of Amontillado. Major Surtees is v pleased as his firm (Garvey’s) is now flogging a lot of Sherry to Peter Dominic. Cousin Tom has got a little dog puppy (fawn) called Gilbert, for whom I’ve fallen in a really big way. Cousin Tom’s last remaining aunt, Lady Laurie, died a couple of weeks short of her 100th birthday. She had been dead keen to make her century. My Great Uncle Percy reached 97 and was pinching the bottoms of you girls up till the last. He claimed to have been flogged at Eton the same day as the Battle of Balaclava.

  Rebecca seems to be having a good time: I always loathed parties as a child and indulged in a bit of quiet nose-picking combined with a sulk. Not attractive. If I tried to be amusing I always got punished for ‘showing off’.

  Best love to you all from myself and from Nidnod, D P.S. Saw Aunt Pam at Newbury races in a hat she must have bought at NAAFI about 35 years ago. No news of Aunt Boo.

  Lupin is now operating a crane in a scrap metal yard and my father just manages to avoid using his best trilby as a po.

  1982

  Budds Farm

  1 January

  Dearest L,

  Happy New Year! Christmas went off very well, you may be slightly surprised to hear! We did not decide to undertake the trip to Northumberland until Christmas Eve as the roads had been in such a ghastly condition but in fact we had a perfectly easy journey. Jane’s house was beautifully warm and the food was all that could be desired. When the boys got too rumbustious, I retired to the drawing room where there was a huge fire and masses of books. Nidnod was in her best form and Jane is very good with her. Lupin was there too and consumed a great deal of port. We drove home in exactly six hours despite a good deal of fog. The Cringer was quite happy in his kennel and returned home fat and distinctly smelly. Your mother gave me some winter pyjamas for Christmas and I gave her some glasses for Irish Coffee. I went to the new Newbury oculist yesterday: he comes from Newcastle and is rather amusing. I hope he knows his job as he has ordered me some new and peculiar spectacles. Peregrine got on well with Paul’s Labrador but was once nearly devoured by the Siamese cat. We are having a turkey lunch here on Sunday and the Parkinsons are coming to partake of it. We do have original guests! We are off to play bridge with the Surtees tonight. At least we are sure of a good dinner.

  Best love to you all,

  D

  P.S. We celebrated the New Year here with a lot of smoked salmon and a bottle of good hock. Bed 10 a.m.

  From a very early age I had a serious crush on my dad’s best friend, Desmond Parkinson, a section head of the secret service. He was a delight to be around – empathetic, complimentary and highly accomplished on the clarinet – and had a number of delightful wives.

  Budds Farm

  21 January

  Dearest L,

  We had a terrific storm here last night but most of the roof is still on. Emma LR has been here since Friday and I am happy to say has not changed much! We had a lunch party on Sunday and Emma certainly produced an excellent lunch. Your mother is in very poor form and she and Lupin get on each other’s nerves, almost entirely your mother’s fault as she will nag and aggravate him when he comes home tired at about 8 p.m. each evening. The Randalls ate some bad fish: Mr Randall came out in a ferocious rash, while Mrs Randall’s head swelled to twice its already generous size. Jane seems to be settling down well in her new house. I have not heard of her using her new gun much: at least I have not read about anyone being shot near Corbridge. I have luckily remembered my old Nanny’s birthday: I think she is 88 on Friday and still completely on the ball. There are new people in the post office at Burghclere, rather more agreeable than their predecessors but fairly clueless about their work. Your mother has been unable to hunt lately and that makes her somewhat irritable. Her dog is liable to wake me up in the morning by jumping on my bed and sitting on my face. Luckily he does not smell too
badly. We have a lot of rats here and they are eating our potatoes with considerable relish.

  Best love to all,

  D xx

  My father’s nanny was more than a mother to him than his own mother ever was. He was extremely fond of her and kept in touch with her until she died.

  Budds Farm

  3 March

  Dearest L,

  I hope all goes well with you. Things are reasonably placid here. Your mother complains of feeling poorly but declines to see a doctor, pinning her faith to some female masseuse in the locality. Because she is unwell her temper is somewhat uncertain and I have to mind my Ps and Qs (whatever they are, I’m not quite sure). We had a lunch party on Sunday which went off quite well although the Thistles’ car broke down and they never got here. Lupin was here and had some brisk arguments with Nidnod. Mark Bomer leaves for France today to study the wine trade near Avignon. The Cringer is much better and has had no more fits of late. Peregrine condescended to get on my lap yesterday but was very sick when he got there. Thanks awfully! Jane apparently enjoyed herself in Devonshire and then at Bath. I rather like Devonshire but have difficulty in keeping awake there. I went to London on Tuesday for a big lunch at the Hyde Park Hotel. I found myself chatting merrily to the Home Secretary and the former editor of The Times so I was moving rather out of my class. Unfortunately I sat next to Sir Gladwyn Jebb, an arrogant old bore who was once our ambassador in Paris. William Douglas Home made a speech but not a particularly good one. I went home by bus and sat next to an Indian who picked his nose with dogged persistence worthy of a nobler cause. Before my bus left I had several glasses of port at Major Surtees’s posh office in Curzon Street. Two days earlier his sherry firm (Garvey’s) was taken over by the Spanish socialist government! Major S. retires in January and hopes to buy a cottage near Marlborough. Mr Parkinson’s elder daughter is back from China and hopes to find work with the BBC. I now do my shopping in Hungerford where car-parking is no problem and the shops are less plebeian than in Newbury. There is rather a good health shop there kept, inappropriately, by a lady who looks on the point of death. She sells nonfattening marmalade that looks and tastes like yellow photo-paste. Good but expensive. A man I saw in church the other day dropped down dead yesterday. Perhaps he did not pray hard enough.