Dear Lupin... (9 page)

Your affec. father,

RM

Pure bliss for my dad is a bottle of chilled champagne, on the terrace, with our neighbours
.

Thank you so much for your contribution to the dinner last night. I enjoyed myself very much though I did not much fancy Nidnod's drinking on the way home. I prefer it when she is not being a female Fangio.

I'm sorry about your ulcer: it is hell not feeling well at your age. At mine, I'd die of shock if I felt anything but half-dead.

RM

To describe my mother's driving as hair-raising on occasions would be an understatement
.

Château Gloom

Burghclere

Sunday

Dear Lupin,

I trust your stomach is more or less under control and that you are deriving a modicum of benefit from those expensive pills. It is cold and damp here and both boilers have been behaving in a typically erratic manner. I did some baby-watching for the Bomers last night (the baby is eleven years old) and your mother departed for a beano at Inkpen. I think gin was in fairly abundant supply there and it had the customary effect of making your mother behave like Queen Boadicea on her return home. There are now three deaf people in the house – Moppet, Pongo and myself. It is sometimes fortunate that I am unable to catch everything said to me. Your mother is still convinced that a poltergeist whipped away a sausage she was cooking and I expect she will call in the Rev. Jardine for consultation. A lot of policeman descended on Mr Luckes's house yester day but I have been unable to find out why. I thought I had the cottage sold yesterday but your mother interfered at the last moment and now I am somewhat doubtful. Your Aunt Barbara is going to Jerusalem for Christmas; that ought to precipitate a new war in the Middle East. Aunt Joan goes into hospital tomorrow. I imagine David Willett is having an exciting time in Persia: my godson Richard Rome, married to a Persian, is there too. Newbury is full of people from the council estates in Thatcham doing their Christmas shopping. It would hardly be true to say that they add to the charm of the town. The tall woman with bandaged legs in the chemists in the Mall is going into semi-retirement: a sad loss, as she is easily the most reliable medical advisor in this area, particularly sound on skin blemishes and diarrhoea. A man was killed on the road at Beacon Hill on Friday: road conditions were disagreeable at the time. Mrs Cameron stayed on Thursday night: she and your mother talked incessantly; neither listened to a word the other said which was sensible as neither was saying anything really worth listening to. I had a long letter from your Great-Aunt Phyllis but could not read a word of it bar my own name and her signature.

Your affec. father,

RM

P.S. A long article on Dr Philips in the ‘Newbury News'. A man from Gowrings has bought Brig. Lewis's house. The bearded man in the Newbury bookshop claims to have flogged 150 copies of my book which would be good news if I happened to believe it. Which I don't. The rather lanky young woman who worked in Jacksons in the afternoon has disappeared. I have kept a first copy of The Times for you. It might one day be valuable. ‘Colonel Mad' has vanished from Lambourn: some say to gaol, others to a loony bin. Nick Gaselee won a nice race last week. There was a large photograph of him in the Sporting Life. Mr and Mrs Cottrill are off to India for two months. Mrs Randall is giving her relatives potatoes for Christmas. I have given up smoking.

I am in Fulham scratching a living from some part-time work driving articulated lorries having managed to obtain an HGV1 licence – my only serious qualification to date. My mother's drinking habits and subsequent behaviour come in for a certain amount of scrutiny
.

Chez Nidnod

10 October

Dear Lupin,

I have just received a telephone bill for over £100. As you now seem to be a moderately successful property developer, would you care to contribute a small sum?

Your affec. father,

T. Tightwad

(This month's theme song: ‘Buddy, Can You Spare A Dime?')

I try my hand at property renovation. My phone use continues to irk my dad
.

Budds Farm

5 November

Dear Miniwad,

I hope you had a safe journey and were not completely exhausted on arrival. Rest as much as you can and don't tire yourself by arguing the toss with little Miss Cod-Cutlet. A summons arrived for you this morning: you certainly keep F. J. Thriblow, our popular postman, busy. Do see if the highly respected P. Torday, Hexham's favourite tycoon and sportsman, can advise you about getting employment once you feel strong enough to contemplate the prospect of work. As you will soon enter your twenty-seventh year, it is surely time you left your starting stall and participated in the rat-race. Either that or you must have a fat win in the pools. I seem to have sold (or rather my agent seems to have sold) a very drab book to a publisher called Macdonald of whose previous existence I was unaware. I hope his name proves to be Mosenthal as I much prefer to do business with a Jew than with some tight-lipped, bare-arsed Scot.

Your affec. father,

RM

I visit Hexham where my dear older sister makes extensive use of my rather basic DIY skills. There is a vain hope that my successful brother-in-law will somehow point me in the right direction for a rewarding and fulfilled life
.

Chez Nidnod

Dear Lupin,

I fear you are not going to like this communication much as I am going to ask you to do something for me. Such requests are almost invariably boring. The situation is that I am worried about Aunt Joan. Her arthritis is getting worse and she is becoming increasingly immobile. It looks as if she will have to have a hip operation. All this makes life difficult for a woman of over seventy living on her own. Shopping has become a problem for her. Could you please go to Harrods or some such place and buy £25 worth of useful groceries for her? You could either have them delivered (Mrs Cockburn, 25 Vincent Court, Seymour Place) or you could drop them yourself. I leave the choice to you. I enclose a goose's neck for £30. Buy a bottle of whisky for yourself.

Your affec. father,

RM

Did you see that Croome won at Towcester on Saturday?

Aunt Joan is one of life's eternal Girl Guides and not exactly a barrel of laughs
.

21 January

Dear Lupin,

I was glad to hear you arrived safely and have met your cousin (or very nearly your cousin). Please give her my love. The weather here continues to be uncouth and the snow has been lying around deep and crisp and even. Actually it thawed in places yesterday and your mother was able to hunt. To her chagrin, she was brought down by a small child on a grey pony, but happily nothing was dented bar her dignity. Her arm is painful still and furthermore she has an abscess in her nose and a couple of mouth ulcers, all of which very understandably make her temper a trifle on the short side. I hope she will consult Dr Keeble tomorrow if he is not on strike, which almost every public employee seems likely to be. Poor Jane is snowed up and for several days Brocks Bushes has been without heating or light: not very comfortable. She was due to fly to Paris tomorrow with Paul but strikes and the weather have put a stop to that. I have been reading the proofs of a book of mine due out in April. The lady who compiled the index must have been pissed when she did her work: no sober individual could have done such a lamentable job. I have just sent in a note of protest that will ruffle a few feathers (I hope). The Surtees are giving dinner for twenty in their barn on Saturday. I trust the heating arrangements will be adequate or I foresee a few deaths from hypothermia. Your mother is not on speaking terms with Aunt Pam, diplomatic relations having been severed following a rather blunt letter about your mother's predominantly liquid diet. Mr Parkinson lunches here today. He is dead windy that his mother-in-law, a neurotic alcoholic, is planning to become a permanent boarder with him. Aunt Joan has just written to say how useful those groceries have been that you delivered to her. She does not go out yet in bad weather as she is nervous of falling. Old Luckes is back home, very much thinner and a good deal more gaga. Mr Mayhew-Saunders has been given a helicopter by his firm. I remember before he married his future father-in-law rated him the stupidest officer in the Navy. Mr Randall has been poorly: Mrs R. says he lives on strong tea and cigarette smoke. As he is seventy-four the combination seems to suit him. My last book has had a very good review in the Financial Times which may help to sell about three copies. I have had a long letter about finance from Keith Barlow, very little of which I understand. He is, if anything, more pessimistic than I am. There is no shortage in the shops here though Jacksons say they may run out of loo paper and firelighters. Yesterday I cooked my own lunch and was just settling down to it when I saw a monster slug clambering up on a sausage. How on earth did it get there? Your mother is quite worked up about the strikes and is keen to go out with a rifle and pot a flying picket. She really is quite capable of doing it! I was nearly slain on the Sydmonton–Kingsclere road. A van came so close that it removed my offside mirror. No sign of anyone moving into the cottage yet.

Your affec. father,

RM

P.S. I do hope you are feeling better.

I am now residing in Kenya on the island of Lamu and partially employed as boat boy/mechanic by the local hotel. Life is joy itself and I am looking after a friend's pet monkey
.

Budds Farm

Dear Lupin

Thank you for your excellent and informative letter. I am glad you are having a reasonably good time and hope your stomach aches will gradually disappear. It has not been a desperately amusing month here what with one thing or another. If you commit suicide you cannot get disposed of, as gravediggers and cremation workers are on strike. Well-meaning middle-class ladies are queuing up for voluntary work in hospitals: they picture themselves dishing up lunch to dear little children and it comes as a painful surprise when they are asked to help with a ward of hideous adult lunatics who cannot feed themselves and have to have their clothes changed every few hours like a baby. We went to a large drinks party at the Gaselees: there were a lot of people in a confined space and I could not hear a word anyone said which may not have been an intolerable deprivation. Afterwards we had supper with the Surtees at the Swan, Great Shefford, kept by a somewhat enigmatic character called ‘Jamie' who greeted me with an effusive bonhomie which I could well have dispensed with.

We had two courses and a bottle of plonk: bill £30, which is fairly steep for a country pub.

On Friday the Hislops went to Sandown. On going to their car at 5 p.m. they discovered that Mr H. had put the keys into the pocket of a coat which he had unfortunately left in the self-locking boot. They had to hire a car in which to get home and the next day Mrs H. had to take a Newbury taxi to Sandown with the spare keys. Mr H. was NOT very popular. I saw Fitz Fletcher at the Parkinsons. He had been completely marooned for three days in Somerset with no water. The Surtees have got a new car, a red Volvo of immense length that would make a serviceable hearse. Poor Major S. is having trouble with his partners, one of whom who is only absolutely sober on fairly rare occasions and suing the firm over some grievance. The cottage has now been sold and paid for; the builders are busy gutting it completely. Farmer Luckes is in poor form and just sits staring into space. The Hurt's house in Derbyshire is the feature article in the current number of Country Life. Unfortunately there is no picture of the Chicken. The dishwasher has broken down and the young man your mother hired to mend it made things a great deal worse. Mr Randall went up to London and saw the Esther Rantzen show which he greatly enjoyed. Not much news of Louise or HHH; or of Jane for that matter. I thought I had received a rather nice invitation to dinner today but on closer examination I saw it was meant for Major Hamer who has been dead for seven years. However, my book maker has invited me to oysters and champagne in London. He is a good old male chauvinist (a bit King Lear, in fact) and never invites women to his better parties. Your mother bought some fish in Reading yesterday: it tasted a bit odd and we both had a very bad night. The de Mauleys came to lunch last week: Lady de M. is putting on weight and Gerald is clearly not a member of the local Temperance Association. Do you remember the Philips at Winchfield. He has just left his ever-loving wife after thirty-two years and proposes to marry some woman he met in the local lunatic asylum where he spends a fair amount of his time. He once jumped in front of a taxi.

Your affec. father,

RM

Yesterday I met an old buffer in Newbury who had been at the Gaselee's party. He tried out a new hearing aid there, switched it on to a maximum volume and has been stone deaf ever since.

The Danish family for whom I work in Kenya love my dad's letters so much that when they arrive I am requested to read them out to a small audience on the hotel veranda
.

Budds Farm

23 February

Dear Lupin,

I have not heard from you for many a long day but assume you are still alive and in the Continent of Africa. Not much news from here: the weather has improved and I trust the worst is over. I had two dead elms taken down last week: the cost of felling, cutting up and stacking was £370 (less £40 for immediate payment). On the other hand we got about £250 worth of wood which will keep the home fires burning for a bit. I am getting very gaga or, more accurately, more gaga. On Thursday I drove from Murray and Whittakers with my briefcase (containing my pension book) on the roof of my car! Being deaf I did not hear it drop off. Luckily it was picked up by an honest schoolgirl who rang me up later in the afternoon. I rewarded her with a large box of chocolates. Her family all stood and stared at me as if I was a freak escaped from a circus. Yesterday I went to Eton and had my hair cut. Afterwards I went to the grocer's and bought a sausage roll for lunch. On returning to my car I could find no keys. I went back to the hairdresser's: no luck. The grocer's had shut for lunch. However I rang them up and they found the keys on top of some cheese. In the evening Nidnod dragged me off (v. unwillingly) to some ghastly fundraising beano at Uffington. It was a nightmare. On leaving your mother was blotto and drove the car forwards instead of back with the result that the front wheels got stuck in glutinous mud. I thought we would be there all night. I did NOT enjoy the drive home. Jane is not coming to the christening tomorrow but Paul is due here tonight. Last week I met old ‘Spider' Jacobsen who is about 102 and lived at Budds Farm before the war. He told me he bought the place for £2,200 and built the cottage for £350! Nidnod has bought some expensive new kitchen equipment, the sole result of which has been to burn her hand quite badly. Aunt Pips had a burst pipe which flooded two rooms. It is a squash in the garage with your car there. I scraped my own car, backing out in a hurry, against the garage door; cost of repair, £300. Thanks awfully! I hope Nidnod is sober for the christening or I foresee a punch-up at the font with Lady K. I hear Peter Carew is behaving like a fool and is trying to get himself court-martialled. It seems a pointless method of getting out of the Army.