Game of Life by r.miller043

Sharon Stanton-Keep

Other Books by the same Author Living Poetry - Poems for Human Needs (Sharon Miller) Come Alive with the Healing Poet (Sharon Stanton Keep)

Published by Stow Publishing, Copyright ÂŠ Sharon Stanton Keep September 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright holder. Sharon Stanton Keep has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Dedication To future generations, with love.

Contents Chapter

Page

1. Oh! I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside!

2. One little duck went swimming one day

3. Old Macdonald Had A Farm

4. Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini 47 5. I’m getting married in the morning

6. A Windmill in Old Amsterdam

7. If My Friends Could See Me Now

8. Everything Stops for Tea

9. Paperback Writer

111

10. When the Children Are Asleep We Sit and Dream 119 11. Getting to Know You

125

12. Matchmaker, Matchmaker

137

13. Mr. Wonderful

151

14. It’s Not Where You Start It’s Where You Finish

159

Charities I have worked with

180

Family Tree

181

Introduction Why I Wrote This Book How amazing it would have been if my great-grandparents and grandparents had written their life stories and I could read them today. What was life like for them in Victorian and Edwardian days? What were their dreams, hopes and aspirations? Who were they behind the black and white photographs that I hold in my hands? I can only surmise, as those books were never written. In an attempt to address this situation, I have recorded the story of my life growing up in the mid-twentieth century, the final century of the second millennium, with the aim that it will prove interesting and informative to the generations that follow. A variety of historical events from the time have been added, to give a sense of where it sits on the world stage. To facilitate further research into my ancestry, I have included family names, places and dates where known, a family tree, numerous photographs covering several generations, and snippets of information as passed down to me. I have tried to write the ups and downs of my life in an uplifting and positive way, to reflect the person I am, and have endeavoured to make it entertaining, in the hope that the reader will get to the end! Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it is written to leave a message of love and joy. Sharon Stanton-Keep Ferring May 2018

Chapter 1 Oh! I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside! This was a popular British music hall song, written in 1907. It speaks of the singer’s love for the seaside. It was composed at a time when annual holidays to the seaside were booming. On the day I was born I became a record breaker. The national newspaper ‘The Sunday Graphic’ recorded the event as ‘a long wait record’. (Please note that is wait not weight). My parents, William Henry Stanton-Keep and Hilda Rosemary Burrow, were married at St Raphael’s Roman Catholic Church, Kingston Upon Thames, on the 29th April 1933 and I was born, their first and only child, on 10th September 1953. A wait of twenty years and nearly five months. If accounts of the day are accurate, I was a breech birth. I cannot vouch for this personally but I know my mother was not best pleased. The birth took place in Charnwood Court, a private nursing home at 2 Farncombe Road, only a stone’s throw from Worthing seafront and across the road from the place where Oscar Wilde wrote ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ in 1894, whilst visiting the town with his wife and two young sons. (The actual house where he was staying at the time has since been pulled down. Only a blue plaque marks the spot). My father did not attend my birth. It was not considered the ‘done thing’ at the time. He would have been propping up the bar at the Wine Lodge close by (later demolished and replaced by a block of flats) and buying the landlord a drink to welcome his baby daughter in to the world. I rather suspect he revelled in the occasion, about as much as my mother did not! After a period of time, perhaps a week or more, my father arrived to bring my mother and I home. Car carriers for babies had not been invented and health and safety also had low priority. I know this to be true as the nursing staff came down to see us off at the front door, from where my father carried me in my carrycot to his waiting car. Unfortunately, he inadvertently let go of one of the carry handles, so by the time he reached his vehicle the cot had capsized and I had rolled out 1

on to the pavement. Once he noticed the mishap, he returned to where the little bundle was lying, scooped me up and plonked me back in the carrycot, and all to the horror of the medical team who had been waving goodbye. The Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II had taken place at Westminster Abbey only three months earlier (having acceded to the throne on the death of her father, George VI in February 1952) and many people had bought their first television set, in black and white, to watch the event. People without a television of their own went round to neighbours to watch the Coronation with them. My parents owned their own television but were also regular attendees of Worthingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Connaught Theatre, and had front row seats on a Friday night. Several of the regular actors became friends and attended my Christening by the Bishop at St. Mary of the Angels Catholic Church, followed by a reception at home. Although to be accurate, they may have gone straight to our home! My mother had been raised a Roman Catholic which meant my father had to agree to my being brought up in that religion, although he strongly disapproved, and this was a cause of some friction over the years. None of this was helped by the fact that I used to faint in church most Sundays. Mother would go forward to receive Communion, and by the time she returned to her place she would find me out cold under a pew. I seemed to spend a lot of time falling to the ground in my early years, and hoped this was not an indication of what was to come! Home at the time was Sea Horizon, 177 Brighton Road. (For some inexplicable reason, the number 177 has had a recurring theme throughout my life. Over the years, 17/7 was the date Roger and I flew to Madeira on our honeymoon, it was the hymn number on the one and only occasion I attended a service at the church where my parents were married, it was my ticket number at Louisa's Graduation Ceremony and, by chance, it is the page number that our Silver Wedding Anniversary photograph appears on in this book. It is a magic number that crops up around special family events and seems to say 'blessings and smiling on you'.) On finding an old address book in recent years, I also discovered that our telephone number was Worthing 9750. (Just four digits compared to the six of 2

the landlines of today - for those who still have landlines.) My earliest memory was at around one year old, sitting in my pram outside our house and recognising our front door. I must have had the company of my faithful teddy bear Baby Ted, still much loved by me today although rather the worse for wear, but cannot recall anyone else being present. Number 177 was a five-bedroom terraced property overlooking the beach, with a small front garden and a yard at the back. My father’s mother lived with us for the first two years of my life and I would be taken in to her bedroom to visit her, where she would give me empty bottles and glasses to play with! When the time came for her to go in to a nursing home, my parents moved in to the front bedroom. A large room with a balcony overlooking the sea, from where we could watch Worthing’s famous sailing Regatta. My bedroom was next door and then a few steps down the corridor led to the bathroom (yes, there were flying ducks on the wall) and separate toilet, and then further along the corridor still were three more bedrooms. The property was narrow but very deep. There were two reception rooms downstairs, another room that doubled as my playroom, and a large breakfast room with scullery and walk in larder at the back. My mother ran a very successful bed and breakfast, so there were always people coming and going. Two women came in to help - Mrs. Killick served the breakfasts, which my mother cooked, and then helped make up the beds, and Mrs. Knight came in to do the laundry, using the twin tub in the kitchen. I would ‘help’ by dressing up in my cowboy outfit and shooting the guests over breakfast, although I have no recollection if they enjoyed this experience or not. In the evenings, I would accompany my father as he would go around his collection of grandfather clocks and wind them up. Sadly, they are no longer in my possession, although I cannot imagine where I would house them in the chalet bungalow I live in today! Father, always inventive, had turned the broom cupboard under the stairs in to his office, by removing the wall so that the cupboard opened on to the corridor and putting a ‘Reception’ sign over the top. I believe the B&B provided a nice little income, with guests returning year after year from as far away 3

as America. It was only at full moon that mother used to get visits from a few unusual characters in the vicinity, also turning up like clockwork. I spent much of the time in the breakfast room, which was probably the hub of the house. There was an old fashioned bell system, where a bell would ring and a red disc appear to indicate which room required attention (very similar to the one featured on the television series Downton Abbey). It was still operational, although I do not think it was used very much. Except perhaps when my grandmother wanted another bottle of whisky! The walls were papered with colourful fruits and vegetables and we had a large collection of Ridgway Homemaker crockery, with a pattern showing contemporary furniture and household items against a background of black lines. These items were easily obtainable from Woolworths at about two and a half old pence each. They are now highly collectible and sell for over one hundred pounds each, depending on the item. If only we knew then what we know now! I attended nursery school at Mrs. Iverson’s private house in Church Walk, just round the corner from where we lived. I loved the dolls’ house in the hallway, and there was a sandpit and path where we could ride our little bikes. The youngest children would have a sleep after lunch on deck chairs laid flat on the ground (I have never understood this). The other children would play games. On one occasion, I spotted Mr. Iverson watering his plants, and when I told him I had a watering can he invited me to bring it with me the next day so I could help him. I recall feeling very important the following day when I was called away from my game of ring-a-ring-ofroses to help the kindly old gentleman. Having filled my red and yellow plastic can, I confidently attempted to pour water on to his flowers. Unfortunately, nothing came out and he soon discovered the reason - it was full of sand. I have never been slow in coming forward! As an only child, I was used to making up my own games and amusing myself. On a fine day, I would play in the backyard with my yellow hula hoop, whilst accompanying myself to the strains of Lonnie Donegan’s ‘My Old Man’s A Dustman’ or 4

‘(How Much Is That) Doggie in the Window’. My parents did not seem unduly concerned if I wandered off and spoke to strangers and going around on my own to visit the elderly West sisters, who lived next door, was a regular past time. They would have a bowl of slightly faded, sugary sweets on their hall table for me to dig in to, and they seemed to enjoy my calling in unannounced. I was about four or five years old. In those days, our milk was brought round by a horse-drawn cart and the driver would pull up outside our house and let me give his horse his lunch from his nose bag. I am not quite sure what drivers could make of this practise today, taken that the same road is now the busy A259, but this was the 1950’s. I do not want to imply that my parents were negligent in their parental duties, there was far less sense of danger at the time, but I certainly had a good degree of freedom. I would take myself off to the nearby Peter Pan’s Playground, and spend happy hours making friends and playing on the Helter Skelter or in the Wendy House. Presumably I had been given some pocket money to do this. I was also taken to ballet and tap classes (something I took up again having turned sixty) and was part of the youngest tap dancing troupe in the South of England, performing in ‘Starlets on Parade’ at Worthing’s Pier Pavilion in 1959, as well as numerous other productions staged by Miss Wendy Merson’s Glendale School of Dancing. I also appeared at The Scala Theatre in London with Max Bygraves, a huge name in the world of variety in his day. I sat at his feet as he sang ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls’ but, unfortunately, he trod on my fingers. I still managed to enjoy the encounter and remember smiling hugely at the audience. After a performance we would come through the Stage Door in to the auditorium, where a table would have been placed for family members to leave gifts for the young dancers. How exciting it was to find a box of chocolates with one’s name on it, and I have since attempted to continue this tradition with younger members of our own family. On one occasion, my maternal grandmother and aunt came down from Birchington in Kent to watch me dance and it had been arranged that I would step out of the wings, beautifully dressed in my white tutu, and present a bouquet of flowers to my grandmother. The 5

announcer said how wonderful it was that my grandmother, at one hundred years old, should have travelled such a long way to attend the performance. The audience clapped politely and I descended the steps, presented the flowers to my grandmother and gave a graceful curtsy. Unfortunately, someone had been given the wrong information, as my grandmother was about eighty at the time! It would be fair to say, however, that even at seventy or eighty my grandmother behaved like a very old lady and was constantly looked after by the family nanny, known to me as Aunt Ethel. The nineteen year old Ethel Williams had been employed by my grandmother in 1914, specifically to look after her new born son, James. She already had my aunt, Marjorie, born in 1910 and non-identical twins, my mother, Hilda, and her younger twin, Barbara, who followed in 1912. By all accounts, my grandfather was disgusted by the arrival of so many children in such a short space of time and left the marital bed forever! When Ethel first came to the family she was a young Protestant girl, engaged to be married, but she not only converted to Catholicism soon afterwards but completely fell in love with young James (my Uncle Jim) as though he was her own. Ethel’s fiancée did not want to marry a Catholic, nor did she want to leave our family, so the wedding was called off. Ethel never married and remained with the family, as one of them, for the rest of her life. By the late 1950s my parents were enjoying cruise holidays. In October 1959 they cruised from Southampton to Madeira on HM Venus. My aunt, grandmother and Ethel came to Worthing to look after me. Aunt Marjorie (I always referred to her as Auntie Mimi) would take me to school and invent wonderful games to play, Ethel would look after the house and prepare all the meals (she was a wonderful cook, never weighing out any ingredients for her recipes) and grandmother would be waited on. I once got in to terrible trouble from Ethel. I had just walked in the door from school as she was about to carry a tea tray up to my grandmother’s bedroom. Without thinking, I grabbed the slice of Swiss roll and popped it in to my mouth in one go. Ethel was furious, telling me that had been the last slice and it was meant for my grandmother’s afternoon tea. I was 6

well down the pecking order! In June 1960 my parents enjoyed another cruise from Southampton to New York, Long Island and Indianapolis, sailing aboard Cunardâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Queen Mary on the outward journey, and the Queen Elizabeth homeward. That was one of many occasions when I stayed with my aunt at her home in Birchington. After I left Mrs. Iversonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gentle nursery school, I went to Our Lady of Sion Convent Junior School in Westbrook, Worthing. In those days, it was a boarding as well as a day school, and boys were only permitted to be educated there until they were eight years old. I did not particularly enjoy those early school years. The nuns were attired in the full habit, so all one could see were their face and hands. They could appear rather frightening. Exceptions to this were the Reverend Mother at the time, Sister Loretta (later Sister Maura) whom I considered to be very beautiful, and the junior school headmistress, Sister Joan, who did not make me finish my school lunch if I did not like it! I was also very fond of the lovely Sister Helen (she later reverted to her childhood name of Nora, as the nuns were permitted to do). She had worked in the school kitchen and used to serve delicious toast with jam as a dessert for school lunch. On retirement she moved to Nepcote near Findon, where many of the elderly nuns lived and where I would visit her. She gave me a large box of green tomatoes and told me how to ripen them. I have never forgotten her gentleness. The sisters used to say that the young nuns did not look holy and were not, the middle-aged nuns did look holy but still were not, and the older nuns looked holy and were! I made my First Holy Communion in 1960 in the Convent Chapel, situated in the Senior School building in Gratwick Road, along with several of my Catholic classmates. My father would not come in. It took place early one morning (one fasted before Communion in those days). We were enchantedly dressed in matching white dresses and veils for the ceremony, which was followed by a breakfast of boiled eggs. (Trust me to remember the food!) Pretty cards with holy pictures, mostly from the nuns and lay teachers, were laid out on the breakfast tables for each child. I was Confirmed around the same time, taking the Confirmation name of Theresa, but cannot recall which came 7

first. It was instigated by the school and supported by my mother (who perhaps felt obligated), not by my father (who did not). I was confused! I was thrilled to have achieved a dancing role in the school production of ‘Mozart’, which was performed on the senior school stage. I recall the excitement at attending the costume fitting and was given a full-length gown in pale blue with yellow ribbons to wear for my minuet. I was partnered with a girl called Anne, who was dressed as a boy, and am ashamed to say this event made rather a bigger impact on me, at the time, than my First Holy Communion. I hope I am forgiven! My birthdays were always well celebrated. The earliest birthday party I remember featured a Punch and Judy Show in our front room. (Punch and Judy is a traditional and usually very violent puppet show featuring Mr. Punch and his wife Judy, once commonplace at seaside resorts throughout the country). It was hardly surprising that some of the smaller children were in hysterics. For both my sixth and seventh birthday parties, my father hired rooms in the Victorian Burlington Hotel on Worthing’s Marine Parade. My mother would lay out my party clothes, alongside her favourite Soir de Paris perfume – a lilac dress of many layers, with matching hair ribbons, silver slippers, and a bunny wool cardigan with little pearl buttons for my sixth birthday (the bunny wool used to get up my nose but I loved wearing it!) For my seventh birthday, I wore a much simpler shift dress with bright red roses with a red ribbon at the back and sported a much shorter hair style. We played traditional party games like pass the parcel, musical bumps, and musical chairs, and I remember being told I was not allowed to win. There was always a delicious tea of little sandwiches, jelly and birthday cake, and the grown-ups would sit at a separate table, my mother looking very glamorous. One school friend, Claire Collins (younger sister of actress Pauline Collins of Shirley Valentine fame) hosted wonderful children’s parties, with the most imaginative of games. One game involved waiting outside a room until you were invited in to meet the king and queen (Claire’s older sisters dressed up.) After much anticipation, I entered the room to find the king and queen seated at the far end. I was asked to curtsy, move 8

forward and then curtsy again, before being invited to sit between them. As I did so, they stood up and the piece of cloth that they had been sitting on collapsed and I fell down between them on to a pile of cushions (more falling to the ground!) The next girl would then be invited in to fall victim to a repeat performance and everyone else would laugh. They were simple games but I have not forgotten them. I should mention another family member, our lovely Dalmatian dog, Mende. Mende was four years old when I arrived on the scene and he was very protective of me. He was also very much in love with my mother, but not alone in his admiration. My mother was a very charismatic woman! Spotty dogs must have been popular at the time, as one was featured on ‘Watch with Mother’, a cycle of children’s programmes broadcast by the BBC from 1953. It was compulsive viewing (I am not sure there was much else). Monday’s programme was Picture Book, Tuesday’s Andy Pandy, Wednesday’s Bill and Ben the Flower Pot Men, Thursday’s Ragtag and Bobtail and Friday The Woodentops, featuring the Woodentop twins and their spotty dog. I wonder how it is that I have retained this information from sixty years ago but recalling facts for school exams proved so much more difficult? I was seven years old when 177 Brighton Road was sold, and I remember the huge trunks being packed up in the front room ready for our departure. My father’s mother had died in the nursing home some years previously and, as an only child, he must have come in to his inheritance. My parents, Mende and I moved to a two-bedroom bungalow named Lantern Lights in Newling Way, High Salvington, which nestled between the A27 and A24 just north of Worthing. It was to be our home for the next two years.

St. Raphael's Church where my grandparents and parents were married. 10

With my parents, aged 3 months, December, 1953.

My Christening at 4 months. 11

Professional portrait, aged 14 months.

Aged 3 with Mother and Mende, outside our home at 177 Brighton Road. 12

Aged 5 - would love to know what I was thinking!

I do like to be beside the seaside!

From Starlets on Parade, 6th from right, Worthingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pier Pavilion, 1959.

Aged 11 months with Grandma outside Dante, Birchington, 1954.

My Mother with siblings, Barbara, Jim and Marjorie, 1915.

Aunt Ethel, Mother, Grandma, Auntie Mimi, outside 177 Brighton Road, 1959. 15

My First Holy Communion, fourth from right, 1960.

My 6th and 7th birthdays, Burlington Hotel. What a difference a year makes!

Chapter 2 One little duck went swimming one day - Over the pond and far away The title is based on the nursery rhyme and counting game, Five Little Ducks. Living in a quieter residential area, away from a main road, could be considered a safer option with a daughter who was prone to wandering off and making friends with strangers. I soon discovered our elderly neighbours Mr. and Mrs. McIntyre who were, by all accounts, reclusive. However, no one told me that, and I found them perfectly charming, even if their home was a bit untidy and their garden very overgrown. They once gave me half-a-crown for Christmas (twelve and a half pence in todayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s money) so, unless it was to go away, they must have liked me! It was whilst exploring the local neighbourhood that I first met Mr. Doughnut (my nickname for him). Mr. Doughnut delivered bread, buns and cakes to local residents in his little van. Perhaps he was concerned to see a young child out alone, and kindly offered to take me home. I know this sounds worrying, and he probably would not have offered today, but he was true to his word and drove me the short distance back to my bungalow. Whereupon he offered me some sort of sugary cake and I introduced him to my mother. He regularly visited our area. I always went out to chat with him to collect a complimentary iced bun or doughnut. I would not advocate this now, but these were happy, innocent days when children could be given a free cake from a man in a van! My best friend at the time was a girl called Elisabeth, who lived round the corner. Her mother worked full time, so she was looked after during the day by her kindly but strict grandmother. Elisabeth was frequently in trouble from granny and would be sent to her room on the ground floor. There was a bank of grass all around the property creating a moat-like effect and along with Elisabethâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s younger sister, Caroline, I would pretend to be a knight in shining armour rescuing the beautiful damsel 17

from the castle. Elisabeth would play her part waving a dainty white handkerchief from the bedroom window and remain there until she either escaped, or granny let her out! Another favourite game was dancing classes. We would turn my bedroom in to a dance studio with a waiting area divided off with chairs. I always elected to be the teacher as I had dancing lessons, which left Elisabeth to be the pupil. The only music available was ‘The Cradle Song’ which emanated from my musical jewellery box which played when the lid was opened, whilst a plastic ballerina spun round and round. We also enjoyed cut out dolls (attaching the various paper outfits to our cardboard dolls). If we ran out of dolls we would draw some more in pen, and I am ashamed to say I always gave Elisabeth the ugly one. We were constantly falling out and making friends again but twenty years later became Godmothers to each other’s children. Elisabeth was very demure and used to wear white lace gloves. She has recently married her fifth husband. By then my birthday parties had evolved to visits to the theatre. My father would take the front three rows at Worthing’s Pavilion Theatre and every child would be given a box of chocolates. No doubt I sat in the middle of the front row! On one birthday I was invited back stage by Billy Dainty, comedian and master of funny walks. Knowing it was my birthday, he placed some matches between his fingers and got me to light them (no health and safety there then). I must have been a bit slow to blow them out as I remember he burnt himself! I was taken to all the amateur dramatic musical productions in Worthing and there were several excellent societies at the time. I have loved musicals ever since, so it is appropriate that the chapters of this book are all based on song titles, if not specifically musicals, that popped in to my head! My father owned several properties in Worthing (presumably left to him by his mother who had been quite a business woman) and I would sometimes accompany him as he visited his elderly tenants to collect the rent. I recall we would stop for a cup of tea and a chat and the rent money would appear from very unusual places, such as inside teapots. My parents always invited their tenants to spend Christmas day with us and my father would collect the elderly ladies by car in the morning, so they 18

would arrive at our home in time for a sherry before lunch. We had awoken to a white Christmas in 1962, so I was delighted to entertain them by building a snowman whilst they all looked on from the warmth of our lounge. Later in the day my father would take them home, having given them each a gift of a pair of stockings, a piece of cheese and a ten shilling note (fifty pence in today’s money)! Around this time, we would receive the occasional and unexpected visit from Aunt Polly, who lived with her large family in Dagenham. She was not my real aunt but had been my father’s nanny, and she was probably the humblest person I have ever met. In spite of her advancing years, she would travel by train to Worthing Station and then proceed to walk the four miles to our home, mostly uphill, arriving on our doorstep unannounced. She insisted mother did not go to any trouble getting her a meal. Just a little piece of bread and butter would do her nicely. Mother found her exasperating. I loved her to bits. She told the most enchanting bedtime stories but they were so relaxing I always fell asleep before the end. She was a very hard worker and had employment cleaning silver in a vault somewhere well in to her nineties, having led her employers to believe that she was a lot younger than she was. It was some years later that she confided in my mother that she was a distant relative of my father. Having been born out of wedlock she had been sent downstairs to work in the kitchens, and hence given the servant’s name of Polly. My mother’s reaction was that she was no longer to call her Madam! It would be fair to say that I did not take my school days very seriously. My parents did not pay much attention to my academic life, although good manners and speaking nicely were considered of paramount importance. As my father was funding my education he considered himself to be the customer, so if he wanted to take his little girl out of school for any reason that seemed perfectly right to him! One afternoon the teacher asked me to stay behind after school to correct an essay I had got wrong. My father was in his car outside school waiting to pick me up, so I went down to explain the situation to him. Suffice to say, I did not stay behind to finish the work! 19

In the early 1960s my parents enjoyed another cruise holiday, this time sailing aboard RMS Andes, from Southampton to Palma, Cairo, Alexandria and Lisbon. I was nine years old when I was taken on my first holiday abroad, in 1962. I accompanied my parents and Auntie Mimi, sailing by ferry to Dieppe and then on to Paris via Rouen by train. I wore my school blazer for the trip and carried an old-fashioned duffle bag, adorned with badges of all the towns we visited. I remember our hotel being an old building with a rickety lift. I shared a bedroom with my aunt and the communal bathroom was down the corridor. Breakfast of brioche and jam was served in our room. I had never seen a continental breakfast before. During our stay, my mother and aunt took a coach trip to the Palace of Versailles. My father and I waved them off and then spent a wonderful day together at Paris Zoo, where I was intrigued by the open-plan housing of the animals, and even more enthusiastic about the ice creams. We visited all the famous sites in Paris but I was more interested in the ham and eggs served straight from the pan at the café Pam Pam, collecting labelled sugar cubes from the various restaurants we visited, and chasing pigeons round the Arc de Triomphe! After descending the many steps leading down from the Sacré-Cœur I realised I had left my squash racquet at the top and everyone had to climb back up with me again to retrieve it. I do not know why I took my father’s old squash racquet sightseeing with me but I must have had a reason. When we returned home I wrote to my aunt saying how much I had enjoyed her company on our holiday and hoped she had a good toilet home. I have no idea what I meant! I spent a lot of my early childhood being looked after by my aunt in Birchington when my parents went on holiday. The one-hundred-mile journey between our two homes was always broken up with a stop at The Royal Oak Hotel in Hawkhurst, where we would have a slap-up meal of fruit juice (served as a starter in those days), roast beef with all the trimmings, and a good old-fashioned pudding to follow. Before we continued our journey, mother and I would visit the ladies powder room on the first floor, reached via a dark staircase and a long corridor with creaky, carpeted floorboards. A return journey on the same 20

day was never considered an option and if not sleeping at my aunt’s bungalow (my father seldom, if ever, did) we would stay at The Bungalow Hotel at the end of the road. Here I made friends with Phyllis and Elaine, the waitress and chambermaid respectively. I would sometimes accompany Elaine as she went around the bedrooms, happily chatting about village life together. On one such day I was fiddling about in a room and knocked an expensive jar of face cream on the floor, making a terrible mess. Even worse, it was the bedroom of the lady who owned the hotel. I think that might have cost my father heavily and I was not allowed to accompany Elaine after that! The bungalow where my aunt lived in Beach Avenue was built by my grandmother in 1955 on land which had once been an orchard. The garden still contained many apple and pear trees, the fruit from which Ethel would bottle in large kilner jars. These were then stored in the garage (they did not have a car) and the smell of the fruit was quite intoxicating. A tall rockery ran along the back of the garden and from the top one could look down and see all the neighbouring roads. It was from the bottom of these steps that Dante Gabriel Rossetti, poet, painter and illustrator, died in his bath chair on Easter Sunday 1882. He had been visiting a friend in Birchington in the hope of improving his health (clearly this had not worked). The spot subsequently formed part of the family property. My grandmother named the bungalow ‘Dante’. My aunt loved birds and a favourite past time of mine was to accompany her morning and evening as she placed fresh water in the many bird baths and bowls around the garden. The local baker would deliver all his stale bread and this was soaked overnight, before being fed to the birds. Come to think of it, my grandmother’s breakfast looked very similar. I would visit grandma in her bedroom (she called me Bluebell, so perhaps she could not remember my name) and she would offer me sweet humbugs from a little tin. With failing eyesight she would ask me to identify her stockings, one was marked left and one was marked right. Luncheon, prepared and served by Ethel, was the main meal of the day and this would be laid up in the hall area immediately outside my grandmother’s bedroom and next to the two toilets, known as the ‘little boys’ and the 21

‘little girls’. (This was to ensure that any visiting gentleman would not use the ladies’ bathroom, although Ethel always used the ‘little boys’!) When lunch was ready the gong would be sounded, an heirloom from my grandmother’s childhood home, and it was always exciting to be allowed to ring it. Grandmother would carve and any meat juices would be soaked up with bread and put on her plate! Ethel’s puddings were fabulous, my favourites being apple cinnamon tart and an orange meringue tart with a layer of jam. The only thing I did not like were the cloves put in with the cooked apple but we were all spoilt with Ethel’s cooking. She only had one dress as far as I can remember, at least she always wore the same one, blue with white spots, and she constantly seemed to have a cigarette on the go which she rolled herself. Fortunately, no remnants of these were ever found in her puddings! I was nine years old when my parents took me to London where the three of us checked in to an hotel. There I was told that the following day we would be visiting the American Embassy, as they were planning to emigrate to the USA. I must have been very naïve, as I had no previous inkling of their intention. The visit to the Embassy involved a lot of tests and interviews for my parents but only a short medical, as well as my finger prints being taken, for myself. My father’s desire to leave the UK must have been an enormous upheaval for my mother. Not only was she to say goodbye to her mother and sister (travelling to and fro from America was not so simple in those days) but her beloved Dalmatian was put down. I imagine he was in poor health but, nevertheless, losing him must have been a terrible wrench for her. By way of farewell, my father treated my aunt to a cruise holiday with us to The West Indies on board RMS Andes but she felt terribly sea sick and spent much of the time in her cabin, where I would visit her and listen to her tale of woe. It was the beginning of 1963 when I said goodbye to my class mates and my school to start a new life over the other side of the pond. We spent our last night in the UK before emigrating, at The Bungalow Hotel in Birchington. My parents would never fly, so we made the transatlantic crossing on board RMS Caronia, known as The Green Goddess, sailing from Liverpool 22

on 5th January 1963. Stops were made at Bridgetown in Barbados, Jamaica, Nassau and Port Everglades, before arriving in New York on 21st January. Our base in New York was an hotel on Times Square. It was a bitterly cold winter and attired in warm coat, thick tights and ear muffs, I would be taken out to Howard Johnsonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s for delicious breakfasts of waffles with crispy bacon and maple syrup (still a favourite of mine today which I allow myself when on holiday.) At night I would spend hours looking out of my hotel window at the bright lights and neon signs that flashed below. I did precious little school work whilst I was there but met lots of amazing people, who loved to hear the accent of the English girl with braids. We visited places that might potentially be an area in which we could settle, including a convent where I could continue my education. My father was almost sixty years old by the time we arrived in the USA and his intention was to work in real estate. However, once there he discovered his qualifications were not recognised and he would have to retake his exams. (Why this was not clear before we sold up and set sail I will never know. It would never happen today with everything we need to know readily at hand). One day I was writing a postcard to Elisabeth (I recall it had a picture of the Statue of Liberty at night on the front) when my father asked me how I would like to go home and see her again. I thought it was an excellent idea and clearly was not shocked by another change of direction. So once again we made the transatlantic crossing only, on this occasion, making the journey in reverse, from New York to Liverpool on board the ocean liner RMS Carinthia. I knew that my experience of the early cruise ships was quite unusual and very privileged but it was only a chance encounter in recent years that made me realise just how unique my experience was. I was cruising around the British Isles (as one does!) where the guest speaker on board was an expert on ocean liner history. One of his talks touched upon the early liners, RMS Caronia and Carinthia, both of which I sailed on in the 1960â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. Furthermore, we had travelled first class and my memories of my time on board were both extensive and clear. He pointed out that very few children would have travelled first 23

class and, therefore, few people alive today would have firsthand experience of these luxury liners. He was adamant I should document my story. Arriving back in the UK we returned to Worthing and checked in to an hotel in The Steyne, from where my parents commenced their search for our next home. They bought a bungalow, White Shutters, Number 82 in Offington Lane, where my father promptly pulled down the front fence between our property and the pavement, making the garden more open plan and American style! He obviously had not got America out of his system. For lovers of detail, our telephone number at that time was Swandean 1798 (an exchange that no longer exists, although the numbers when rearranged make the year of birth of my first born!) I returned to Our Lady of Sion Junior School, to the same class, with the same teacher and the same friends, as though I had never been away. I certainly did not come top of the class that year but I was not bottom either and I remember the teacher thinking that was most admirable, considering I had hardly done a stroke of work in months! Our next-door neighbour at that time was an elderly widower by the name of Mr. Birchmore. (I was still making regular visits to anyone who would welcome me!) I do not recall if he had any children of his own but I enjoyed his company and he seemed to enjoy mine. He would help me with little projects like making a calendar as a surprise gift for my parents, often supplying the materials. I cannot remember what we discussed when we met but I expect I did most of the talking! My mother and I joined Offington Hall Riding School, run by â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Grannyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Francis, where mother would have private lessons on weekdays and I would ride with a group of children on Saturday mornings. Each child would be allocated a horse and I was often paired with Siobhan, a gentle skewbald mare, as I was not a particularly proficient rider. I also had trouble getting in to the saddle, either because I was not supple or because my jodhpurs were too tight. Either way, I had to be given a leg up or use the mounting block. We used to hang around after our ride, muck out the horses, and eat our packed lunches in the stables. Sometimes we would ride the ponies bareback along Offington Lane, over Offington Roundabout and let them loose 24

in the field on the west side of the A24 (the land was later sold for housing). The riding instructress was called Mary and she was a heroine in my eyes. Around this time I was invited to spend a short holiday on the Isle of Wight with another school friend and her family. Whilst there, I received a letter from my mother telling me that she had some exciting news for me. It was to tell me that Mary was married to Mr. Doughnut! You cannot imagine my delight at discovering the two people I most admired were married to each other. We subsequently visited them at their home and in recent years I bumped in to him again in the supermarket. He was still Mr. Doughnut! I had a wonderful display of glass and china animals which I regularly rearranged, and a collection of dolls in national costume from the places my parents had visited on their cruise holidays. I had two gold fish, Pip and Bracken, which I probably won at a fair, enjoyed reading Enid Blyton’s Famous Five stories, discovered bubble bath and better still, The Beatles. My father would take me in to Worthing to Tansley and Cook on a Saturday and treat me to a single record of my choice, priced at six shillings and threepence at the time (approximately thirty-one pence). The first record I owned was ‘She Loves You’ by The Beatles. It had just been released in 1964 and there was no doubt about the record I wanted. Over a period of time I built up quite a collection of records, and owned almost all the single and long playing records by The Beatles and Cliff Richard and The Shadows, as well as numerous other artists, which I played on my Dansette record player. It was on one such shopping expedition that my father and I bumped in to Ella Prestage, a rather aristocratic lady we had met on a cruise holiday. (We had no idea she had any connection with our town and discovered she had a holiday home in Findon Valley, just north of Worthing). My parents happened to be giving a party that evening, so Ella was invited and came along. She had been widowed twice, left with a young family and had subsequently gone on to run her late husband’s engineering company, quite a feat in those days. She also took singing lessons and had sung at the Royal Opera House. She became a good friend over the years but had the embarrassing habit of joining in with the songs when we took her to see the 25

amateur musicals. She would warble away in the audience in a very loud voice and I do not know how I kept my composure. Another treat was to be collected after school and taken to tea at the impressive Hubbard’s Department Store in Worthing’s South Street (now the site of Debenhams). It had been rebuilt following a fire in 1947 and my mother had worked there in the Millinery Department before I was born. It was a very prestigious store, with a lift operator who would take you to your chosen floor. He was a well-known character, always beautifully attired in his uniform with gold epaulettes. The restaurant was on the top floor, and I always delighted in the fact that the carpet changed colour and pattern as soon as one reached the top of the stairs. Tea was served by waitresses from their own serving stations and it was always silver service. During the afternoon, mannequins would model the latest fashions whilst an announcer introduced each model by name, describing the outfit she was wearing. I was much more interested in the cakes but the fashion show certainly added to the atmosphere. Although there was a bus stop almost outside the front door of our home, I often cycled to school and always unaccompanied. I loved my red bicycle, which I called Rosie after a horse from the riding stable, the strap from my duffle bag which I placed in the front basket doubling up as reins! I had to cycle over the Thomas A Becket crossroads, continue south over Worthing railway crossing and then on to my school. No helmet, no padlock and not much sense! We had just about settled back in to Worthing life when my father suggested we should return to America! This time my mother put her foot down, so it was agreed that he would return to the USA on his own to decide, once and for all, where we were all going to live. If he really believed America offered us a better future then my mother and I were to sell up and follow, otherwise he would come home. I still have the numerous airmail letters and postcards that mother and I sent to him whilst he was away and the correspondence he sent to us from his base in Indianapolis. It makes interesting reading! Eventually he made three lists, one for each of us, noting ‘for and against’ reasons for living in America. Although he still felt it was right 26

for himself, he did not feel it was right for either my mother or myself. In early 1964 my father sailed back in to Southampton, on board R.M.S. Queen Elizabeth. My mother and I were standing on the docks to greet him. He was home, at least physically, even if his hopes and dreams lay on the other side of the pond.

My Father returning to the U.K.on board R.M.S. Queen Elizabeth, February, 1964.

Collecting my Race Night winnings aboard R.M.S. Andes. 27

Aunt Polly, my Fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nanny. Christmas on R.M.S. Andes.

My parents in Egypt 1960, centre of photo. 28

The Bungalow Hotel, Birchington.

Beach Avenue, Dante was past the tall trees on the right.

The Square, Birchington. 29

Rossetti's Window Birchington.

Tomb of Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

The garden and bungalow at Dante. 30

Auntie Mimi, Louisa and Victoria at Dante.

The rockery at Dante.

With Auntie Mimi and my parents R.M.S. Andes.

Fancy dress on board R.M.S. Andes. 32

With my parents and Auntie Mimi R.M.S. Andes.

With my parents R.M.S. Andes.

Being received by Captain Marr, R.M.S. Caronia, 1963.

My parents aboard R.M.S. Caronia. 34

Aged 10 at Our Lady of Sion School.

White Shutters, our home in Offington Lane. 35

My Father with actress Pamela Charles in New York.

With Sister Helen, Victoria and Louisa. 36

Chapter 3 Old Macdonald Had A Farm This is an old children’s song and nursery rhyme about a farmer and the various animals he keeps on his farm. Soon after my father returned from America my parents sold our bungalow in Offington Lane and bought a forty acre small holding in Henfield, Oreham Manor Farm. It was situated at the end of a long bumpy lane opposite Oreham Common. Our nearest neighbours were a Mr. and Mrs. Carrington who lived at Oreham House, a dentist and his wife, and their boxer dog, Bertie. My parents had intended to buy two dogs but finally decided on just one and brought home a delightful yellow Labrador puppy. His full kennel name was Timini Sherbro Limba Crew (based on native groups in Sierra Leone where my father had been stationed in the army during the war years). We called him Timmy for short! Timmy and Bertie were great pals and used to chase each other round the farm. They did not need walking. Although my father had studied agriculture in his youth and some of his family were still farmers, his own farming knowledge was considerably out of date. He brought in a young farmhand to help him, and who lived in a caravan on site. My father had built a number of loose boxes and a tack room with a view to owning several horses but as it transpired he only bought the one, my pony Champion, who was a bay gelding. I would ride him in to the village, leaving him at the blacksmiths to be shod whilst I popped in to the village store, Tobitts, for a glass of my favourite banana milk shake, and round the farm stopping at one of several ponds. There was one pond I particularly liked close to the house, where I would merrily sing a little song to the tune of ‘Wonderful Land’ substituting my own lyrics! We had a small herd of Friesian cattle on the farm which I learnt to milk by hand. One cow, Amazon, was particularly friendly and I was very fond of her. When a calf was born it was given the name of the farm, followed by its mother’s name, hence, 37

Oreham Amazon. I did not like it when the young calves were sent to market and neither did my mother. Farming life is not easy. What I did look forward to was taking the milk by Land Rover to the end of our lane for daily collection. It was fun, as an eleven-year-old, sitting on the churns and bouncing around down the bumpy lane. I spent much of my time with the animals, Champion, Timmy and Amazon, but I also had two rabbits, Snowball and Frisky, a blue hen called Tip Toes, and a selection of rather motley looking farm cats that we inherited and who had grown rather tame in their search for food. They would give birth to their litters of kittens in piles of wood or other sheltered places about the farm, but the little creatures were quite wild. Later on we introduced pigs to the farm, and I always thought they were rather quaint. During our time there my mother’s sister, Auntie Mimi, came to stay. She was a great fan of the television programme ‘One Man and His Dog’ and when she heard that an immediate neighbour of ours was a sheepdog handler she asked if she could have a demonstration. So it was arranged that he would put his dog through her paces, whilst we would look on from an upstairs bedroom window. This worked well for a while, but after a considerable amount of time the handler showed no sign of stopping. We were all getting rather weary of watching and eventually had to pile pillows up at the window to make it appear that we were still observing! I was still attending Our Lady of Sion Convent but had moved up to the senior school. The railway line from Henfield, although still in use until 1966, was not considered an option, so one of my parents (my mother having recently passed her driving test) would drive me to Shoreham-by-Sea Station. There I would catch the train to Worthing, along with other pupils who lived in the Shoreham area. I never achieved an academic award at school (which was not surprising as I was hardly ever there) but I showed strong leadership qualities and was often voted Form Captain by my peers. I was also the usual recipient of the class prize for good conduct and school spirit. (My parents must have been delighted!) This was a mixed blessing, as it involved going forward to receive my prize from the Bishop 38

and having to kneel and kiss his ring in front of the whole school. Quite an ordeal in return for a Rupert Bear annual! I continued to have time off school (the nuns did not approve) as our cruise holidays spanned the early sixties, and I suppose this travel was an education in itself. Cruising was very grand in those days. Passengers dressed formally for dinner every night, the men always in black tie or white tuxedo in summer climes, and the ladies in cocktail frocks, furs and bedecked with jewellery. There was no ‘new money’ and, consequently, no pop stars, lottery winners or footballers with their wives. Our family friend Ella (of warbling voice fame), being a widowed lady, sometimes travelled with a very tall and elegant heiress who, when she was not cruising or travelling elsewhere, lived in The Dorchester Hotel. Children were seldom seen on board ship, cruising was not family friendly in those days, but the crew went out of their way to spoil me. True to form, I would disappear from my parents almost as soon as I stepped on board, only reappearing at meal times or when we happened to meet up. There was nowhere on board ship that seemed to be out of bounds for me. I visited the captain’s cabin (yes, really) and the bridge, where I was allowed to steer the ship. On one occasion I enquired why our usual steward was not serving at dinner and was informed that he had been sent down to the engine rooms as a punishment for staying too long in a port (with a lady). I asked if I could visit him and my request was accommodated. The engine room was a long way down many flights of iron steps and extremely hot, even hotter than the galley which I also visited. I witnessed a crew member’s burial at sea (not the steward I hasten to add), presided over by the Captain. The coffin was covered in a flag and then the plank beneath it raised so the coffin slid overboard and in to the sea. Very moving and they certainly did not offer that type of education at Sion Convent! A well-known passenger travelling with us on one voyage was Dame Margaret Rutherford, a famous character actress who was perhaps best known for her portrayal of Agatha Christie’s super-sleuth, Miss Marple. She also earned great acclaim in the film adaptions of ‘Blithe Spirit’ and ‘The Importance of Being 39

Earnestâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (another link with Worthing). She was accompanied by her husband, character actor Stringer Davis, and a female companion who was as tall and slim as Dame Margaret was short and round. They kept themselves very much to themselves but that did not stop me chatting to them. I found them most charming and they invited me to join their table on one occasion. Dame Margaret presented the prizes following a fancy-dress competition laid on for the passengers and I have a lovely photograph of her presenting me with my gift. (I suspect I received a special prize as I was the only child in the competition). On another cruise holiday, when there were a few other children travelling on board ship, we palled up to dress as West Indian children for a fancy dress party. Finding baskets of fruit to place on our heads was the easy bit. I do not know what I rubbed in to my skin (mostly all over) to turn it black but I do know that, after the competition, my mother had the most terrible job trying to get it off. I had returned to our cabin just as she was about to leave for pre-dinner cocktails, beautifully attired in a posh frock and jewels, and I do not suppose she was thrilled to have to put me in a bath and attempt to scrub the black off me. The colour just would not budge and I think we both thought I was going to remain that colour for ever! I was also prone to making friends with other passengers on board ship and would invite them back to our cabin to meet my mother. She must have been horrified when I burst into the cabin, where she might be attired in negligee and hair rollers, to see a strange man peering at her over my shoulder! Every day there would be a shipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tote, where passengers would try to guess the number of nautical miles the ship had travelled in a day. I loved helping with that. I also involved myself in all the sporting competitions and the swimming gala with events such as knocking oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s opponent off a slippery pole. This would be followed by all the crew who had organised the gala being pushed in to the swimming pool, some just jumped! Afternoon tea would be served from long tables on the pool deck. Private cocktail parties were often held on open deck too and dinner was a very elegant event. On one occasion the dessert chef had made a special creation the size of a three-tier 40

wedding cake, just for me. There was always a Captain’s cocktail party, fancy dress or hat competitions, race nights and dancing until late. Rather than retire to our cabin early, I would be allowed to remain for part of the evening and dance with the Captain and Chief Engineer. As there were seldom other children on board, it was not surprising that mother made friends with a young woman travelling with her much older husband and baby daughter. During the voyage, the young woman confided in my mother that she had received a blackmail letter implying that her baby daughter was not her husband’s and she was to leave a sum of money behind a particular seat in the cinema. The cinema was situated near the bottom of the ship, and I recall descending in the lift with my mother and the young woman, where she would leave the envelope in the designated place. (A dark, empty cinema in a creaking ship can be quite an eerie place and it was all rather intriguing.) What the outcome of this story was I shall never know but I suspect the husband was having doubts about the baby’s parentage! I also managed to teach this woman to swim during the holiday, although I could not swim myself at the time. I had convinced her that the rubber ring I was wearing was for her benefit, should she need it, and I must have given her the confidence she needed. I was rather proud of that! Back on dry land, my parents enjoyed regular visits to local hostelries on Friday evenings and Sunday lunch times (presumably replacing their earlier patronage of The Connaught Theatre and mother’s Sunday worship). I would be left in the car with a book, bottle of fizzy drink and a packet of potato crisps and my father would pop out every now and again to see if I was still there, or wanted another drink! (I was interested to read in the book ‘When I Was A Nipper’ by writer and gardener Alan Titchmarsh, published in 2010, that he recalled parents leaving their children outside the pub on a Sunday lunchtime, and perhaps sending out a lemonade and a packet of crisps or pork scratchings. Up to that point, I had not realised that this was common practise and thought my parents were alone in this pursuit!) After one or two visits I would have made friends with the publican’s children, and was invited in to the private areas at Worthing’s Wine Lodge, The Red Lion at 41

Shoreham, The Fox at Patching and The Gun Inn at Findon, where I would often stay for the weekend! It was here that I first heard the news that President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated in downtown Dallas. It was the 22nd November 1963. It was such major news that almost everyone alive at the time can remember where they were when the news reached them. (The other major event of the time was the state funeral of Winston Churchill on the 30th January 1965 and I remember being glued to the television. I was eleven years old). Life in Henfield had not proved financially viable for my father and our days on the farm were coming to an end. It had been hard, physical work for my father and my mother was not born to be a farmer’s wife. She had also injured herself after being thrown off my pony, just before she was to host a lunch party, and driven her car in to a ditch on at least one occasion, and so it was that after about a year my parents decided to return to civilisation! Potential buyers included the pop star and actor, Adam Faith, and show jumper, Judy Crago. I was very disappointed to have made a rare appearance in school on the day she viewed our property and so never got to meet her. Nobody famous bought the farm to my knowledge but we sold up and moved back to Worthing, only a short distance away from where we had lived in Offington Lane. Our new home was Russets, 28 Third Avenue, Charmandean. I had naïvely thought that my pony would be moving with us and live in a small, residential back garden. In reality, the only animals that came with us were our dog Timmy and my two rabbits. It was to be my father’s last move.

With Oreham Amazon, Oreham Manor Farm, 1965.

Swimming Gala aboard R.M.S. Andes, with my Father on the slippery pole (right).

R.M.S. Andes, with the lady I taught to swim!

Ella Prestage (Auntie Ella).

With Mother, being received by the Captain, R.M.S. Andes. 44

With Dame Margaret Rutherford, R.M.S. Andes.

With my parents, Marina Hotel, St. John's, Antigua. 45

Russets, our home in Charmandean.

With Timmy. 46

Chapter 4 Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini This novelty song, first released in 1959, tells the story of a shy girl wearing a revealing polka dot bikini at the beach. My first memory of the area we moved to was walking Timmy to the recreation ground in Second Avenue, just around the corner from our new home. It was a character detached three-bedroom house, with lattice windows front and back and had original parquet flooring. It had a small garden to the front and a long garden to the rear, edged by flower beds and well established trees. A wooden gate at the back led on to a lane that went up to The Downs, passing the derelict Charmandean School. We quickly settled back in to urban life, where I continued my education at Sion Senior Convent. My father had returned to his earlier profession of estate agency, opening an office in Portland Market in Worthing. The office was very close to my school and I would often call in at the end of a school day, and chat with my father’s secretary before he would drive the two of us home. I had naïvely assumed that one day I would take over the business. As it transpired, he closed the estate agency after a few years and worked as an insurance broker from home. My mother enjoyed cooking and her dishes would include old-fashioned ingredients, such as ox tongue and heart (which I very much disliked) to the much more modern spaghetti dishes and Chinese food (both almost unheard of at that time). One of the first Chinese restaurants in the area had opened above my father’s estate agency and my family, along with Aunt Ella (who I suspect may have invested in it), were invited to their private opening. A long table had been set out with all manner of foods I had never seen before. All their family members attended, along with their tiny children, who in my opinion looked like little dolls with their jet black bobbed hair and fringes. 47

My mother was also a fan of the women’s afternoon television programme ‘Houseparty’ (a nineteen seventies pre-runner to ITVs twenty-first century equivalent, Loose Women). Various ‘experts’ would sit round a table over a cup of tea and share their knowledge of cooking or a new crochet pattern with each other (and the wider television audience). A doorbell would ring and another lady would enter and join them, pretending she had only just arrived! Looking back, it was rather an insult to one’s intelligence! However, my mother loved the programme and soon set about making me a black velvet trouser suit, with braid fastenings and buttons that were never quite in line. I did not like wearing it. Another more successful creation was a blue corduroy shift dress that I wore over a pink blouse. I could not wait to get out of my school uniform and change into it. By the time I reached my early teens, fashion colours had become very psychedelic. For a school dance (a one-off concession by the nuns and no boys allowed) I chose a lime green two-piece elasticated skirt and top, with a frilly lime and purple blouse underneath. Even the thought of this outfit is quite revolting to me now. I also loved my purple ‘hipster’ trousers, worn with a bright orange, skinny ribbed polo neck top. Purple, cerise, lime green and orange were top colours and one of my favourite outfits was a sleeveless dress with a pleat down the front, in all the colours of the rainbow. All these would have been accessorised from my large collection of colourful, plastic earrings. This was also the time when dresses with large kipper ties were all the rage and I bought one in purple. I was about fifteen when I attended my first dance. It was a New Year Youth Ball at Worthing’s Assembly Hall. I went with my school friend, Jennifer. Her outfit for the occasion was a bell shaped green dress with white daisies round the wide cuffs and neck (made by her grandma). I wore a sleeveless cerise dress in chiffon with cerise sequins round the neck (bought off the peg). We would have been driven both ways by car, and I think we did meet the opposite sex for the first time, if only from a distance! During the mid to late sixties, a lot of the big named artists came to Worthing’s Assembly Hall on a Thursday night and I would regularly go along and meet up with school friends. There was 48

always a warm-up band before the main group came on. Unfortunately, the first group would often overrun (perhaps because the main band had not arrived). My father would always be there early to pick me up and I would frequently be on my way home before the main act had started. I seem to recall ten thirty was the time I had to be in the car. That said, I saw many of the chart toppers of the day, such as Geno Washington and the Ram Jam Band, Alice Cooper, Julie Driscoll and The Herd, to name only a few. (Bands of the sixties would be my chosen subject if ever I were to appear on BBC’s Mastermind programme, although my general knowledge would be hopeless!) My favourite group at the time were The Monkees, a group of four boys who had specifically been put together for a television series and did not originally play their own instruments. Their television show was aired early on a Saturday evening. I would go round to Jennifer’s bungalow for the afternoon, where her mother would serve a high tea of bread and cake. Then we would settle down to our favourite programme of the week, before I was collected by my father around six thirty. I loved this group and had all their records, knew all the words to their songs, and had their pictures (cut from musical magazines) plastered all over my bedroom walls. I particularly liked Davy Jones, who was the only British member of the band. On Saturday mornings, Jennifer and I would take the bus in to Worthing to exchange our library books! No Internet in those days. I remember my fashion statement at the time consisted of brown pseudo leather – skirt, coat, boots and a bag large enough to hold the books! The old Worthing Library was situated next to Worthing Museum and opposite the Main Post Office. One took a book to the counter to be checked in or out. There the librarian would place or remove a little card with the reference details and then file it in to some sort of index system on her desk. It was another highlight of our week! Books were needed for all reference work, such as homework or school projects. One term, we opted to be responsible for decorating our class noticeboard and spent weeks drawing, colouring and writing text on pre-historic animals. We made 49

such a good job of this, we were given the responsibility of doing it on a regular basis! My first part-time job when I was still at school was at Sally Ann’s ladies hairdressers (later a unisex salon) where my mother was a customer. It was situated on the Upper Brighton Road and only a short walk from where we lived. Initially, I worked for four hours on a Saturday morning for ten shillings (fifty pence today) and sometimes I would be asked to help on Friday evenings after school. (A whole pound if I worked both sessions). In those days most of the customers would have a perm or shampoo and set. Back basins were still quite rare, so the ladies would have to lean forwards over a basin to have their hair washed, and I would regularly drown them in the process. I would pass the rollers to the hairdresser, sweep up and recycle the towels. Hair would be dried using floor standing dryers (known as policemen’s helmets). One evening I caught my foot in the lead, knocking the dryer over and smashing it to bits. Fortunately, a customer was not underneath it at the time! When I finished work I would cross over the road to The Downlands Hotel (later a Toby Carvery) to meet my parents, who would be enjoying a drink in the lounge bar (and to get a lift home). It was through this that the owner, Dennis Harvey, offered me a job. So I left Sally Ann’s and took up my next job working at the hotel. At least I was not likely to drown anyone! I worked weekends, as well as school holidays, going in early to prepare and serve the breakfasts. (Quite a few travelling salesmen seemed to stay there and many were regulars). Breakfast was pretty basic. I would cut grapefruits in half, prepare in to segments and pop a cherry on top. (I am still very nifty at preparing grapefruit but do not bother with the cherries!) Then there would be fried eggs, toast and marmalade, followed by tea or coffee. After breakfast had been cleared I would go upstairs and give the chambermaid a hand making the beds. Dennis’s elderly mother, Ada, had a room on that floor and I recall her standing on her balcony squeezing water out of her ‘smalls’ through an old mangle. She would come down from her room with a large basket covered in a cloth and, when she thought no one was looking, fill her basket with bottles from the bar and take them back to her room. Another of my jobs 50

was to prepare the food for the pub lunches. An ancient machine was kept outside the kitchen for the purpose of peeling potatoes. I would tip all the potatoes into it, switch it on for a couple of minutes and they would be peeled (albeit roughly). On one occasion, I left the machine running whilst I answered the telephone and when I came back there was nothing left. Fortunately, I did not lose my job, only potatoes. It was on one such morning when I was working in the kitchen, that Dennis called me and said a large party of ladies had just come in to the bar and no staff had arrived. I was to give him a hand. I had no bar experience whatsoever and, besides which, I was under age. However, I went through to the bar and much to my horror discovered almost every teacher from the school I had just left peering at me (no nuns though). Trying to serve drinks and add up their bills (particularly unnerving when serving the maths teacher) really threw me in at the deep end, but I survived. I worked in the bar regularly after that! During my senior school days I had plenty of school spirit, and usually got involved with any class voluntary work. I regularly stayed behind to stack the chairs on the desks at the end of a day. (Bit of a goody two-shoes really!). I do not suppose all this was very supportive to my academic life but I somehow managed to pass an average number of ‘O’ Levels (the forerunners to GCSE’s), sufficient for me to get a place on a two-year Ordinary National Diploma Course at Worthing College (situated at the time in Broadwater Road, Worthing and now the site of Bohunt Academy School). I was still not quite sixteen, having been the youngest in my class at school. The first year of the course included subjects such as Business English, Economics, British Constitution, Law, Accountancy, shorthand and typing. Only the girls took the secretarial subjects, not the boys! The only dress code at the college was that girls were not allowed to wear trousers, but it was perfectly acceptable to wear a mini skirt half way up one’s bottom. It was a million miles away from the all-female convent I had just left, with its grey pleated tunic and white blouse uniform which, along with my lack of interest in the subjects we were being taught and the fact that I was unlikely to be made Head Girl, had been one of my main reasons for wanting to leave. 51

Between my school and college days, on the 20th July 1969, Apollo 11 landed the first two humans on the Moon and astronaut Neil Armstrong uttered one of the most famous one-liners, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” It was a fantastic achievement but, as a teenager, I was far more wrapped up in my own world. I had also joined the Worthing Young Conservatives, more social than political at the time, and a way of getting to meet people of my own age from ‘nice’ families. We held our weekly meetings at Haverfield House in Worthing, then the HQ of the local Conservatives. I was soon voted secretary of the group, and thought this would sharpen up my secretarial skills. The Chairman was a young architect, some years my senior, and he would come round to my house on a regular basis to discuss the forthcoming social programme. Over refreshments in the garden, served by my mother, we would plan meetings with a variety of speakers or visits to places of interest. It was my job to contact the speaker or arrange a visit, which I did with a fair amount of organisational skill, with the help of my father’s old manual typewriter. After booking a speaker by telephone, I would confirm by letter, send a written reminder, and a written thank you following the event. (I could have done with emails but they had not been invented). I met some interesting characters! We also had a discotheque in the basement of Haverfield House, which I named ‘Sparkling Cyanide’ after an Agatha Christie book I had enjoyed reading. (I loved all her ‘who-dunits’ and once wrote a Murder Mystery for a dinner party in which I cast myself as Ariadne Oliver, a mystery novelist from one of her books). Prior to this, I had been seeing a boy whose parents ran the Findon Valley Post Office. He went to St. Andrew’s School for Boys in Worthing, and my father very much disapproved of the relationship (as he subsequently did with most boys I showed any interest in). I was very fond of him but we were still school age and so ended the relationship when he left the area to take up an apprenticeship. New doors were opening and I was soon dating a young man whose family ran a long-established furniture store. He also attended college one day a week and on that day he would 52

accompany me home to lunch, served by my mother, in a room that had a dual purpose as a lounge for me and an office for my father. We shared an accounts teacher at college, and I recall the teacher telling me that I was much better at the subject than my boyfriend, which pleased me enormously! My boyfriend had a car and our dates would mostly involve meeting up with friends or going to the cinema. On one occasion I accompanied him to a rather grand Young Conservative Ball in Eastbourne, wearing a very formal black and white evening gown which belonged to my mother, and looking much older than my sixteen years. Our relationship broke up when he decided to go off on a sailing adventure with a gentleman friend, and I remember his father phoning and telling me he thought his son was mad. Coincidentally, my father had approved of the relationship (probably because he had not considered it to be serious). The break up upset me for just a few days, after which I â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;sailed offâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; in another direction. As secretary of the Young Conservatives, I was holder of the key to the basement at Haverfield House, and when not in use we would rent it out to a local pop group to rehearse in. One of the band members, Peter Cushion, would call round to our house on a Saturday to pick up the key and it was not long before he asked me out. This was to take my life in a completely new direction. Without this meeting I might, and probably would, have married a Member of Parliament.

Y.C. Ball, Eastbourne, centre of photo.

With a school friend, wearing our psychedelic dresses.

The mini skirt.

The kipper tie and plastic earrings!

My parents Ruby Wedding, 1973. 54

Chapter 5 I’m getting married in the morning … Get Me to the Church on Time A song from the 1956 musical, My Fair Lady. On my seventeenth birthday I had my first driving lesson, with my father. I was at the wheel of his car, a red Hillman Imp, attempting to drive round the avenues where we lived. I narrowly missed a tree! On the strength of that, my father arranged for me to have lessons with one of his clients, who I later discovered taught people to drive heavy goods vehicles, not cars! I was determined to pass my driving test as quickly as possible and, although I failed on my first attempt, passed on my second test on the 3rd January 1971, aged seventeen years and barely four months. I remember telling my instructor I had passed and giving him a big hug. He looked rather shocked! Having obtained my driving licence, my father would drive me to college in the morning, pick me up, take me home to lunch, and then allow me to have his car to drive myself back to college in the afternoons. It was a good arrangement. If he needed transport in the afternoons, he had the use of a rusty old push bike he had bought second-hand and euphemistically named ‘Laughing Rosalinda’! I was seventeen and in my second year of Sixth Form College when I started dating Peter Cushion, bass guitarist with local band ‘The Total’, who supported many of the big bands when they came to Worthing. He later joined the group ‘Classical Gas’. I accompanied him on many gigs and met a whole new circle of people, mostly a little older than myself. We were together throughout my last year at college and during my first two jobs after leaving college. The first was an engineering company on the Lancing Industrial Estate, Polytherm, where I had started as a receptionist and then became a private secretary. It was a funny place to work. The managing director was a somewhat eccentric character, who used to delight in timing how long it took me to photocopy a document, from the moment he requested it to the time I rushed in to his office and 55

placed it on his desk. His sales manager was a particularly lanky gentleman, who would give dictation sitting in a waste paper basket. Nothing strange there then! My second job was with the local newspaper, The Worthing Gazette and Herald, where I was responsible for planning the display advertisements. Lunch breaks would often be spent with the Advertisement Manager’s Secretary and two of our male colleagues. We just had time to play table tennis or tennis at the nearby tennis courts at Beach House Park. One of the four was the lovely Colin Clark, the Entertainments Manager, who was tragically one of five who died in a train crash at Purley in March 1989. Colin had previously worked in advertising but made the switch to journalism whilst I was there. I had similar ideas myself and made an appointment to speak with the Editor, Ken Morley. His office was up several flights of stairs at the top of the building. A green or red light outside his office showed when one was allowed to enter. Having gained access, I told him about my desire to be a journalist. “Looking at you now” he said, “You will be married in a couple of years”. That was, more or less, the end of the interview and it was to be a few decades later before I was to find myself in print. Not to be outdone by this rebuff, I applied for a post with The Daily Express newspaper in Fleet Street, London. They were advertising for secretaries who would work as temps inside the organisation. I took the job and commuted by train up to London every weekday, from Worthing to Blackfriars. During this period, I worked in the motoring and features departments and also spent some time working for Defence Correspondent, Chapman Pincher. He would arrive at the Daily Express building by taxi and give me pages to type from a forthcoming book he was writing, having first removed pages he thought too racy for my young eyes! I eventually applied for and joined the Editor’s office, where I was to meet Jean Rook, ‘the first lady of Fleet Street’. We all gathered in the Editor’s Office to watch the televised broadcast of Princess Anne’s wedding to Captain Mark Phillips on 14th November 1973. The previous afternoon I had been sent in a car to collect Osbert Lancaster, who was urgently required to produce a cartoon for the following day. I am still not sure why I had to go and get him. After Jean Rook 56

had attended the Royal Wedding, she came in to the office and started talking about how she would write up the occasion. It was all very exciting. Peterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s father, John Cushion, was an expert on pottery and porcelain, an author, and curator with the Victoria and Albert Museum. I have a wonderful memory of joining them on a family holiday in Europe and visiting the beautiful home of a porcelain collector in Italy: their swimming pool, set high on a hill overlooking the town; walking through their citrus groves; and freshly made pizza eaten in the shade of their garden. That was almost fifty years ago, but it could have been yesterday! Through Peter I met other musicians and one, in particular, was to play a big part in my life throughout my twenties. I was very fond of Pete (as he was known) but we eventually broke up. (He later married and moved to the West Country). About this time a mutual friend, Roy Gibbs, drummer, guitarist, general life and soul of the party, and Boris Johnson lookalike, separated from his wife and invited me out. I thought he was lonely and rather naĂŻvely accepted! My father disliked Roy even more than he had disliked Pete and considered he should be out wooing his wife rather than me. However, they divorced and on the 3rd January 1976, aged twenty-two years, I married Roy at Findon Valley Baptist Church. My father did not want anything to do with the wedding, and I had thought I might have to walk down the aisle on my own. However, just as I was about to leave home, he appeared in his lounge suit, accompanied me to the church and gave me away. The look on his face in the wedding photographs tells a story and, I have to say, he was proved right. There had been no pre-wedding parties, no hen night, and I did not have any bridesmaids. We had our reception at The Chatsworth Hotel in Worthing and honeymooned at the Hotel Girassol in Madeira. I recall being very homesick and knew I had made a big mistake, but it was seven years before I had the courage to admit it. For a young couple, Roy was seven years older than me, we were quite affluent. Roy was Managing Director of Lissco Products, a company that had been set up by his father (although Roy was not cut out to be a businessman, as his personality and talents would have been far more suited to a 57

professional musician). The company manufactured high quality dressing table sets and accessories, and we would exhibit them at trade exhibitions in London, Birmingham and the Messe Frankfurt annually. We sold our products both at home and abroad but never quite broke in to the German market. We later realised that this was because most German homes did not have dressing tables! I had joined him in the business shortly before we were married and the announcement and accompanying photograph in the local press was headed, ‘secretary marries her boss’. Although it was not quite like that. I suspect I had written the article! Before our marriage, Roy had bought a new, two-bedroom bungalow in Hayling Rise, High Salvington and I moved in after we returned from honeymoon. Living together before marriage was quite out of the question at the time. ‘Nice’ girls just did not do it! I had soft furnishings made using material from the company, intended for backing the mirrors and brushes. Consequently, our bungalow was adorned with turquoise brocade curtains! With little clue about how to run a home I was ill-prepared when his parents came to tea, and when his father asked for some bread and butter, discovered I did not have any bread. He died shortly afterwards, but I do not think it was due to lack of sustenance! As Roy continued to pursue his interests, my parents became regular visitors to our home and would often join us for Sunday lunches. By that time, I had learned to cook! Looking back, our married life consisted of rather posh but shallow parties, dining out in expensive restaurants, and home entertaining, complete with cocktail trolley. Evenings would often end with an impromptu jam session, with me on vocals and Roy accompanying on guitar or drums. He had a full drum kit in the lounge. Our relationship was more like that of flat mates and when my father died, on the 13th November 1979, I was finally able to admit that my marriage was not going anywhere. It was still another three years before I plucked up courage to face the problem, eventually leaving the marital home in May 1983. Roy did not seem to mind, which only confirmed my belief that it was time to move on! (Shortly after our divorce Roy married for the third time. They had two sons and moved to Launceston, where 58

they established tea rooms on the site of the steam railway. We did not meet again but I heard from a mutual friend that Roy had died of cancer in his early fifties.) During the latter part of the nineteen-seventies I had owned a yellow Labrador bitch with an amazing Crufts pedigree. I suspect she had been interbred, as she was very highly strung and not the docile temperament of a Labrador. Whilst out walking on the South Downs one afternoon, I started a conversation with some other dog walkers who had been visiting an elderly bereaved gentleman in the area. They told me how lonely he had become since his wife had died and I offered to visit him. He lived in the next road to us, so I turned up on his doorstep one day, completely unannounced, and introduced myself. He told me some time later that he could not believe it when a pretty young girl knocked on his front door out of the blue and thought, at the time, that I must have had a male accomplice round the back breaking in! He named me ‘Fairy’ from that day. In spite of his misgivings, he invited me in for a sherry. He was a most charming gentleman, very correct. He had worked alongside Ian Fleming, a naval intelligence officer best known for his James Bond series of spy novels, during his career. We got on very well and I told him that my mother was a widow, and he kindly invited me to bring her round to meet him. A beautiful relationship somehow blossomed between them, and he would take her out to lovely restaurants or she would cook for him at his home. It was not long before he bought her an engagement ring, but I do not think there was any intention for them to get married. I had moved my mother in to a one-bedroom flat early in 1980, following my father’s death, and it was here that I was to move to, sleeping on a fold-up bed in her dining room. This was not an easy time for either of us, but at least I had somewhere to rest my head. I found work at the nearby Offington Park Methodist Church. They were looking for someone to set up and run a home care service for the elderly. Following a successful interview I started work that summer, based in the church office. With some help from Aunt Ella (with the warbling voice) I purchased an old farmer’s cottage, a two up two down, at 125 59

Southfield Road behind Broadwater Church, which I optimistically named ‘Sunshine Cottage’. Aunt Ella had asked me how much the deposit was and when I told her two thousand pounds, she took a cheque book out of her handbag and wrote me a cheque there and then. She then quoted ‘If a friend you want to be, never a lender or borrower be’. It was a generous gift, a huge amount of money in the early nineteen eighties, and a very good lesson. The front door of my little property opened immediately in to a small lounge and behind that was a kitchen, with an internal door that revealed a narrow staircase to the upstairs. There was only one bedroom as the second bedroom had been turned into a bathroom (there being no internal bathroom when the property had originally been built). On the rare occasion that my mother or other visitors came to stay, I would put a fold-up bed in the bathroom (it was bigger than my bedroom) and the toilet lid would double as a bedside table! Having got the homecare service up and running and determined to move on with my life, I decided to explore pastures new. I advertised myself in ‘The Lady’ magazine, then one of the leading publications for ladies seeking respectable employment, and followed up a response from a lady who was looking for a deputy. She was the principal of a Girls Finishing School in Scotland. I was to meet with her at her London home in Sloane Square, but on arrival discovered it was her husband who had come down from Scotland to interview me, rather than herself. I did not know it then, but Major Charles Hargreaves was one of a dwindling band of Colditz survivors. His wife, Dawn, had apparently taught ballet to the young Prince Charles and had been Headmistress of Heathfield School. They married in 1964, had no children together (although he had sons from a previous marriage) and were extremely well connected. After a short chat, he scrambled around the kitchen to find me a light lunch, and it seemed I had been offered the job. I took the train to Aviemore in September 1984, just days before my thirty-first birthday and a month before the IRA bombing of The Grand Hotel in Brighton, where many members of the government had been staying during the Conservative Party Conference. The Major met me at the 60

station on a dark and rainy evening and drove me to Aultmore House in Nethy Bridge, so I would be in situ a few days before the start of the new term. The mock Georgian house, with its sun room overlooking the Cairngorms, had an impressive entrance with two ornate staircases leading to the first floor. There were other reception rooms downstairs, a large kitchen and a butlerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pantry. The first floor housed the majority of bedrooms and the top floor comprised the attic rooms, where I was given a small bedroom and bathroom, where the hot water hardly ever reached! Apart from administrative duties, my first job was to welcome the new girls and their extremely wealthy and well connected parents. There were only seven or eight pupils in total, all new to the school, ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen. One was the daughter of a Canadian Ambassador, another from a family who owned a world-famous American department store who had been flown over in their private plane, another whose mother rode hunt with British royals and knew the Prince and Princess of Wales, and another from Monte Carlo who was very friendly with the Grimaldi royal family. The only other live-in member of the household was an extremely ferocious and elderly Australian, who had once been a nun. She had arrived at Aultmore House, with an enormous amount of luggage, having read about Dawn Hargreaves and wanting to meet her, and had apparently decided to stay! Apart from the Major and his wife, we all lived in fear of this dreadful woman whose main aim in life seemed to make life difficult for us. The teaching was virtually non-existent, as were most of the extra-curricular activities such as golf, horse-riding and accompanied visits to church, that were offered in the glossy school brochure. By October the snow was so thick the house was almost cut off. There was only a slim chance of getting a vehicle up or down the long drive. The discipline was excessive and the food at meal times left a lot to be desired. Come Christmas, I had seen enough and decided to pack my bags. I left Aultmore by taxi very early one morning and returned by train to my home in Southfield Road, which had been empty for several months. One of the pupils, the daughter of an oil mogul in Trinidad and Tobago, had told her parents how things really were and they removed her from the school soon afterwards. She visited me once following my 61

return to Worthing and attended Offington Park Methodist Church with me. My intention for the rest of my life was ‘new home, new man, new job’, not necessarily in that order! I put my little cottage on the market and sold it on New Year’s Eve, making quite a handsome profit on my original purchase price. I bought a three-bedroom, two reception house with small garden – 73 Stonehurst Road, Tarring. It was situated in a pleasant residential area and I felt it was somewhere I could put down roots and entertain my friends. I took possession in February 1985 and my kindly neighbours invited me in for a meal. I was beginning to feel settled and invited some friends round to dinner. At the last minute they asked if they could bring a recently widowed friend. (They had written to me when I was in Scotland to say that a friend’s wife had died, leaving him with two young daughters, and I recall thinking at the time how sad that was.) As I had prepared plenty of food, I said he was welcome and did not think much more about it. I cannot quite recall what was on the menu, I think it was pasta, but it would certainly have been served with wine. I was told that my ‘additional guest’ did not like wine, so I had unearthed a bottle of whisky to offer him. They all arrived together and, after the meal, which was accompanied by much discussion about why my guest did not like wine, the couple left to return to their babysitter, leaving my final guest behind. His name was Roger Miller, and we found we were very relaxed in each other’s company, as we talked long in to the night. It was the 23rd February (the date that what would become ‘our anniversary’). The following Monday Roger phoned and asked me if I would like to have dinner with him on the Saturday, but not knowing any good local restaurants asked me to book somewhere. (Presumably people with children did not eat out!) I made the booking at the Bellavista Restaurant in East Preston and that is where we shared our first date. It was very romantic. We were seated by the window overlooking the beach and he took my hand over the table and kissed it. I have no idea what we ate. (Our children are going to laugh at this!) I think we both knew there was something special happening and our relationship flourished. I had mentioned to Eileen Flitt (from the church) 62

that I had met someone, and within twenty-four hours a beautiful bouquet of flowers arrived from her. She must have been watching over me and I have never forgotten her kindness. On the 9th March, Roger’s birthday, he invited me to join him for an early dinner at the Sussex Pad in Lancing (now the site of the appropriately named Miller and Carter steak house) to meet his daughters, Carole, then aged fourteen and Gail, who had just turned twelve. They had only lost their mother six months previously and Roger was doing his best to keep everything together, look after the home, and leave suppers in a slow cooker for the girls for when they came home from school. (He worked long hours, travelling back and forth to American Express in Brighton.) In April, he invited me to Jersey for what proved to be a gloriously sunny weekend (leaving the girls under the care of his mother-in-law, who had moved in next door during her daughter’s illness). It was in Jersey that he bought me a sapphire and diamond ring and proposed marriage, very loudly (as we were in a restaurant full of very noisy rugby players!) Newly engaged, we returned to Tarring with the news for his daughters. Gail asked if it was the opposite of vacant! It was down to me to put our two properties on the market with a view to all of us moving in to the property that sold last, whilst looking for a larger, family home for us all. Fortunately (and as the property market at the time allowed) the two properties sold quickly. Temporarily, they all moved into my little three bedroom house, along with all their furniture and belongings that were subsequently piled up, floor to ceiling, along the walls. We were married at Offington Park Methodist Church on St. Swithun’s Day, 15th July 1985, supported by a few close friends, my mother, Roger’s parents, his sister and brother-in-law and a few of the fellowship from the church, including Eileen Flitt. Carole and Gail were my bridesmaids, wearing homemade dresses in peaches and cream (that Carole, at fourteen, particularly hated!) I wore a parchment coloured dress with a big ‘My Fair Lady’ hat that blew off my head as I entered the church. It was a beautifully sunny day but very windy. It was a Monday, which had made it much easier to book the church, reception, and car at short notice. We were rather frowned 63

upon by the Minister, as the wedding car which had been arranged to collect us, came complete with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. (Not deemed appropriate on Methodist soil.) We held our wedding reception at the Bellavista Restaurant (their first) where we had shared our first date just five months earlier. Roger’s sister, Judy, was ‘best man’. Without a father-of-the-bride to give a speech my lovely late brother-in-law, David Oliver, made the toast to the bride and groom. (In hindsight, I wish I had asked him to give me away, although he supported me at Carole and Gail’s future weddings by escorting me in to church. David and Judy were married the following year and David thanked Roger ‘for showing him the way!’) We spent the first night of our honeymoon at the Mill House Hotel in Ashington, and took the flowers and cake from our reception to the Offington Park Methodist Church on, what proved to be, a very wet and windy Tuesday. The next day we flew out to Madeira for our honeymoon, staying at the five starred Hotel Sheraton which Roger had booked via American Express! Looking through old photographs to include in this book, I found a postcard that I sent to my new in-laws from our honeymoon hotel, just three days after our wedding. It read, ‘We know you will be delighted, if not surprised, to learn that we are amazingly happy and enjoying the most wonderful honeymoon imaginable. We have relived our wedding day several times and are now thoroughly absorbed with the present, with a view to building a superb future for us all. Have decided to keep letter writing to a minimum this week!’ (We visited the hotel again on our tenth wedding anniversary with our young family, whilst staying in another part of the island. It had since been renamed the Pestana Carlton Madeira Ocean Resort Hotel. We could not stay there on that occasion, as there were no family rooms available!) Immediately after our honeymoon we returned to my little house in Tarring, before moving to our new house the following week. I had found my new home, new man and a job for life!

Just married!

Our Wedding Day, with Gail, my Mother, Roger's parents and Carole, Offington Park, 1985. 65

Our Wedding Day, with bridesmaids Gail and Carole on the beach at the Bellavista Restaurant.

Newlyweds. With my Mother. 66

On our honeymoon in Madeira, 1985.

On our honeymoon, my favourite photo of Roger. 67

With Roger, Gail and Carole, 1986.

The drive up to Peteeni. 68

Chapter 6 A Windmill in Old Amsterdam This was a novelty song from 1965, about a mouse that wears clogs. At the end of July 1985 Roger, Carole, Gail and I moved to our new home ‘Peteeni’ (so called because it had been built by a Pete and Enid). It stood at the top of the unmade Mill Lane in High Salvington. We arrived with our collection of assorted furniture and belongings from our respective homes. To be accurate, Carole was abroad on a school trip and, whilst Roger was at work, it was Gail who helped me with the majority of the unpacking. The property had originally been a bungalow, but previous owners had added another floor. Finally, a large flat-roofed extension had been built on the rear. On the ground floor were four reception rooms, a kitchen, utility room and shower room with a pampus green suite. Upstairs there were four bedrooms and a family bathroom. The carpets, curtains and wallpaper were heavily patterned in dingy shades of mustards and browns, and many changes were made to the property over the twenty-seven years we lived there. It was a good sized property and ideal for ‘newly-come-together people’ with bereaved members, who could benefit from space to grow as a family. A long drive led up to the front of the house, with its wild garden and apple trees that overlooked Findon Valley. The large rear garden had a patio with a willow-tree in the centre (which we subsequently removed), and two greenhouses, one of which was totally demolished in the violent storm of October 1987. At the top of the hill stood the High Salvington Windmill, an operational post mill dated 1750, and from the back garden we could see the sails turning. Beyond the windmill was the tiny church of St. Peter’s, with its corrugated roof. On the corner, as the road curved down the hill, was the village store and post office. It had once been a dairy, and was known by locals as ‘the shop at the top’. In subsequent years, people said I was very brave to take on a bereaved family, but I have always thought that they were the 69

brave ones to take me on. Not that I gave them much choice! Carole had ‘hit’ adolescence. (I remembered my own adolescence and the moods that accompanied it). Gail was still at an age that welcomed mothering. Both girls attended Angmering School. Carole was fourteen, in the top sets, and approaching the time when she would take her ‘O’ Level examinations, and we were keen not to disrupt her education, but Gail at twelve still had a few years to go before sitting external exams. Because of this, we decided to move her to the independent school, Our Lady of Sion, where I had been a pupil. Gail started at her new school in September 1985, shortly after we moved, and was awarded the effort prize in her first year. It also came to light that neither girl had been christened, so we asked them if they would like to be and they both said they would. They were christened at Offington Park Methodist Church by Reverend Ted Scott that summer. Roger’s sister, Judy, was godmother to Carole, and I was godmother to Gail. A reception was held at our home afterwards, attended by the vicar and his wife and our immediate family. The title of this chapter refers to a song about a windmill filled with a family of mice. Living on the edge of The Downs, we did have the occasional field mouse come to visit. On one occasion, Carole discovered a bar of chocolate in her bedroom with tooth marks on it. It had undoubtedly been nibbled by a field mouse that had scampered up the pipes, but she had been convinced that Gail was the culprit! I threw myself into home-making and learning to be a new wife and mum. I drove Gail to and from school every day and collected Carole from the school bus that dropped her off on the busy A24 at the bottom of Bost Hill. (Otherwise it would have been a long walk up the hill in the dark for her, especially during the winter.) I would have a meal prepared for them when they arrived home and Roger and I would eat later, by candlelight, when he returned from work. Sunday lunch was shared together. It was a balancing act between a newly formed family and a newly married couple! We also held children’s parties. I seem to recall quite a lot of dressing up in funny clothes went on. Probably my idea! Both Carole and Gail went on school exchanges, to Germany and France respectively, and 70

both their overseas’ friends stayed with us. (Carole’s friend, Beatrice, became a close friend and eventually godmother to Carole’s son.) It was not long after this that we moved Roger’s parents, Tom and Renee, down from Twickenham to Tarring. They had been frequent visitors to Worthing over the years, together with Tom’s sister Mickey (her real name was Alice). They had spent holidays at a local boarding house and hired a beach chalet to the east of Splash Point. They loved going to Marine Gardens for coffee or lunch, and were able to enjoy a few years of retirement in the area before Tom died in June 1988. As mentioned, Roger’s sister and brother-in-law were married in 1986 and their first born, Charlotte, arrived in April the following year. By which time, my first baby was well underway. I had a healthy and problem free pregnancy, although I did get my dates wrong. Thinking my baby was due in the middle of October, my twenty-week scan revealed my due date to be the 10th September – my birthday! I felt like I had been awarded an eight month pregnancy. I was so thrilled to be pregnant that I bought a collection of maternity clothes from Mothercare and wore them long before I needed to, making me look much bigger than I was. Roger and I visited Amsterdam in the spring, but from the photos I looked as if I was about to give birth. By the early hours of Saturday 5th September 1987 Victoria was on her way. Phoning my obstetrician who was to deliver the baby, he calmly announced that he or she would be born that day. Roger and I took a short walk up Mill Lane to The Downs later that morning. (It was somewhat brave in hindsight, but it probably helped to speed things up). I had an egg sandwich for lunch (having craved them throughout my pregnancy, along with apple and cream turnovers). Contractions started thick and fast by the early afternoon, not starting slowly and building up as described in the pregnancy handbook. I phoned the obstetrician’s wife and she asked if the contractions were painful. “Yes”, I had said. “Good”, she had replied! She despatched her husband to Southlands Hospital in Shoreham where I was to be admitted, and Roger drove me to the hospital. He was very supportive and reassuring and assisted at the birth. No one looked at the clock to check exactly what time Victoria 71

Rosanne entered the world but it was just before seven o’clock in the evening. She was a beautiful, healthy baby and the image of my father! I phoned my mother to give her the wonderful news. She had just returned home after playing bridge with friends and could not believe that in the short time it took to play a game of cards and have a cup of tea, I had delivered her first grandchild. Particularly considering the long and painful process it had taken for her to have me! The new born babies were taken to the hospital nursery at night, to allow the new mums a good night’s sleep, but after almost thirty-four years there was no way I was giving up my precious bundle, even for a second. Because I had a private room, I somehow managed to get away with this. I was very miffed not to be allowed home the following day, but as it was a Sunday there was no one there to discharge me. Roger collected us from the hospital on the Monday. We did not go straight home but stopped off on route at my mother’s flat for her to meet Victoria. Aunt Ella was also there and they both had a cuddle with the new babe. Victoria did have a touch of jaundice which gave her a slight yellow tinge, but it was only mild and we overcame this by laying her in the sunshine wearing just a nappy. Fortunately, there were some lovely sunny days following her birth. I was home in time for my birthday and she was the very best present in the world. I was visited by the community midwife for the first ten days following Victoria’s birth. She was particularly impressed with Roger’s domestic skills (producing meals and making cups of tea so I could spend time with our baby) and thought him to be a role model father and husband. Which, of course, he is! Victoria was christened at Offington Park Methodist Church in the December following her birth by Reverend Brian Fitzpatrick. Her godparents were Aunt Ella (who was not able to attend in person due to poor health), Roger’s sister and brother-in-law, Judy and David, and an old friend Edna Riant. A reception was held at our home following the christening, although Victoria and I missed most of it on account of Victoria being extremely vocal! Roger’s father, Tom, attended Victoria’s christening. He died the following year after a short spell in 72

hospital, aged seventy-nine. His funeral was also held at Offington Park Methodist Church. Our elderly neighbours, a retired vicar and his wife (who taught Gail violin) decided to downsize, and their property was bought by a doctor and his young family. Their daughter was already four years old when they moved in, so I became the recipient of a quantity of beautiful little girl’s dresses with matching pants and bonnets. This only swelled the collection of clothes I had bought or been given as gifts, and Victoria frequently had several change of outfits in a day. We had decorated the nursery with a butterfly theme. Orange, lemon and blue butterflies (suitable for a baby boy or girl) adorned the curtains, cot bedding, changing mat and bag. I had joined the National Childbirth Trust whilst I was pregnant and attended mother and baby coffee mornings with my new circle of friends. There were lots of children’s parties and everyone was very supportive. To celebrate Victoria’s first birthday (or perhaps it was mine) we booked in to what was described as a family hotel in Dawlish. It had an indoor swimming pool and children’s play area, and sounded ideal. In reality, it was a bit of a shock to the system. We had been used to luxury adult holidays. Meal times were excessively noisy and a bit of a bun fight and the weather turned out to be freezing cold but, in spite of this, we had a good time … and vowed to go abroad on future holidays! Both Roger’s mother and my mother were regular visitors to our house, joining us every Sunday for lunch, as well as special occasions such as Christmas, when the whole family would come together. They were very different as individuals but got on well, sharing their mutual love of family. I do not know why it is that good ideas seem to arrive when one is doing something mundane, like the ironing. It was whilst having a shower (in the room with the old-fashioned pampus green suite) that it occurred to me that we could have another baby. The name Louisa just popped in to my head. A girl friend later described the experience as ‘a knocking egg’! By this time, Carole was studying at Southampton University and Gail was working, and had also left home. Roger and I spent many hours discussing the pros and cons of having another 73

child, particularly the financial, practical and medical implications (taken that we were not a particularly young couple) but heart won over head, and I was soon pregnant with my second child. I enjoyed another healthy pregnancy but did suffer with morning sickness in the early stages second time around. This time my food cravings included individual pork pies and green figs. Roger spent one Sunday evening driving around the shops in search of some figs, returning with a tin of my desired fruit to satisfy my craving! Louisa’s arrival on the scene proved even speedier than her older sibling, just giving us enough time to drop Victoria in to my dear friend, Margaret Howard, on route to Southlands Hospital. Louisa was almost born at the traffic lights outside Lancing College, but we managed to arrive at the hospital in time for me to give birth. Louisa Francesca arrived in the world at 2 am on the morning of 21st May 1991, with eyes the size of oceans and an amazing crop of black hair (that later turned fair). Roger went home for a short amount of sleep and returned later the same morning with Victoria. From the window of my private room, I saw them leaving the car and walking in to the hospital, Victoria’s long ponytail swinging from side to side. She surveyed her new-born sister with some interest, before I introduced my three and three-quarter-year-old daughter to the nursing staff as ‘my big girl’. Then we all went home to lunch! Once again, my sister-in-law and her husband synchronised the arrival of their new baby with ours. Their second daughter, Rebecca, being born a month to the day after Louisa. This time it was our turn to get first choice of names! Victoria was attending Broadwater Manor School nursery at the time. Broadwater Manor is mentioned in the Domesday Book and was a private home until it became a school in the 1930s. The building was used as billets during the Second World War and the school moved to the West Country, until it was hit by a bomb and the school returned to Broadwater. It subsequently became Lancing College Prep at Worthing. Where Victoria’s early days had been spent wearing gorgeous frocks with matching bonnets, Louisa would be bundled up in something practical to join me on the daily school run. I should note that Louisa also had her share of gorgeous frocks, and one was worn 74

on the occasion of her christening in September 1991. The service took place at St. Peter’s Church in Furze Road in High Salvington, next to the windmill, and was conducted by the Scott Joplin loving vicar, Revd. Bob Aiton. June Trager, a tennis friend, Elisabeth Matthews (an old school friend) and her then husband, and Edna Riant were godparents. It was a beautiful sunny day and, along with friends and family, we all returned for a lunch reception in the garden of our home. Louisa was perfectly happy to be passed round from guest to guest and smiled throughout. (No comparison to any previous christening made or intended!) True to my word, future family holidays were spent abroad, either self-catering or in an hotel, in Sorrento, Spain, Tenerife or Madeira. Sometimes the four of us went alone, and on other occasions we were joined by Carole, Gail and perhaps a friend, but holidays always focused around water because that is what the children liked best. When the children were happy, we were happy! Louisa followed Victoria in to the mother and toddler group at Broadwater Manor when she was two years old, and then in to the nursery a year later. Victoria moved up the Prep School around her fifth birthday and Louisa followed when she was four, being a younger age to enter the main school because her birthday fell later in the academic year. It was around this time that another parent asked me if I would help with the cake stall at the forthcoming school fair. I was given the tip that homemade cakes sold much better than shop bought ones, and that removing a shop bought cake’s packaging and roughing it up a bit, would ensure a better price for it! I did not know then, that this would lead to a life time of volunteering that would take our lives in an exciting and rewarding direction. David and Judy Oliver's Wedding Day, 1986. We had such a lovely day choosing Judy’s outfit together. 75

Roger in the greenhouse at Peteeni.

Carole and Gail's Christening, with Godparents Judy and self, Peteeni, 1985. 76

Auntie Ella holding two day old Victoria.

Victoria's Christening, Roger, Victoria, Tom, my Mother, Charlotte and Renee, 1987.

Victoria's 1st birthday, Dawlish. With Victoria at Henley Regatta, 1988.

Carole, with Louisa and Victoria wearing dresses she made for them, Peteeni, 1995.

Victoria and newborn Louisa, dressed alike, 1991. 78

Louisa's Christening, Peteeni garden, 1991.

Louisa's Christening, with Roger, self, Louisa and Victoria.

Victoria and Louisa playing in Peteeni garden.

Victoria and Louisa in the snow, Peteeni front garden. 79

Gail, Carole, self, Victoria and Louisa, Peteeni garden.

On holiday with Roger, Louisa and Victoria. 80

Chapter 7 If My Friends Could See Me Now A song from the 1966 Broadway musical, Sweet Charity. With both Victoria and Louisa attending full time school I had a little more time on my hands, although my role as my mother’s carer had intensified. (It was quite common at the time for mothers not to work but this changed dramatically within a decade). I had approached the Head Master of Broadwater Manor School with a suggestion I had for the reception children. This led to being invited to join the school’s Parent and Teacher Association, which I did in the autumn of 1995. (Let this be a lesson to you!) The following year I became chairman of the PTA. As an association we organised all the usual school events, such as summer and Christmas fairs (where I temporarily lost the stock of Father Christmas beards that were required to disguise the teachers). We held quiz nights and race nights, but by far the most memorable of them all were the fashion shows. I was involved in organising and compèring several over the years and they became increasingly ambitious, with many of the teachers, parents and pupils taking part. One particular fashion show caught the imagination of the school, so much so, that lessons were interrupted, whilst teachers (along with other models) attended a local beauty salon for treatments. I answered an advertisement for a voluntary role at Worthing’s St. Barnabas Hospice. They were looking for a co-ordinator to run their twenty-fifth anniversary campaign. I accepted the role, and joined them in the winter of 1996. The aim was to organise monthly events to be held throughout the anniversary year of 1998. 1997 would be spent in the planning, with the support of a small committee. The anniversary year kicked off with a Blessing of the Hospice held in the Chapel of Lancing College. Television news presenter and journalist, Martyn Lewis, gave the address. He was a keen supporter of the hospice movement and had written a book entitled Tears and Smiles. A reception in the College Dining Room was held following the service, where Martyn Lewis was invited to cut the anniversary cake. 81

Lady Sarah Clutton, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk, was President of the South of England Show in Ardingly that year, and named St. Barnabas as her chosen charity for the event. She later donated a plot of land, for a peppercorn rent of one dozen coloured lilies and a new pound coin on her birthday, on which the Sussex children’s hospice, Chestnut Tree House, was built. Other events during the year included a quiz night with fish and chip supper at Lancing College (using salmon instead of cod because it was cheaper), a variety night at a local theatre, and a strawberry cream tea at Wiston House in Steyning. This latter event coincided with the hottest day of the year and, with limited refrigeration, we had strawberry juice running everywhere. (I am pleased to say this was not the case when our daughter, Victoria, married there some eighteen years later, on an equally hot day). After completing the anniversary year with St. Barnabas, I fulfilled an ambition to become a school governor. I was co-opted on to the governing body of Davison High School for Girls, distinctive for the long navy skirts and red hats worn by the pupils and its energetic and visionary Head Teacher, Sheila Wallis (later to become Dame Sheila Wallis for her services in the field of education). Working alongside Sheila was never dull; the Saturday morning Youth University events, the outreach to elderly in the community, and the charity variety nights (compèred by broadcasters Mike Read and Dave Benson Phillips respectively) were just some of our shared endeavours. Shortly before Sheila retired in 2002, she had envisaged a Techno Bus that could be decked out with computers which would take I.T. to rural areas, where children did not have access to computers. As fate decreed, a local business person had heard about her idea, and a double decker bus was duly driven down the school drive for her venture. It arrived on her birthday. That was Dame Sheila! When she retired and having sat on the panel that appointed her successor, I also bowed out of Davison. Family wise, on 30th May 1998 Carole married solicitor, William Naunton, at St. Andrew’s Church in Tarring, and a reception was held in the garden of his parent’s home in Charmandean. 82

Gail, Victoria and Louisa were among the bridesmaids, and looked enchanting in their ivory and copper coloured dresses, although Gail did comment that she thought her dress was brown! As Roger was preparing to give his eldest daughter away my brother-in law, David Oliver, escorted me down the aisle. Roger’s mother was quite poorly but was able to attend the wedding in a wheelchair. She died at our home the following January, having spent the Sunday with our family. It was a peaceful end that befitted a gentle lady. Her funeral was held in St. Peter’s Church in High Salvington, where some of her younger grandchildren sang ‘The Sun Will Come Out, Tomorrow’. She never knew her first great grandchild Emma (Carole and William’s first born) who arrived in February 2002, the same month that Roger retired. My own mother died in October 2002 after a short spell in hospital, but not before she had celebrated her ninetieth birthday at her home in July, in style! She was dressed ‘to the nines’ wearing lots of jewellery, which she loved. Neighbours and family joined her for a celebration lunch, toasted her with champagne, and she was in fine form. Her funeral was held at Corpus Christi Roman Catholic Church in Henfield by family friend, Monsignor Terence Stonehill. He was so well loved and respected that the funeral directors even commented that he should have been the Pope. Gail married Nicholas Clayton on 28th February 2004 at Offington Park Methodist Church. The same church that Roger and I were married in. (Having met in a pub, they shared a mutual interest in all things car related). Once again, David Oliver escorted me down the aisle, commenting that he had done this twice and looked forward to escorting me twice more. Sadly this was not to be, as David died before our younger daughters were married. Gail and Nick’s reception was held in The Barn at Field Place. Gail wore a gown in pastel pink with a matching wrap, whilst Victoria and Louisa, dressed in purple and cerise, were among the bridesmaids. Gail has always liked colour! By this time, both Gail and Carole were expecting babies - Gail her first and Carole her second. Both were due to give birth at the end of June but both babies arrived late. On the 8th July, the day that Roger and I attended a Royal 83

Garden Party at Buckingham Palace, neither baby had made an appearance. (It rained, but the Queen always uses a transparent umbrella, so that people can see her). No mobile phones were allowed inside the palace grounds, and we were excited to switch them on later in the day to find out if we had any new grandchildren. As it transpired, Jasmine was born to Gail on 9th July 2004 in Basingstoke Hospital, and George was born to Carole on 10th July 2004 in Worthing Hospital, some ten hours later. Gail’s second child, Tamara, made her appearance in the world on 23rd November 2007, by which time the family had returned to Worthing to live. Victoria had moved from Broadwater Manor School and was a day pupil at Brighton College. When we first visited Brighton College we were interviewed by the Headmaster, Dr. Anthony Seldon (later Sir Anthony Seldon), in his rather grand study overlooking the courtyard. I instinctively felt this was the school Victoria should attend, but had no idea how we were going to meet the fees, particularly as our youngest daughter would have to be given the same opportunity. As fate would have it, Dr. Seldon’s telephone rang whilst we were with him, and it was the Headmaster of Brighton College Junior School calling. The Junior School Headmaster had previously taught at Broadwater Manor, and had been on the PTA with me. He gave us a shining verbal reference then and there, and I am sure that stood us in good stead. A prolific author on British Prime Ministers, Dr. Seldon had just published a book on 10 Downing Street. He showed Victoria the cover asking if she could recognise the person featured, just from the back of his head. “John Major” she immediately replied. I do not know how she knew, but I was very impressed. Dr. Seldon explained he had one place available in Victoria’s academic year, commencing in September. When I asked how long we had to consider this offer, he told us to take as long as we needed. I was so grateful not to be under pressure to make a quick decision. Fate took another hand in that Roger was offered redundancy from American Express after twenty-six years’ service, following the tragic events of the attack on The World Trade Centre on 9/11. This unexpected opportunity meant we were able to accept Victoria’s place at Brighton College. Louisa was subsequently awarded a 84

scholarship to Brighton College the following year, commencing in the prep school before entering the main college. Initially, Roger would drive a car load of Worthing children to Brighton College every day. (Some of them thought he was a taxi driver by profession.) After his redundancy, he continued to drive the morning run and I would do the afternoon pick up. Whilst parents of the school, we joined Dr. Seldon on an organised trip to the World War I trenches (a sort of school trip for grown-ups). I was in possession of a pair of gold wedding rings, both in a snake design set with diamond eyes, which had once belonged to my great aunt and her husband. He had fallen in the trenches over the winter of 1914/15, and his wedding ring had been returned to his family. I took the opportunity to wear the ring when we visited the place where he fell. I would write poems about the various places we went to and Dr. Seldon would invite me to the front of the coach to recite them, introducing me as Pim (Poet in Motion). I also accompanied him on two of the four legs he made walking the South Downs Way from Eastbourne to Winchester, which I believe is in reverse. The leg from Amberley to Petersfield is the only time I have completed a twenty-six-mile marathon (albeit walking) and I do not suppose passers-by had any idea who our, red-beret-wearing and plastic-bag -carrying, leader was. In the spring of 2007 Auntie Mimi, then aged ninety-seven, announced that she had decided to come and live with us! Roger generously vacated his large, downstairs office to provide a bedroom for her and moved his desk in to the smallest of the upstairs bedrooms. He bought flat screen computers, as space was very limited, and did his best to work in very cramped surroundings. He hired a van and made the two-hundred-mile round trip to collect many of auntâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s belongings. She was duly settled in to the front room, with views overlooking the garden and the valley beyond. All seemed well. She had her radio on at full volume all day, every day, and left a little trail of tissue paper behind her wherever she went. Two weeks after arriving, she announced that she was fighting fit and wanted to go home. Everything was thrown in to reverse and aunt, together with her furniture and possessions, were returned to Kent. Our home returned to â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;normalâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; and Roger got his office back! 85

It was whilst visiting my good friend and Louisaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s godmother, June Trager, in hospital in March 2007 that I bumped in to a past parent of Broadwater Manor School, who told me she was shortly to become the Mayor of Worthing. Recalling my fund raising activities from my PTA days, she asked if I would join her charity fund raising committee. This would be made up from a group of people representing national and local charities, the deputy mayor and other supporters. I became chair of her fund raising year and along with the group, worked with numerous business people and volunteers, raising in excess of ÂŁ40,000 for her chosen charities. Such was our success (and reputation) I went on to co-ordinate the charity fund raising for several more Mayors of Worthing over the next few years. It proved hard work, but it opened many doors. We made lots of money and raised awareness of the charities (particularly important for the smaller, lesser-known charities) and had fun! One of the highlights included being featured in a painting by celebrated artist Rosa Branson to commemorate the centenary of women getting the vote, in which I was painted twice. I lunched with her shortly after she completed the work where, over the table, she told me she recalled painting my nose! (The picture is still on display in Worthing Town Hall). I met Dame Vera Lynn, Valerie Singleton and Jacquie Lawson (creator of charming animated e-cards), visited the Sussex Air Ambulance crew at Dunsfold, and was invited to sit in the helicopter (we were not permitted to take off in case there was a real emergency.) A particularly memorable occasion was driving a RNLI lifeboat from their base in Southwick to Worthing Pier and back, under the watchful eye of the coxswain. We were also invited out on a new RNLI lifeboat, the Enid Collett, and attended its launch at Shoreham Harbour by the Duke of Kent, who received a jolly good soaking as they careered down the ramp. That was the last we saw of him, as it is considered unlucky for members of the royal family to return to the place of the launch. Presumably, he was dropped off somewhere along the coast to dry off. A word about June Trager â&#x20AC;&#x201C; she had suffered a major stroke shortly following her eighty-second birthday, which was to prove fatal. She had come in to our lives during the 1960s when 86

she had advertised for casual tennis partners in a Worthing newspaper. My father had replied to her advertisement and, on calling at her ground-floor flat in Grand Avenue, had been surprised to be greeted by an elderly Japanese gentleman, her father. (He was always knows as John but that was only because his real name was totally unpronounceable. John had worked his passage to the UK as a chef during the early part of the twentieth century, and lived to be over one hundred). June had married a much older man (after rejecting his proposals of marriage on several occasions), and was by this time a widow. She worked for Wartski (a British family firm of antique dealers specialising in Russian works of art, particularly those by Carl Fabergé, fine jewellery and silver) and commuted to London each day, where she would be collected from Victoria Station by car. June had met many members of the British royal family and would regale us with some wonderful ‘inside’ stories. She had been my father’s tennis partner for many years, and on one occasion, having invited him in for a drink, announced that the glass he was drinking out of had belonged to the Tsar of Russia! Following my father’s death, June became my tennis partner and used to say that my footsteps, running along the base line behind her, sounded just the same as my father’s. I find that thought rather comforting! Tennis has played a significant part in my life and opened doors in exciting directions.

With William Tallon 'Backstairs Billy', the Queen Mother's page, Wartski Reception, London 2005. 87

Aboard the St. Barnabas 25th Anniversary Carnival Float, The Titanic, 1998.

On the catwalk Broadwater Manor Millennium Fashion Show, 1998.

Car Rally in support of the Mayor's Charities, 2011.

CompĂ¨ring my first Broadwater Manor School Fashion Show, 1996.

Carole's wedding morning, Victoria, Roger, Carole, Gail, self, Louisa, Peteeni garden.

Carole and William's Wedding Day, 1998. 89

My Mother's 90th birthday, with Louisa and self, 2002.

With Monsignor Terence Stonehill and my old school friend, Elisabeth. We accompanied him on a Pilgrimage to Rome in 2004.

Our 20th Wedding Anniversary Blessing at Corpus Christi Church, Henfield, 2005. 90

Gail's wedding morning, self, Gail, Roger, Peteeni garden.

Gail and Nick with bridesmaids, Rebecca, Victoria, Charlotte, Louisa, Offington Park.

Gail and Nick's Wedding Reception, Field Place, 2004.

Snow Angels, Tamara and Jasmine.

Great aunt Nora and husband Captain Robert Miles, who fell in the trenches 30.12.1914.

June Trager and Louisa at Peteeni.

Painting '100 Years of Women in Public Life' in which I appear twice! 92

With Dame Vera Lynn at The Queen Alexandra Hospital Home.

With Blue Peter presenter, Valerie Singleton.

With Jacquie Lawson in Lurgashall.

Roger and self at Mayor's Ball, Worthing Golf Club. 93

With Roger aboard the RNLI boat, Enid Collett.

On board RNLI lifeboat, 2010. 94

With the Mayor and crew of the Sussex Air Ambulance, in Dunsfold.

With Roger at the Sussex Air Ambulance base.

Cheque presentation to the Sussex Air Ambulance. 95

Cheque Presentation to the Mayorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Charities St. Barnabas House, Queen Alexandra Hospital Home, Christians Against Poverty and Street Pastors, with the Mayor and Mayoress, Cllr. and Mrs. Noel Atkins, and charity representatives.

Mayor Making Day with Cllr. Ann Sayers, Mayorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Parlour, Worthing Town Hall, 2010. 96

Chapter 8 Everything Stops for Tea A song featured in the 1935 musical, Come Out of The Pantry. Tennis has been more than a game – it has been a game of life. Much of where I am today, and the people I have met, have come through tennis. My first introduction to the game came from my father, a keen tennis player and a member of the West Worthing Tennis Club when it was based at its original site in Downview Road. Club tennis in those days was very formal. Only whites were to be worn, and there was the strictest of etiquette. My earliest ball skills, at about seven years old, involved hitting a tennis ball against the garage wall with my father’s old squash racquet. I was occasionally allowed to accompany him to the club but only if I kept out of the way of the players. Without any formal coaching, I was invited to join in with the game some years later. My father played weekly on the public tennis courts at Church House, Tarring, along with June Trager and freelance writer and BBC reporter, Frank Hennig, and his wife. Frank was well known for his weekly radio interviews with Fred Streeter, head gardener at Petworth House and had written his biography ‘Cheerio Frank Cheerio Everybody’. A copy of which he had given to my parents, inscribed with the line ‘Thanks for keeping me fit enough – with all that tennis – to pen these immortal words!’ Another group of players regularly used the adjacent court, and in time became friends. Initially set up in the early 1950s by a small group of ladies who had been at school together, it had evolved in to a thriving group of female players known as ‘The Morning Tennis Club’. The founder member, Minnah Marsh (but known to all as Minnie) continued to play until she was almost ninety when, in failing health, she invited me round to coffee and told me that I was going to have to take over the running of the group from then on. It was not up for discussion! Many ladies have come and gone over the past sixty-five years and, as their husbands retired, they also joined the group. They 97

played by ‘Tarring rules’, which meant that they changed ends every four games instead of after every other game. With advancing years, some of the members had difficulty in reaching the ball after one bounce, and even suggested a double bounce club! Anything to keep playing! As I have mentioned, tennis opened many doors and a huge door opened for me when fellow Tarring tennis player, Barbara Jenkins, invited me to play on her private lawn tennis court at Ferring. Barbara and her husband, Stanley, (a retired diplomat) had met at the Golf Club in Kuala Lumpur, where Stanley had been asked if he would like a partner for the mixed doubles. He said he would and described the moment that Barbara was brought forward from behind a palm tree! They went on to win many matches together and were married in 1957. Stanley had been the President of the National Union of Students from 1949-1951 and been referred to by Stalin’s right-hand man as an ‘arch-fascist imperial beast’, which he later believed led him to being put forward and subsequently joining the Foreign Office. His ambition had always been to own a lawn tennis court and he achieved this when he purchased Willow Cottage in Beehive Lane, Ferring, and bought the property next door on which to site his court. The court was his pride and joy, immaculately tended each day, and their tennis parties were legendary. A group of invited players would meet on weekend afternoons, from April to October, at two-thirty on the dot. Play would break for a sumptuous tea of cucumber sandwiches, homemade scones and cakes, served on blue and white willowpatterned plates around the swimming pool at four o’clock, and then it would be back on court for further play in to the early evening. On very hot days Barbara would provide jugs of iced drinks for the players, and frozen face flannels, which she handed out with a pair of kitchen tongs! The majority of players were locals, but broadcaster Mike Read was a family friend and joined us for tennis most weekends. I became particularly friendly with his then girlfriend, interior designer Eileen Johnston, and accompanied her to Cape Town when she visited her daughter in 2005. Eileen had many friends in Cape Town, and we were welcomed in to people’s homes to dinner. Especially memorable was the evening we were invited 98

to share a meal and prayers in the home of a Jewish family, as this was a new experience for me. We met friends in smart restaurants, watched the sun set over Camps Bay, visited penguins at Boulders Beach, ascended Table Mountain and visited a wine estate. On our return flight home Eileen had tried to get us an upgrade and, although declined, we were invited to use the V.I.P lounge. On leaving the lounge to board the aircraft, we were told we had been upgraded to first class after all (we were looking rather glamorous!) I had never experienced such in-flight luxury; champagne in crystal glasses, a printed dinner menu, and food served on beautiful crockery. I was even given some comfortable pyjamas to change in to, and offered a massage or manicure of my choice. During the evening, the stewardess asked if it would be convenient to put me to bed and I have to say I had never received, or have since received, such a request from a woman! Mike and Eileen were regular weekend guests at our home, and spent Christmas with us one year. Although, in true celebrity fashion, they were not the best of time keepers and my Christmas dinner was almost ruined. I would also help Eileen dress the homes that she had designed, and often accompanied her to high-flying clientsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; properties in the London area. The opulence was an eye-opener. Staying with Eileen was always fun. Her own flat was like a show home, and I frequently returned with some soft furnishings or an item of gorgeous clothing that she had discarded. One contract involved us working on an apartment in Liverpool during September 2006, to which we had travelled first-class by Virgin train. We had booked in to an hotel for a couple of nights and went to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at the Liverpool Empire Theatre, starring Alivin Stardust as the child catcher. Mike Read joined us during the interval and following the show we all went backstage to see Alvin, who was a friend of Mikeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. The four of us jumped in to a cab after the show, and went out for a late meal at an Argentine steak house. We had such a good evening, and Alvin seemed delighted to have the company of friends. He was back at our hotel by morning and joined us for breakfast, entertaining us mercilessly with his account of sharing the bill with the rock singer, Suzi Quatro. 99

Mike’s contacts read like a list of celebrity who’s who, and we accompanied Mike and Eileen to many society events: A Summer Ball hosted by Anthea Turner and Grant Bovey in the grounds of their home, attended by Bobby Davro, Russ Lindsay, and Dale Winton, and where I was introduced to many of the radio broadcasters I had listened to throughout my teenage years, (singer Chico took a shine to my beaded ball gown); a behind the scenes visit to the pro-celebrity tennis in Birmingham, where we met many of the top British players; and a celebrity tennis day at Mike’s club, in which we both played. On a beautiful summer’s evening, I attended a star-studded charity evening hosted by Sir Cliff Richard at St. James Palace, supported by many of the big names from the world of show business, all of whom seemed to know each other. Along with Earl Spencer (brother of Princess Diana), guests included Jimmy Tarbuck, Cilla Black, Elaine Paige, Stephanie Beacham, Jasper Carrott, Cherie Blair (whose husband, Tony Blair, was Prime Minister at the time), and Cliff’s good friend Father John McElynn. Television chef, Ainsley Harriott, greeted me like a long-lost friend, and swept me off my feet with a big hug. (Apologies for name dropping but it sets the scene!) Bill Latham, Cliff’s manager of thirty years, looked after me during the evening, and I was grateful for his attentive company amongst the throng. Mike and Eileen had been staying with us shortly after the devastating Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami, which had occurred on Boxing Day 2004. In an effort to raise funds for the appeal, Mike released a song he had written, ‘Grief Never Grows Old’, which reached the number four position in the UK singles chart. Walking round our garden, he phoned one celebrity after another, requesting they sing on the track. Once he had secured one big name, he knew he could secure another. Performers were only too happy to give their time, and singers included Boy George, Barry and Robin Gibb, Cliff Richard, Russell Watson and Steve Windwood, and musicians Rick Wakeman and Bill Wyman. My own humble offering for the tsunami appeal, was a charity night at a local bookshop. I invited poets to read their chosen works, and guests made generous donations. I called the event ‘Rhymes for Dimes’. 100

Dr. Seldon’s wife, Dr. Joanna Seldon (an excellent poet in her own right) brought a group of English scholars from Brighton College. Child actress Dani Harmer, from television’s The Tracey Beaker Show, also gave a reading on the evening. I had invited her as she was starring in The Jungle Book, across the road at the Pavilion Theatre at the time! Much more light-hearted news was the robot dance performed by footballer, Peter Crouch, which was all over the national press. Mike and Eileen were again staying with us for the weekend, and we all descended on Worthing’s Montague Street, asking passers-by if they would like to replicate the footballer’s ‘wiggle’. Our son-in-law took video film of all those willing to take part and we had some wonderful footage, including two nuns who really got into the spirit of things. Mike spent the Sunday writing a song to accompany it, and we went to a studio in Bognor to record it. As was usual on these occasions, it was Roger who did much of the editing, and he was working on the DVD until midnight. Mike left our home with his own copy, and Roger delivered a further copy to London the following day, just in time for it to go out on the network. Weekends were never dull! Through Eileen we were introduced to Sheila Sawyers. She was visiting the U.K. from Durban in August 2007 and turned up at Willow Cottage one sunny afternoon, wearing a gorgeous picture hat. She was so enchanted by the lawn tennis and the colonial style afternoon tea, that she returned the following weekend. On this occasion she stayed at our home. We were subsequently invited to visit her in Durban. Meeting us at Durban airport the following January, she drove us to her home on the beach. Whereupon she introduced us to her maid with the words, “This is boss Roger and boss Sharon” and promptly disappeared for a week, leaving us her home, her Rhodesian Ridgeback and the keys to her car! Barbara Jenkins’ late father had been a member of the prestigious Queen’s Club, and she was able to obtain tickets for the annual championship. Barbara and Stanley went every year and when they heard we had never been, insisted on taking us as their guests. We were subsequently invited to join them every 101

year, and saw many of the top men’s players on our numerous visits. Sadly, Barbara died the year following her eightieth birthday. She had attended the wedding of our daughter and son-in-law, Gail and Nick, at the end of February and died suddenly a month later. Stanley bravely continued with the weekend tennis, often extending the entertaining with barbecues or dinner parties. He was an early riser but preferred not to retire too late. Hosting a dinner party one New Year’s Eve, he decided to put the clocks forward two hours so we could all celebrate the new year at ten o’clock and be home in bed before midnight! On one occasion, following an afternoon’s tennis, he told me he would give his right arm to tour the hallowed grounds of the All England Club at Wimbledon. I went home and contacted the Head Groundsman, Eddie Seaward, and asked if he could make Stanley’s dream come true! He readily offered a tour and, the week before the Championships were due to start, Stanley, Roger and I drove in to the Wimbledon grounds like V.I.P.’s and were given a private tour by Eddie. We were even permitted to walk on to number one court - my one and only time! Eddie treated us to a delicious lunch in one of the restaurants, before leaving us to our own devices to wander round The Club as we chose. It was quite an experience to have The All England Club to ourselves. In 2006, Stanley was asked to host some junior players, who wanted to practise on his grass court before going on to play at Wimbledon. It was a joy to watch the boys in action over several consecutive days, and they also did a good job of finishing up our leftover cakes! One of the boys, Kellen Damico, went on to win the boys’ doubles championship at the All England Club that year. The boys also left their mark on Stanley’s tennis court. Watching them play, Stanley realised that good players needed much more room behind the base line, and his tennis court was edged by hedges and borders all around. Being a man of action, he set about removing a thick hedge the width of his tennis court and a greenhouse behind it and moved his entire tennis court up his garden by about twelve feet (approximately four metres). He did this in a matter of weeks. He was eighty-five at the time! 102

In later years, Stanley wanted to visit Virginia in the U.S.A., where he and Barbara had enjoyed family holidays. Then too old to travel abroad on his own, or drive whilst there, Roger and I were invited to accompany him for a fortnight’s holiday. In July 2008 we flew to Washington Dulles International Airport, where we were met by the longest queue to go through customs that I have even seen. Roger acted as chauffeur and drove well in excess of one thousand miles during the time we were there, and I acted as companion and cook. Each evening we would plan our adventure for the following day. Stanley was not one to let the grass grow under his feet. At the time, he enjoyed collecting unusual objects for a ‘guess the object’ game, and he loved to scour through antique shops for the most unusual items he could find. The game provided a lot of laughs for people who took part over the years but, much to their dismay, Stanley would never divulge what the items were in case they played his game again! During Stanley’s latter years I went with him to a few National Union of Students events, as by this time he needed support to travel to London. In 2012, I accompanied him to the NUS 90th Anniversary, attended by other past NUS Presidents, including MP’s Jack Straw and Charles Clarke. Stanley was quite frail by this time, and it was a struggle getting him out of Victoria Station to a waiting taxi, but the journey was much improved by Roger, ever dependable, meeting our return train and taking Stanley home. It was through Stanley’s family that we were introduced to Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, and we were invited to delightful lunch parties at her Sussex home on several occasions. Kiri would often prepare the food herself, perhaps with the help of some visiting young opera singers from New Zealand. She delighted in taking us around her grounds and showing us the latest flood-lit wall or vegetable beds that had been built. Often her parties would be themed, and on one occasion we were asked to dress as pirates. She had invented a magical experience for the children present. They had to find hidden treasure from clues read out from old scrolls (parchment stained with tea bags). These would eventually lead them to the treasure deep in the blue lagoon (the swimming pool). We could find 103

ourselves talking to a landscape gardener or a famous impresario, but the parties were always imaginative and great fun. Stanley died in 2016, having sold his beloved cottage and tennis court the previous year. I was invited to share some tennis memories at his funeral, and Dame Kiri sang. I was very relieved that I came first in the Order of Service, as following Kiri would have been a tough call. So much friendship and adventure came from the game of tennis. All of which had started by hitting an old ball with a squash racquet against a garage wall.

With Dame Kiri Te Kanawa.

Roger and self dressed as pirates for Dame Kiri Te Kanawa's party. 104

Morning Tennis Club, standing fifth from right.

Louisa, Jasmine and George in Stanley's garden.

Carole, Louisa, self, Nick, Gail and Jasmine in Stanley's garden. 105

Afternoon tea with Stanley and friends at Willow Cottage.

Ladies doubles on Stanley's court, Pam, self, Sheila and Liz.

106

Table Mountain.

Boulders Beach.

With Eileen Johnston in Cape Town, 2005.

Christmas at home with Roger, Eileen Johnston, Mike Read and self. 107

'Rhymes for Dimes' with Dani Harmer and Louisa.

On No. 1 Court at The All England Club, Wimbledon, with Eddie Seaward, Head Groundsman and Stanley. 108

With Earl Spencer and his wife, Cliff Richard, Eileen Johnston and Mike Read.

Tom Chamberlain with Stanley and his 'Guess the Object game', Willow Cottage. 109

With Liz and Don on Stanley's tennis court, being interviewed for Radio 5 Live.

With Greg Rusedski at West Worthing Club. 110

Chapter 9 Paperback Writer This was a song recorded by the English rock band, The Beatles, in 1966. When the new millennium commenced I returned to writing. I had enjoyed creative writing in my college days, but this activity had been ‘on hold’ for some three decades. With a frail mother to look after, and our children becoming more independent, life could be challenging. (Time to get your tissues ready!) Poems flowed from me, and I found solace in committing my thoughts to paper. Days after my mother died in hospital I wrote a poem in her memory, entitled ‘From Me to You’. I subsequently read this at her funeral. Mourners were very taken with the words and asked where I had found such a poem. I admitted that I had written it myself, and they had said how beautiful the poem was. This led to my writing poems in memory of others, frequently attending funerals to read them at a family’s request. Here is the poem, ‘From Me to You’: Surrounded here by those you love As you look down from Heaven above, Your earthly body left behind No more to toil among mankind, There are some words I need to say Before you travel on this day. My thoughts return to years gone by When I was only just knee high. You’d plait my hair and dry my tears, And help through adolescent years. For all the life that we did share, I thank you now for all your care. 111

As time goes by I won’t forget, You touched the lives of those you met. You’ve had your share of laughs and tears, And coped with life’s advancing years, And ‘though it seems that you are gone Through us, your family, you live on. Perhaps today is not so bad, You told me not to feel too sad. Your spirit longed to be at rest, And Mothers always do know best. Released now from your worldly pain Fly free, My Angel, live again. In addition to memorial poems, I was asked to write poems for all manner of occasions; birthdays and anniversaries, weddings, charities, and even father-of-the bride speeches in verse. One of my poems written in memory of Gloria Hunniford’s daughter, Caron Keating, who died in 2004 following a long illness, was featured in Gloria’s book ‘Always with You’. At the time I was known as the ‘Verse Nurse’ and would give talks to social groups, as well as being interviewed on Worthing’s Splash Radio. My first book, ‘Living Poetry – Poems for Human Needs’ was published in 2005, with an enormous amount of technical input from Roger. Mike Read, an author and poet himself, wrote the following endorsement for the book - “Many have been touched or sought solace in Sharon’s verse and after all, that is the very essence of a poet’s desire”. I didn’t pay him to write that, although I may have cooked him a good dinner! My second book, ‘Come Alive with The Healing Poet’ followed in 2006, with even greater input from Roger. This publication carried an ISBN number, and reached all continents (in small quantities) as well as the British Library! Nick Williams, author of ‘The Work We Were Born to Do’, wrote a generous and heartfelt foreword for the book. Mike Read gave another glowing endorsement (clearly wanting to come back for more dinner). So much so, that my ‘Thought for the Day’ was 112

featured on his radio show, on weekday mornings for two years. This took a lot of research to maintain on a daily basis, but I am certain that some of that positivity has rubbed off on me, as well as reaching others. Around that time, Mike had appeared on the popular reality television programme ‘I’m A Celebrity - Get Me Out of Here’, where celebrities were transported to a jungle in New South Wales in Australia, and deprived of all comforts. Following his return to the U.K., we were attending the house warming party of some mutual friends, when the caterers passed round some canapés. “What’s that?” he had asked, pointing to an unidentifiable nibble. “Crocodile”, the caterer had replied. At which point, Mike popped the little morsel in to his mouth, saying he would ‘get his own back’! In 2007 I became a newspaper correspondent, fulfilling an ambition I had subconsciously held since my days working at the Worthing Gazette and Herald in the 1970s. My weekly ‘Woman About Town’ column, which appeared in the West Sussex Gazette, took a humorous look at the ups and downs of modern town life. It ran for two years, exactly one hundred and four columns, before the newspaper was taken over. The column introduced our immediate family members; my husband, Mr. Technology, and our four daughters, Organic Mummy, Mad Trucker Woman, Miss Vogue, and Miss Songbird. Together with a sprinkling of celebrity and local friends, they were set against a backcloth of everyday life, and woven in to a glorious hotchpotch of events, not necessarily in chronological order! Our daughter, Louisa, signed me up to join her in a ‘Race for Life’ event in aid of Cancer Research UK. Such was the support for the charity, our local event was already fully booked, so we did the run in Stanmer Park in Brighton in the summer of 2008. To be accurate, we set off from different starting points, Louisa with the faster runners and me with the slow coaches. That suited me well, as I was able to take my time and speak to people as we ‘ran’ the course. It was supposed to be an event exclusively for female participants but there were certainly a few men dressed in pink tutus and other interesting costumes. I was wearing the name of a lady friend on my back, who had 113

recently died from cancer. As I came through the clearing, with the finishing line in sight, the lady’s husband was there to cheer me on. That was a very moving moment. Louisa and Roger were at the finishing line to greet me. A special day and I have the medal and photograph to prove it! Opportunities and invitations to interesting events ensured that there was always something to write about. In September 2008 I was invited to attend the annual Revival Golf Challenge at Goodwood, hosted by Lord March. We were requested to arrive in formal period costume. Guests included broadcaster, Chris Evans (who arrived late but a suitable costume was found for him), Len Goodman from Strictly Come Dancing, and journalist Chris Hollins, as well as celebrities from the world of theatre and sport – and me! I recall being driven over the famous James Braid course in a golf buggy, very helpful at the time as it was difficult to walk attired in the long flowing skirts of the bygone era. Chairing the Mayor of Worthing’s charity fund raising committee for the next few years led to contributing diary pages, event write-ups, and feature articles for local magazines. I have kept all the cuttings, from around the turn of the century to the present day, in a series of albums. They have built in to quite a collection. It is very orderly and it makes me happy! Event organisation and moving house in 2012 kept creative writing on a back burner during that time, but just over a year after we had settled in to our new home I connected with local publication ‘All About Ferring’. By January 2014 I was contributing the church news from St. Andrew’s Church, Ferring to this monthly magazine, and was becoming very involved with village life. It occurred to me that my weekly ‘Woman About Town’ column might fit with this Ferring publication, albeit with some tweaks, and ‘Woman About Ferring’ found its way in to print by the summer of 2015. In the first feature I drew attention to my photograph accompanying the article, as being the same photograph that appeared in the West Sussex Gazette almost a decade earlier. An old show biz trick ensuring that, at least in print, age was not catching up with me! All the family returned 114

to the column, together with additional characters collected along the way. The feature included local people and places, focused on happy news, and had the antics of family members weaving in and out. Life, of course, had moved on, and by this time we had four grandchildren, known collectively in print as ‘The Twiglets’. This really seemed to capture the imagination of village folk, and it was quite usual to receive a telephone call from someone asking for Mr. Technology, or to be stopped outside the Co-Op by a villager enquiring after The Twiglets! Local residents and friends also dropped in to the pages from time to time, such as Mr. Tartan, Mrs. Blueberry, Miss Pointy Toes and The Rev. They sound a bit like characters from the game of Cluedo, and no one was spared! I was delighted that people were enjoying the article, and when I once told a gentleman that it was good to know he was reading it, he replied, “Isn’t everyone?” I also found the ‘power of the press’ helpful when I was attempting to collect items for an event. Endeavouring to source a large number of jars in which to place tealights, I merely had to mention in my article that I had been given the job of finding some, when a large quantity would arrive on our doorstep. It reminded me of the time cookery writer, Delia Smith, had broadcast a television programme showing how to produce a rounded blob of melon, and the following day all the shops ran out of melon ballers. In addition to features for publication, I am an avid writer of ‘mummy notes’, leaving little messages or cards for our daughters to discover following a visit, or surreptitiously hiding them in a sandwich or pocket to be found later. Sometimes they may be attached to a bar of chocolate, a packet of favourite biscuits or some cleansing wipes. I then wait expectantly to hear that the note has been found. This may be prompt, or I may be kept waiting. Miss Songbird particularly likes to keep me in suspense. If my excitement becomes too great, I may have to ask if she has found it. She then might reply that her sandwich was a bit ‘chewy’, or ask ‘what note?’ It is all part of the game, and the game is called love. I like sandwiches made with that added ingredient! 115

On completion of this book, I want to commence work on Mr. Technology’s biography. No doubt extracting his story by a series of interviews over our morning coffee. It already has the title ‘Keeping Track’ and chapters will be substituted by platforms! I also plan to write a book, entitled ‘Fifty-two Angels’, where I get to spend one-to-one time with people. Think ‘ladies who lunch’! The idea came to me when I bought an Advent Calendar and recalled how, during my school days, each pupil was allowed to take it in turn to open an Advent window. I set about inviting twenty-five people to open a window a day. Not pre-planned, just whoever turned up. ‘Lucky openers’ included a visiting television engineer, two Sea Scouts delivering Christmas cards, and our postman, who so enjoyed his chocolate angel he went off singing. This small connection helped me to see the person, rather than what the person did, and made me think about interviewing fifty-two people, approximately one person a week over a year, to discover their story. When I penned my first column some ten years earlier, a friend had commented that it was all very well to write four or five articles but wondered whatever I would write about after that. Some two hundred columns later, people are still amazed that I find so much to write about, but then I am fortunate to have a very full and interesting life (and long may it continue). I seem to attract exciting and unusual opportunities, and nearly always walk through doors, rather than close them. Or another way to put it; I find it very easy to get involved in things. Having always identified with the thought, ‘almost everything in life is easier to get in to than out of’! I still have not run out of words.

Giving a poetry recital in Neuendeich, Germany, 2006. 116

With Louisa, Race 4 Life warm up.

With Louisa on the Race 4 Life Finish Line, 2008. 117

'Miss Pointy Toes' with her husband at The Vicarage Tea Party, Ferring.

Lord March and celebrities at Goodwood Golf Revival, 2008. 118

Chapter 10 When the Children Are Asleep We Sit and Dream A song from the 1945 musical, Carousel. By 2010 Carole and Gail were both married, with homes and families of their own. Victoria was living in Durban, only returning to visit, and Louisa was at Reading University, and home during her holidays and on occasional weekends. Our house on the hill had served us lovingly for twenty-seven years. It had seen babies come in to the world, christenings and funerals, school and university days, business meetings and childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s parties, engagements and weddings, new jobs and redundancies, laughter and tears. (More laughter it has to be said). We had come together as a ready-made family of four, and now Roger and I found ourselves living on our own for the first time. It was a big house for two, and it was beginning to feel a bit like a warehouse. The children may have left home but many of their belongings collected over the years, such as old clothes, childhood paintings, books and photographs, had not. We were rattling around in a huge house, that was expensive to heat and maintain. We would frequently get snowed in during the winter months, which resulted in Roger having to clear a path down our long drive. A back-breaking exercise for him, whilst I put the kettle on! With all four girls away from home for Christmas in 2010 (Carole and Gail were with their respective in-laws, and Louisa was spending Christmas with Victoria in Durban), we spent some of the festive holiday clearing the loft in readiness for a potential move. We first put the property on the market at the beginning of 2011, but had second thoughts and decided to stay for another summer. The property returned to the market in the autumn and, this time, we made some cosmetic improvements, and a big effort to dress the property to sell. Before viewings, I would ensure the house was beautifully cleaned, new carpets hoovered, dining areas and bathrooms 119

displayed like a show home, and plenty of fresh flowers arranged in the reception areas. One potential buyer who arrived on our doorstep turned out to be an old school friend of mine. She explained that her husband worked in Dubai, and that he was coming over to the U.K. the following week to view a short list of prospective properties she was to draw up. I showed her around, and she said she would like to view again with her husband. Also suggesting we might meet too for a social catch up before then. I immediately invited her over to tea that weekend. Needless to say, I went through the cleaning, hoovering, displaying, and fresh flowers routine before she arrived, and had prepared a delicious homemade cake to accompany the tea. On the afternoon in question, we spent several hours talking about our school days and, just as she was leaving (replete with cake), she announced that she had drawn up a short list of just two properties for her husband to view, and one of them was ours! Half an hour before their appointment to view our property, she phoned to say that they had already completed the first viewing, which her husband had not liked. Things were looking promising – we were now on a short list of one! They walked around our house and garden and asked lots of questions. Clearly what they loved about the garden (which I had attempted to show off, with the patio table and summer house set with a beautiful dinner service and tea service respectively), was the overgrown area to the front of the property which attracted wild life. Similarly, the new lounge carpet (which, in plain cream, was supposed to offer a potential buyer a blank canvas) which would eventually be pulled up and replaced with wooden flooring, heavily patterned rugs and furniture. Nevertheless, the property ticked their boxes. The next day, we received a call from the estate agent with the buyer’s offer which, with a little negotiation, we accepted. They were people of their word and we had a gentleman’s agreement. By coincidence, the offer arrived on Louisa’s twenty-first birthday, 21st May 2012, and it seemed as though the house had seen us through all the stages of raising our family, right up to and including the day our youngest child (in traditional terms) had come of age. Our home was saying ‘job done’! 120

We then set about finding our new home. We had spent several months driving around areas we thought might be suitable, and had even viewed some properties before we were in a position to buy. I spotted a pretty looking chalet bungalow on the Internet for sale in Ferring. From the description, it sounded like it was out in the sticks (although this certainly was not the case). Fortunately, our daughter Gail who was with us at the time, knew the area and confirmed that it was really nice. Early the following morning, I phoned the estate agent with a request to view. He was prepared for us to see it before midday, but said that other people were interested, and it would almost certainly be sold by lunch time. The current owners were in their rear garden when we arrived to view. The lady appeared through a side gate and, from underneath her straw hat, I recognised her as our old dental receptionist. (Strange how we had past connections with both the family we sold to, as well as the people we bought from). As soon as we walked in the front door we knew the property was right for us. We had not thought we would find anywhere that met all our requirements, but this certainly seemed to. Downstairs, there was a cosy lounge, a well laid out kitchen with separate utility room, a dining room that would seat a family gathering, and a delightful conservatory that looked out over the rear garden. A large entrance hall would double as an office, and this led towards the main bedroom and shower room. Upstairs were two further bedrooms, and a bathroom, and all in immaculate decorative order. The property was situated in a Close, and within walking distance of the sea. There was a small, easy to maintain garden, with an olive tree at the front and a good sized and beautifully landscaped garden at the rear. An ornamental gate led on to an open playing field behind. Although on the flat, there were views up towards High Salvington, where we had previously lived - it was perfect. The owners, who were expert gardeners, had said that the previous viewers were not keen on gardening, and hoped that we were. Clearly, we were going to have to play our green-fingered cards carefully! We arrived at the estate agents just ten minutes after the viewing. We made the offer and it was accepted. It was the 14th June 121

2012, but we were going to have to play a waiting game if we wanted the sale to go through. We did not know at the time that the sellers had withdrawn their property for sale from previous buyers, and even at the eleventh hour, after we had exchanged contracts, they had tried to stop the sale going ahead. Our own buyers were anxious to set a date and, not wanting to jeopardise our own sale, we agreed to move out by the beginning of September. Our sellers, however, were not prepared to move that quickly, so we decided to go in to temporary accommodation in the interim, in the hope of keeping everyone happy, and securing the property we had set our hearts on. Fate once again played a hand, whilst Roger was visiting one of his customers during the summer, to attend to his computer. I seldom accompanied Roger on these visits, but happened to be with him on that particularly afternoon. Whilst there, the husband told me that they were off to France for a few months, and said they would be delighted if we would house sit whilst they were away. They had experienced some security issues when leaving their property empty in the past, and this arrangement could suit us both. By the time Roger had finished working on the computer, the deal was done. It could not have worked out better. Victoria had returned home for a holiday at the beginning of August, and we had hoped that she would still be in the UK when we moved to our new home. As it transpired, she never went back to Durban. The night before we moved, we celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday at the Imperial Chinese Restaurant in Worthing (which proved very convenient as everything was packed up by this time). The following day, we moved to our temporary accommodation in Lavington Road, near Broadwater. It was a bit of a squash. We did not like to use the ownerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s master bedroom, so made do with the two smaller bedrooms between the four of us, with a limited amount of clothes on rails and in suitcases to see us through the couple of months we were to be there. Roger used their dining room as his office (business had to continue and he did not want to put the computers in storage). Meals were taken on the small breakfast table in the kitchen or on trays in the lounge. It was cosy but served us well. 122

We had not lived in that area since before we were married, and took the opportunity to walk to a few old haunts, pubs and restaurants. One of the best things to come out of our time there, was to go back to Offington Park Methodist Church, where we had married, and which was situated at the end of the road. I was even able to visit Eileen Flitt, by then quite frail, and thank her for her kindness towards me when I had been on my own many years earlier. Apart from our big furniture items that went to a storage company, everything else was packed in boxes and stored in friendsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; houses and garages around Worthing. We were particularly grateful to our dear friend, Maurice Howard, who helped us so much with our double move, and stored lots of our possessions in a substantial property he was looking after for an elderly man who was living abroad. Of course, the owner had no idea we had taken over his home! After two months in our temporary lodgings, by which time Victoria and Louisa were living in London, we moved to our new home in Ferring. Removal vans were organised, and everything was gathered out of storage from around the neighbourhood. It was the 29th October 2012. Even then, the outgoing couple did not seem in a hurry to leave, and we feel sure we only gained access during the afternoon because the clocks had gone back that weekend, and they had omitted to adjust them. It felt like heaven when we finally occupied our new home. The previous owners had been obsessed with cleaning, so had left everything spotless. My first job was to make up the bed, so that we could collapse into it when we had tired of unpacking for the day. Local friends arrived with a ready cooked supper and a bottle of bubbly for the four of us to enjoy on our first evening, and several of our new neighbours looked in to introduce themselves over the next few days. Christmas was fast approaching, and perhaps moving home (twice) in the run up, and entertaining our ever-growing family over the festive holiday was a bit much, and I confess to having a mini melt down at some point. Fortunately, Victoria recognised the signs and ran me a hot bubble bath, filled the 123

bathroom with scented candles, and made soothing noises in my direction, until I returned to â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;normalâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. As far as I can tell, all has been well since!

Victoria and Louisa in South Africa, Christmas 2010.

Our home in Ferring. 124

Chapter 11 Getting to Know You A show tune from the 1951 musical, The King and I. Whilst searching for our new home we had been taking note of local amenities, and access to public transport and shops. I had also been looking out for churches, as I was keen to join a church within walking distance. Shortly after making the offer on our home to be, I found the twelfth century church of St. Andrew’s in the heart of Ferring village. I had attended Barbara Jenkins’ funeral there, some eight years earlier. A flower festival was to take place in the church during the summer, and I went along and received a very warm welcome. In November, a short time after moving in to the village, we attended a Sunday morning service at St. Andrew’s. The vicar, Revd. Gary Ingram, asked us how we had found the service, and wanted to know if it was too high or too low for our taste. He described the church as being similar to a biscuit barrel. Some liking custard creams, others chocolate bourbons, but all coming together to make the whole. I still have not decided what type of biscuit I am, but the church suited me very well. We also went to their Christmas Fair held in the Church Centre that month, and found everyone very friendly. By the New Year I was attending church regularly, and feeling very much ‘at home’. Church services have never appealed to Roger, but he enjoyed coming with me to the various social activities. A well-organised committee arranged a variety of themed events; from Valentine suppers, Harvest lunches, murder mystery evenings, quiz nights, to the annual Vicarage garden party. Roger contributed to a promise auction evening, by offering computer support as one of the ‘lots’, and word quickly spread that he was the person to go to for I.T. support. We had set up Worthing Silver Surfers in 2011, having identified the need for retired people to receive one-to-one tuition in their own homes, either on their own laptop or PC, and at a time to suit them. This proved very successful, so the launch of Ferring Silver Surfers in 2013 was a natural progression. A short write 125

up in the ‘All About Ferring’ magazine was enough to generate interest, and unveil a niche market. Supported by a small monthly advertisement in the ‘Parish Magazine’, the venture steadily grew, predominantly by word of mouth. Many of the customers came from the church fellowship, others were neighbours. They all seemed so delighted with the support they received, they told their friends. My role was to make appointments, keep the diary and bring in customers! Within a couple of years, Roger was supporting several local organisations; Ferring Probus, the Flower Club, the Conservation Group, and The History Society, and he also became webmaster for St. Andrew’s Church. Roger loved immersing himself in village life and found his customers very friendly. Furthermore, he could walk to most of them (unless he had a computer to bring back to the house for repair). Many of the customers became friends. He would go out of his way, not just to solve their I.T. problems, but to drive them to church or hospital, tune their televisions, deal with BT telephone engineers, purchase laptops, printers and even microwaves on their behalf, and even endeavoured to mend a few broken hearts along the way. On Remembrance Sunday 2017, Roger laid a wreath at the Village War Memorial for the first time, on behalf of Ferring Silver Surfers. We were the forty-first organisation to be involved, and probably the last for a while, as space did not allow for many more participants. Ferring’s Remembrance Service is one of the most well supported along the south coast, and the occasion was both humbling and a privilege to be part of. Another regular customer was Revd. Colin Chambers, who had been Chaplain to President Nelson Mandela when he had been incarcerated on Robben Island. Colin gave talks on his experiences and would arrive at our home early in the morning, where Roger would help him with the technical side of his presentations, whilst I made him tea and slices of toast spread with local honey. On one visit, Colin recounted a trip to South Africa where he had officiated at the wedding of his niece. The wedding took place on a beach and, when Colin remembered that it is a requirement that there must be a roof over their heads 126

and a door open in order to make it legally binding, they quickly had to move inside to finish the ceremony! Meanwhile, I was becoming more involved with St. Andrew’s Church. (We had to get our customers from somewhere!) In 2013 I became a side person. A side person’s main job is to meet, greet, and smile at people, so good type casting as far as I could make out and, as already mentioned, I was writing up the church news for ‘All About Ferring’. I also joined the ladies’ Pathway Group, hosted their Christmas socials, took on the role of organising lifts to church, and became a member of the Parish Magazine Committee. This latter role did not involve me in much more than turning up at the Vicarage once a year to thank the kindly magazine distributors over coffee and cakes. (Clearly being a member of the Church of England involved lots of cake consumption, regardless of what type of biscuit you were). In April 2015 I stood for election to the PCC (The Parochial Church Council) at St. Andrew’s Church Annual General Meeting, and was duly elected for a three-year term. By this point, I was spending more time in church than I had previously spent in public houses some decades earlier, and hoped this would prove of greater benefit in both the short and long term! My first year on the PCC was fairly uneventful, as I was more of a back bencher than a member of the cabinet, but I hope I used the time wisely to listen and learn. I continued with the roles already mentioned, and also organised occasional lunches and teas in the Church Centre, aimed at folk living alone, and I was supported by a fantastic team of people. Frequently I found myself called upon to help front of house at other church social events, such as catering following a special service, wedding anniversary, or funeral. Some people naturally prefer to be front of house, whilst others prefer working quietly in the background. I know which category I fall in to. I have learnt the importance of everyone using their skills, feeling valued and respecting one another. It is a good thing we are a mixed barrel of biscuits! St. Andrew’s also set up a Befrienders’ Group. This was made up of members of the congregation, who would visit the sick or lonely to offer comfort or a listening ear, rather than the 127

ironing or the washing up! Each of us was DBS checked via our Safeguarding Officer, to allow us to work with vulnerable adults, and we attended specific courses to assist us. Roger’s visits to his Silver Surfers required going in to people’s homes, so we extended a DBS check to him also. Although I do not suppose any of his customers would have minded either way! By the following year, I was asked to join the Standing Committee of the PCC (a bit more like cabinet). It comprised the vicar, two church wardens, treasurer, secretary and one other – me! The main purpose of the Standing Committee, which meet in-between meetings of the full PCC, was to draw up the Agenda. It is the only other committee, along with the full PCC, with the power to make decisions. It was another good learning curve, and an insight in to the workings of the church. I knew there would be a vacancy for a church warden by the following year and had considered, and then talked myself out of, putting my name forward! It was during a Standing Committee meeting in the early spring of 2017 that I recommended someone I thought would make an excellent church warden, adding that I did not think I could possibly fill the shoes of the outgoing person. Almost as I was saying it, I could hear a little voice in my head saying “Actually, I think it is you!” Later on, the secretary had emailed me to say she had rather hoped I would stand, as she considered I would make an excellent church warden. I decided to find out as much as I could about the Office, asking questions, and reading books, and eventually decided to stand. As it happened, the person I had identified to be a potential church warden was also willing to stand for election, and it transpired that there were two vacancies. We were both duly elected church wardens in April 2017. With complimentary skills, supportive partners, and an amazing vicar, we made a good team. We were summoned to attend the, somewhat formal sounding, Annual Visitation of the Archdeacon of Chichester who was admitting church wardens to office, which we did the month following our election. (This is an annual event). We were supported by our partners, our vicar and a couple of close friends. I did not have to kiss the Bishop’s ring, nor was I presented with a Rupert Bear Annual, as had been required 128

some fifty years earlier. We by-passed the tea and biscuits on offer following the ceremony and went home for a well-earned glass of wine! With my new and demanding role as church warden, I decided to delegate some of the ‘hats’ I had been wearing. Partly to free up my time, but also because I felt that the work of the church should be shared by the congregation. Enabling others to find their own ministries, and ways of contributing to the life of St. Andrew’s and the wider community. I automatically stepped down as a side person. One lady was happy to take my place on the magazine committee, a gentleman with a lovely big car took on organising the church transport, and another lady became the link for the Pathway Groups and very much made the role her own. I continued to help with front of house events and writing up the church news, as some things really did have my name on! Whilst my work with the church was increasing, I was winding my other charity work down. Since organising the charity fund raising for the Mayors of Worthing, I had continued to organise charity events of my own. Often promoting these to our Silver Surfers, who would love to join us for a dinner or themed event, particularly if they lived alone. They came to events primarily because they enjoyed them, but it raised money for local charities, so it was a win/win situation. There seemed to be an added ingredient to my events, that I often could not account for, such as an unexpected coincidence or special connection made. My business card at the time carried the words ‘Where wonderful things happen’! Many of our Silver Surfers lived in the Ferring area, and either attended social events organised by St. Andrew’s Church or other social events organised locally, so this was a natural progression. Another friend and committed supporter of St. Barnabas House, continued to organise events for this local hospice, and we would support by helping with the event and inviting friends. (Sometimes amusingly referred to as ‘rent a crowd’!) I returned to the world of dance soon after moving to Ferring, when I saw an advertisement for a Fitsteps class based in Angmering, something that had been born out of Strictly Come Dancing and designed for fitness whilst incorporating Latin and 129

ballroom dances. I loved it. I attended a weekly class for two years, and also a weekly ballet class set up in Ferring for the over fifties. I could not resist having a go at ballet again, and even bought myself a black tutu along with my ballet shoes. When the ballet teacher offered adult tap dancing classes I joined that too, and thoroughly enjoyed shuffling and tapping around Ferring Village Hall. I had to shelve the Fitsteps for a while, as I could not fit in all the classes, but a lady I had met started her own class in our village. It was wonderful to have a Fitsteps class on our doorstep that I could walk to, and I loved ‘being Ginger Rogers’ for an hour every week! There were so many clubs and societies available in the village, we could easily have enjoyed a different activity every day of the week. We joined the History Group, which organised quarterly talks and a Christmas social, attended productions by the Ferring Amateur Dramatic Society, and film nights, all of which were held in the Village Hall. During intervals there would be a raffle, and cups of tea and chocolate biscuits would be passed along the rows, accompanied by a box of tissues to wipe sticky fingers! In 2015, Ferring celebrated one thousand two hundred and fifty years since a plot of land was given by Offa, King of the English, to build the church of St Andrew. Two documentary style films were made during the year, one showing the life of the church and the other the life of the wider community. The films were shown in the Village Hall the following year, with an opportunity to purchase them on DVD. Just about everyone in the audience seemed to be in the cast. The village had a thriving Retirement Club, and a wide variety of sporting and social clubs, including GIN which stood for Girls in the Neighbourhood, where nothing stronger than tea was served! An annual barn dance was held each summer in The Glebelands Centre, with a fair sprinkling of ‘take your partners’ and ‘Strip the Willow’. This would invariably be accompanied by a hog roast or sausage sizzle, with choc ices for dessert, and washed down with whatever tipple had been taken along. Another weekly attraction was the Wednesday market, organised by members of the Women’s Institute and held in the Village Hall from ten o’clock on the dot. An orderly queue 130

would line up outside the building from around half past nine, and customers would be given a little card on entry. Set out around the outside of the hall would be various stalls, offering homemade cakes, pastries, pies, bread, crafts, home grown plants, vegetables, honey, marmalades, jams, fresh eggs, secondhand books and jigsaw puzzles. No money was exchanged on purchase of an item, but a card was marked with the amount spent. The final bill would be paid to the cashier before leaving, and exchanged for an exit card. (Or a Monopoly style ‘get out of jail free card’ as I called it). A cup of coffee and homemade biscuit could be purchased for the princely sum of fifty pence, and anyone on their own could seat themselves at a table on the stage, where a member of the Women’s Institute would supposedly go and talk to them. By eleven o’clock it would all be over, as there would be little left to buy. I chummed up with a lady who made wonderful relishes and offered to host a tea party with some of my friends, to which she could bring along some of her produce. This proved to be a great success, and I soon became her best customer. We held a number of themed parties, depending on the produce she had available at the time; Harvest, Christmas and Easter parties, a Paddington Bear marmalade party, Chatter over Chutneys, and a tea party to welcome the new royal baby, Princess Charlotte. (Charlotte was the second child, following the birth of her older sibling Prince George, of Prince William and Kate, Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, who had married at Westminster Abbey on 29th April 2011. The same wedding anniversary as my parents. Charlotte was the first princess to be born following the changes to the rules of succession passed in 2013, when succession to the crown was no longer dependent on gender. Consequently, her younger brother Prince Louis comes after her in line to the crown). The parties proved a wonderful way to get to know people, helped my friend launch her business ‘Made for all Seasons’, and gave me the opportunity to use some of the fine bone china that I had been given, or added to from charity shops. It also allowed me to tell my guests that everything was homemade … but not necessarily by me! In May 2016 we held a street party to celebrate the 90th birthday of Queen Elizabeth (although the national service of 131

thanksgiving was held in St Paul’s Cathedral in June). Because we lived in a Close, we had not worried to obtain official permission to hold the party and figured that we were not blocking access to emergency vehicles should the need arise. Flyers were distributed to local residents, and a list drawn up of what every householder would provide. From early morning, some of the taller residents put up bunting, and when the post lady arrived she commented on how lovely it was that we were having a street party. We invited her to join us, and she duly returned some hours later with an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair, whom she looked after. Tables and chairs were assembled around the pavements, and all manner of games were put out; hopscotch, shove ha’penny, and Roger’s model steam driven train, that ran from our rear garden to the front pavement. We rejected the idea of having a bouncy castle, as the average age of the residents was about seventy! We repeated this event in May 2018, with a street party to celebrate the wedding of Prince Harry of Wales to Meghan Markle from America. In truth, it was an opportunity to have a get-together with our neighbours and to welcome a few newcomers. Once again, we avoided the bouncy castle! Retirement and village life proved busy and fulfilling. We attempted to keep Roger’s Silver Surfer appointments to just two days a week. Such was the demand, he could have been working full time. He joked that any more work would not leave him time to mow the lawn! Family members dropped in and out, which we loved, but around their visits we were active with our various activities and interests. Above all, we were blessed with the many friendships we had made. We knew we had made the right decision to move to Ferring when we did.

The fitness group, raising money for Children in Need. I'm in the black tutu. 132

Poppy being blessed at the Animal Service, St. Andrew's Church, Ferring, 2016.

Parish Tea in St. Andrew's Church Centre, Ferring, 2017. 133

The Rev's 60th birthday party, Ferring, 2018.

Charity lunch in support of St. Barnabas House, in Berylâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s garden. 134

Garden Party at home in Ferring.

Tea Party with friends, at home in Ferring.

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Street Party to celebrate Queen Elizabeth's 90th birthday, 2016, neighbour and self.

Street Party to celebrate Royal Wedding, 2018.

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Chapter 12 Matchmaker, Matchmaker A song from the 1964 musical, Fiddler on the Roof. Some years after Carole’s marriage, and shortly after Gail’s, I wrote the following poem. Entitled ‘Male Mail’, I think someone may have been listening: Dear God, we just want to say thank you For sending another good man. This time it’s our second daughter Who’s the focus of your worldly plan. Now it’s not that we’re in a hurry But in time we’ll be needing two more, So perhaps you could note in your diary The daughters we have – three and four. Whilst living in temporary accommodation, and prior to our move to Ferring in the autumn of 2012, Victoria moved to London and joined an old business colleague in the recruitment field. Meanwhile, Louisa returned to Reading University to do a Masters in Real Estate. By the following year, Victoria was looking to launch her own boutique recruitment agency, Stanton Miller Recruitment. Louisa had joined BNP Paribas in London to train as a chartered surveyor, and subsequently moved to British Land after qualifying. In September of 2013, Victoria and Louisa joined us on a seven day cruise to the Norwegian fjords. Roger and I had been on a similar cruise a few years earlier, when the summer sea crossing had been like a millpond. On this occasion, the crossing was very rough and, aboard the small ship Braemar, many of the passengers and crew were sea sick. Our time on dry land was enjoyed by all, but Louisa felt so poorly on the water, she even contemplated flying home. Roger and I went on two further cruises within a short time, both with Fred Olsen, and experienced hurricane force winds on both occasions. (A 137

subsequent family holiday referred to as ‘The Italian Job’, via Paris to Italy in 2018, was enjoyed by train! We stayed at the beautiful Relais Sant’ Elena in Bibbona where Victoria and her husband had previously honeymooned, and we must have a pretty easy going son-in-law, who is willing to share a holiday with his in-laws at their honeymoon hotel!) Through her flatmate, Victoria had been set up on a blind date, with a man her friend had known since her school days in Dubai. They were now both living and working in London, and she felt her childhood friend and flatmate would get on. Victoria’s first meeting with Nicholas Keenan was at a London cocktail bar. Their first official date followed at a Jamie Oliver restaurant, where they had to prepare and cook their meal before they could eat it. This may have been a forerunner to their mutual love of good food and dining out. Initially, Nick was known by us as ‘Mr. Wednesday’ (the day of the week they usually met up), but it was not long before he was on the scene every day of the week. They announced their engagement in July 2015, and wedding plans soon kicked in with gusto. Around this time Victoria decided to buy a puppy. She particularly wanted a miniature Dachshund, thinking that this breed would fit in to their way of life, and not be too big for their flat. She found a breeder in Hampshire and, having made contact with the owner on the Internet, asked if we could view. Our daughter Gail, with her knowledge of dogs, made the initial visit, and reported that the little dog was delightful and would be eminently suitable. When the time was ready for the puppy to be collected, Roger, our granddaughter Jasmine, and I, went to pick her up. The puppy was the cutest little thing. Very small, with a red coat and beautifully smooth velvet ears. We had taken a cage to put her in during the journey, but every time she was put in it she cried. She spent the remainder of the journey to London being cuddled on Jasmine’s lap. I remember handing the little bundle to Victoria as she came to the car to meet us, and she and Nick immediately fell in love with her. She was given the name Poppy, and quickly became much loved by us all. Nick’s parents were visiting from Dubai, where they still lived and worked, when Victoria and Nick became engaged. It was 138

an ideal opportunity for us all to visit a potential wedding venue, close to our home. A viewing was set up at Wiston House, a 16th century Grade 1 listed building, set in the South Downs National Park in Steyning. The drive up to the house was stunning and, although the grounds and views were beautiful, the house itself offered sufficient space for our intended number of guests, should the weather prove inclement. Within twentyfour hours we had booked the venue for the civil ceremony and wedding breakfast, to take place on 6th August 2016, and included overnight accommodation for the bride and groom, immediate family, and many of the guests as well. Victoria and I did most of the wedding organisation, with emails and detailed spreadsheets going back and forth throughout the year. Victoria’s gown was designed and made, the photographer, flowers, entertainers, and cars were booked (using local suppliers where possible) and navy dresses were purchased for each of the four bridesmaids. At some point during the planning, the bride decided she did not like the bridesmaids’ dresses we had bought, and another four were purchased in a misty grey. I have to say, the grey dresses were beautiful and suited all the bridesmaids very well and someone, somewhere, must have delighted in the new navy dresses I donated to the charity shop. The following March, I hosted a Wise Women’s Tea at home (this is now a family tradition). It comprised senior family members; mothers, godmother, older sisters, and family friends, together with the bridesmaids. Basically, those who did not fall in to the category of ‘hens’, with a few exceptions! Over dainty sandwiches, homemade cakes and champagne, each of the ladies present offered a few words of wisdom or poem that would support Victoria in her married life. These were incorporated in to a book (compiled by Roger), along with a photograph of all those present, as a keepsake from the day. Louisa, as chief bridesmaid, was given the job of organising the hen parties. The first of these was a spa day in Windsor, attended by the mothers of the bride and groom, and a clutch of very beautiful young girls. They sported the tiniest of bikinis, and all looked fabulous. I wore my one and only underwired swimsuit, and made sure that I submerged myself in the water 139

quickly. The second hen event was aimed at the bride’s friends, and involved dinner out, a club night, and lots of ‘saucy’ games. I was pleased to stay at home on that occasion, and watch TV. Guests from the groom’s side of the family were flying in from as far away as Australia, Singapore, Dubai and Ireland, and many had booked to stay in the area the night before the wedding. Family members, bridesmaids, groomsmen and Poppy, met up at a country pub for an eve of wedding get together, and an opportunity for everyone to meet informally before the big day. We whisked the bride home early, as we had a very early start the following day. The programme for the wedding morning had been organised with military precision. A combined effort between the bride, chief bridesmaid and I. The bride, four bridesmaids, two mothers, godmother and sisters, were all due to get ready at our home in the morning. This included professional hair and make-up by a team of four beauticians, and an appointment system was set up commencing at six o’clock. I was the first to have my professional make-up done, and have never looked so glamorous so early in the morning. Bridesmaids were beautifully clad in identical white lace tops and matching shorts. They were asked to arrive with hair that had been washed the previous day, so it could be easily dressed. Room numbers had been placed on all the doors, with instructions as to who was to use them to change, and at exactly what time. Roger was asked to sit at his computer until his appointed time to change in to his suit, but he seemed perfectly happy to let the ‘goings on’ happen around him. Fortunately, it was a beautiful morning and we were able to spill out over the garden. The lady known for her amazing preserves, was contracted in to make sure we were all fed and watered whilst getting ready. She prepared the most wonderful table of fresh fruits, smoked salmon frittata and pastries, and kept us supplied with teas and coffees, and not too much champagne. The photographer weaved his way between ladies, taking photographs at all stages throughout the morning, before making his way to the wedding venue to photograph the groom and his supporters. The wedding flowers arrived, bouquets for the girls and buttonholes for the parents, and the florist expertly 140

attached them to the ladies’ handbags, it being too hot to wear the pistachio jacket I had originally planned to wear over a matching lace dress. The bride’s wedding car arrived, and the chauffeur patiently waited outside our house, whilst a group of neighbours gathered to see the wedding party depart. The first car to depart took the two mothers and godmother. This was followed by the bridesmaids and, finally, the bride and father. After we had all left, the friends and neighbours came in to our house (which had been pre-arranged) and enjoyed the leftover food and champagne, and toasted the bride and groom. What I had not planned, was that they would be kind enough to clear everything away, put a hoover round the house, and collect up items of discarded bridesmaids’ clothing, that had been left where they had removed them! There was some delay when we arrived at the wedding venue, as the groom was still being interviewed by the Registrar (a formality). The bridesmaids had to take the bride for a calming walk around the outbuildings, until the Registrar was ready. Although we had rehearsed our dignified entry in to the ballroom, our youngest daughter’s partner escorted me down the aisle at a quick march, starting on the wrong foot, and the bride and father transposed positions as they walked down the aisle (the bride did not marry her father!) Everything else went without a hitch. Although ‘getting hitched’ is exactly what happened! One of the bridesmaids sang during the signing of the register and, following the ceremony, everyone poured out into the beautiful grounds for drinks and canapés. The wedding breakfast for one hundred guests was served in the Great Hall, followed by dancing in to the night. Shortly before our evening guests arrived, I changed from my wedding day outfit into a full length gown, along with some substantial underwear to disguise the sumptuous fare I had enjoyed during the day. Roger and I retired to our room that night, tremendously happy and proud. Our daughter’s wedding could not have gone better. It is not every day one gets to be mother-of-the-bride, but I have certainly been blessed to have had a few bites of the cherry! Louisa met her long-term partner, Adam Holmes, at Reading University. Two days before my birthday in September 2017, on a very wet Friday, I returned from my dancing class in the 141

village. On opening the front door, I noticed a pair of men’s shoes and a large umbrella in the porch. Roger called out that we had a visitor and, with that, Adam’s head popped round the kitchen door in to the hall. As soon as I saw him I knew exactly why he was there. He had come down on the train to ask for Louisa’s hand in marriage. Roger had already said ‘yes’ and welcomed him in to the family, but I hugged him, jumped up and down and screamed with excitement. “I told you she’d be pleased!”, Roger calmly said to Adam! Adam explained that his plan was to propose to Louisa in Cornwall the following day. They were returning to the place where they had spent their first weekend away together, seven years earlier. Adam showed us some photos of the engagement ring he had designed, along with photos of himself helping with its manufacture. He planned to give Louisa the ring, and the photos. We had a light lunch (I do not know how I composed myself sufficiently to make sandwiches) before Adam returned to London on the train, having first sworn us to secrecy. That was a very difficult secret to keep, and it was a long twenty-four hours. The following afternoon I could barely leave the home telephone, as I knew Louisa would call. Somewhat delayed by Saturday traffic, and the terrible weather in Tregardock, the proposal was delayed, but around five o’clock the anticipated phone call arrived. I jumped on the phone, to hear Louisa’s voice, “Mum, I’m engaged, but you know that don’t you!” Shortly afterwards, a photo of Louisa’s left hand, holding a take-away cup of coffee and adorned with a shining diamond on her engagement finger, appeared on Facebook. The photo soon received over two hundred ‘likes’. Initially, Louisa didn’t want to start wedding planning too much in advance. This thought soon ‘went out of the window’, and by October plans were underway. One of the chosen bridesmaids was invited to our home for the weekend, and they spent all the time addressing ‘save the date’ cards for the wedding, which had been set for the 25th May 2019. Louisa had hoped to have seventeen bridesmaids, but she realised this was a bit excessive, and reduced her attendants to nine bridesmaids, three flower girls and one boy (with a title to be decided). An enchanted forest in West Sussex was booked for the wedding 142

venue. The Hyde Estate offered a beautiful setting, but quite a challenge as there was nothing there in the way of amenities. Everything from cooking facilities to upmarket toilets would have to be hired in, but Louisa had set her heart on it, and I have learned never to disagree with a bride! For this wedding, the tables would be turned, and Victoria would be matron of honour to Louisa (or Moo for short!) A country house in Taunton was booked for the hen weekend and a website, decorated with pink flamingos, was set up to advise the twenty lovelies attending of the programme for the weekend, and what they should bring with them. A pool party (there was an indoor heated swimming pool), beauty treatments, a candlelit Italian dinner, a New York style breakfast, and a yoga class, were just some of the delights they could look forward to. Carole and Gail noted that they were qualified for the ‘wise women’s category’, but it was their daughters who had the fun of being ‘hens and bridesmaids’! Like her sisters before her, Louisa planned to get ready for her big day from home and, once again, beauticians and hairdressers were to be brought in. Only more of them this time, to attend to the large number of ladies who would be gathered. The format for Victoria’s preparations had worked well and we were confident we could repeat the process, even if we had to be more organised to accommodate all of the bridesmaids. Carole’s wedding had been held on a very hot day in May. Gail’s wedding, although on an extremely cold February morning, had been bathed in sunshine, and Victoria’s August wedding had taken place on, what must have been, the hottest and sunniest weekend of the year. We could only hope that the elements would be kind to us, and that the sun would shine on Louisa and Adam’s big day. Whatever the weather held, we would be very happy and proud parents. I felt quite like Mrs. Bennett from Jane Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’. “Mr. Bennett, all our daughters married. We are truly blessed!”

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With Roger and Louisa at her Graduation, Reading University, 2012.

With Roger and Louisa at her RICS Awards Ceremony, RICS Headquarters, London, 2016. 144

Norwegian Fjords cruise in rough waters, Victoria, Roger, self and Louisa, 2013.

Our niece's wedding, left to right Adam, Louisa, Nick, Gail, self, Garry, Charlotte, Roger, Carole, William, Victoria, Nick. 145

Poppy with new toy at Christmas.

Christmas 2015, left to right Adam, Victoria, Louisa, Miranda, Brian, Nick, Roger and Poppy in centre, at home in Ferring. 146

Kew Gardens with Roger, Victoria, Nick and his parents, Brian and Miranda.

Wise Women's Tea Party pre Victoria's wedding, Ferring, 2016. (Left to Right - back row) Madeleine, Gail, Kim, Rhiannon, Carole, Margaret, Miranda, Carole, Kat, Jean, Judy, (front row) self, Emma, Victoria, Louisa, Emily.

147

Victoria and Nick's Wedding Day, 2016.

Victoria and Nick's wedding, left to right William, Carole, Adam, Louisa, self, bride and groom, Roger, Gail, Nick, Wiston House, Steyning. 148

Adam and Louisa cutting their 'Engagement Cake', Ferring, 2017.

Louisa and Adam's Save The Wedding Date 2019. 149

Family group from left to right, George, Jasmine, Emma, Tamara, Louisa, Carole, Ferring garden.

Victoria, Tamara, Jasmine and Poppy, Ferring. 150

Chapter 13 Mr. Wonderful The title song from the 1955 Broadway musical of the same name. I could not write this book without including a chapter about the person who has played the biggest part in my life, after me of course! Without Roger, I would not have experienced such unconditional love, support and encouragement, not to mention a coach load of children and grandchildren! For some inexplicable reason, I received my free bus pass at the age of sixty four years and six months. (This chapter could easily have been named after the Beatles song, ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’). It had been a long-standing joke that Roger, who had received his bus pass over a decade earlier, could travel free, whereas I would have to walk behind the bus (or pay the fare!) That apart, we are very happy! We have been married for thirty-three years. We married within five months of meeting, before Roger could change his mind! Our backgrounds may have been different, but the direction in which we have travelled has been shared. Our relationship has been built on love, trust and a deep sense of family values. We have our own interests but, as it says in The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, ‘stand together yet not too near together; for the pillars of the temple stand apart, and the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.’ Roger did not want a wedding ring at the time of our marriage but thirty-three years later I have bought him one, and he is happy wearing it. Seeing it on his finger gives me a lovely, warm feeling. It makes me feel married! It may be that our marriage has stood the test of time because of our separate interests or, perhaps I should say, in spite of them! Roger joined me for tennis (for about a week) following his retirement, but gave up due to an injury to his knee. He played tennis like he played squash and, with no walls to bounce the balls off, they frequently did not come back! Then there was dancing. He took up ballroom dancing classes with me (for one night only) in an attempt to partner me at something I loved. Suffice to say, I went on to attend dancing classes where 151

partners were not required. Then there is my writing. Roger painstakingly type sets, prints, illustrates and even publishes my features and books, but does he read them? Not a word! Conversely, he is brilliant at all things technical. The equipment is so automated in our home that, if the television is not switched on when Roger goes out to his model railway club, I will probably have to manage without it. Then there are the wires that accompany all of this. Impossible for me to dust, ha-ha! He knows exactly how much power we use at any given time, by referring to a Smart meter. He measures the amount of water he needs before pouring it in to a kettle, and likes vehicles parked in our drive in the order they are likely to depart in. His motto is ‘Function proceeds form’. In other words, it does not matter what it looks like as long as it works. I hope he did not apply that thought before marrying me! Our ideas on holiday travel differ, too. My idea of heaven is to walk on board a cruise ship, settle in to a luxurious cabin, adorned with a basket of fruit, fresh flowers, champagne, and a bath for me to soak in. There would be a huge wardrobe full of cocktail dresses, at least one for every night at sea, and matching shoes, handbags and accessories. I would join in with many of the ship’s activities, dancing classes, talks and sporting events, whilst Roger would retire to the Observatory with a notebook and pen and technical manual, patiently awaiting my return to join him for a gin and tonic. Roger, on the other hand, prefers travelling by train – with a backpack! His journey would be planned with military precision. Hotels would be booked as near as possible to stations for practicality, and clothes would be of the sensible variety, that could be washed out overnight and recycled. (For really hot climes, he even has trousers that unzip at the knee that turn in to shorts, and for wet weather, a waterproof jacket that can be folded up into its own pocket!) When we met, Roger’s daughters were still only fourteen and eleven respectively, and he must have felt that his days of nappies and nursery schools were long behind him. Wrong! I knew I wanted to have children of my own, and we had discussed the subject before our marriage. “Don’t worry”, he had replied. “I’ve got a track record”. When Victoria was on the way, we broke the news to the girls. I have never forgotten 152

the reaction of the sixteen-year-old Carole, who responded, “Really, dad, at your age!” If I had disrupted Roger’s life, he certainly changed mine! Having been brought up an only child, and spending most of my time in adult company, I had very little experience of children or large family groups. Along with Roger, Carole and Gail, came his parents, sister, and brother-in-law, and that was just the start. We had a house that leant itself to entertaining, and all manner of parties and family get togethers quickly became the norm. Roger continued to work for American Express in Brighton for the first seventeen years of our marriage. With elderly parents and a growing family, I was fortunate to be in a position not to have to work and look back with appreciation that I was able to give them my time. Promotion, although available, would have necessitated his working abroad, and he was not prepared to do that. With just one income, we managed to achieve a lot. We had a lovely home, a good, if not extravagant, standard of living, and gave all the girls the opportunity of a fine education. I think of it as having a Mary Poppins style carpet bag, from which lots of magical things materialised. Interestingly, not being employed gave me the time and the opportunity to create wonderful things for our family. Time is certainly a very precious resource. One of our very first family holidays came about through a connection I made at our mother and toddler group. Another Mother kindly gave us the use of her villa in Spain, where we enjoyed a wonderful holiday. Having the time to join our daughters’ school PTA, encouraged them to take part in many school activities, and many friendships were formed between parents and teaching staff, as well as children. Opportunities were created that supported their further education and, undoubtedly, business connections were made too. By the time Roger officially retired from American Express, he was already building his own clientele of both corporate and private clients. Life was more relaxed away from the corporate world of American Express, and he was able to spend quality time with his family. We attended, or organised, almost every 153

school or dancing school event. We had an arrangement, that if I was engaged in leading an event, such as a fashion show or concert, Roger would see to the logistics. This could involve collecting the children, preparing a meal, or rescuing the flowers I had been presented with! Likewise, if Roger had an important meeting to attend, I would do the same (although he never received flowers). We called it looking after the ranch! With so much time taken up with work and family, Roger never had much free time for himself. A few years after his retirement, in 2005, he joined the West Sussex N Gauge Society, sharing his interest in model railways with fellow enthusiasts. In 2009 he became their Secretary. Regular meetings were held at our house, where the group would discuss club business over coffee and cakes. Roger also took up wine making, and the process was all very scientific. He would buy concentrated grape juice from a local supplier and wine production would take place in our utility room, using a number of demijohns. He would produce the wine over a period of three weeks, and visitors to our home would often request a glass of his ‘Peteeni Plonk’. My tipple was white wine at the time, and he would label the bottles ‘MDW’, which stood for medium dry white or, privately, my darling wife! With the emergence of Ocean Village, originally The Arcadia, we were able to introduce our family to a more relaxed way of cruising holidays. There was certainly no comparison between these and the elegant way of cruising I had experienced during my own childhood, but the informality was geared to families, and we enjoyed two lovely holidays around both the western and eastern Mediterranean in 2003 and 2007 respectively. When the children were older, we enjoyed more formal cruising on our own. Preferring the ‘no-fly’ cruises which departed from Southampton or Dover. I do not think Roger particularly relished wearing black tie for the formal nights at sea, but he certainly appreciated seeing me dressed in my gorgeous frocks. Marriage is all about give and take! After we moved to Ferring, and all the family having fled the nest, we seemed to have even more time available to spend 154

together. Or perhaps it just seemed that way because we were living in a smaller house! There would be days when it might just be the two of us. Then some, or all, of the family would descend upon us with a flurry of activity. Our daughters always knew who to turn to for advice. They would go to their father for technical support, or information on train time tables if planning a journey. For problems of an emotional nature, they would come to me. Complimentary skills! We love having the family drop in, come to stay, or bring their friends (even if they do lovingly refer to our home as our ‘beach hut’.) We equally love being on our own. Busy with village life, we support and take a real interest in one another’s activities. On birthdays, anniversaries or just because the sun is shining, we like to walk along the coast to Worthing, a journey of just over an hour by foot. We call in to Worthing Pier’s Southern Pavilion for a drink, and then enjoy dinner at a favourite Italian restaurant, before catching the bus home. It was from the balcony of this restaurant that we saw the Olympic Torch being carried through Worthing on 16th July 2012, on its journey round the United Kingdom. The Summer Olympics were held in London that year. Another family run establishment, in nearby Steyne Gardens, holds regular themed events, where many a St. George’s Day, Burn’s Night or Fawlty Towers evening were enjoyed. With a welcoming atmosphere more like a social club than an hotel, one of the directors had mannerisms similar to Basil Fawlty himself! One big, happy family! Closer to home, there is also a good Indian restaurant in Ferring, where you can take your own drinks. We have a wonderful wine carrier, designed to take two bottles of wine, given to us long before we moved to the area but in Ferring, where there are no street lights, it is ideal for a bottle of wine and a torch! It also works very well when having dinner at friends’ homes in the village or attending a social evening in the Village Hall or Church Centre, of which there are many. We are a bit like ‘Darby and Joan’ when left to our own devices. We like our routines, favourite meals, (Roger loves boiled eggs for breakfast on a Saturday) and catching up with our preferred 155

television programmes (no soaps). Although we made an exception when the best man at one of our daughterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s weddings was a member of the cast of Emmerdale! We share a mutual love of theatre and films (with happy endings), music (Roger knows his classical music and I excel at hits from the 60s), good food and wine, our garden birds and, above all, family. I still cannot explain why Roger was brave enough to take me on, but I am glad he did. He really has been the most amazing husband, father and grandfather. Mr. Wonderful! I can safely say that, because I know he is unlikely to read this!

Mr. Wonderful!

156

Roger guitar man, Peteeni.

Roger on board. 157

Boarding Braemar for cruise holiday, October 2014.

Roger at his desk, pre-Christmas, Ferring. 158

Chapter 14 It’s Not Where You Start, It’s Where You Finish A song from the 1973 Broadway musical, Seesaw. Before reaching the end of this book, I need to return to the beginning of my story, and even prior to that. I do not know if ‘we are who we are’ because of the genes we are born with, the environment we grow up in, or the opportunities we take along the way (and there are always opportunities). Or perhaps it is a combination of all these things. My earliest known ancestor was John Stow (1525-1605). A copy of his book ‘The Survey of London’, was published in 1598. A second edition appeared in 1603, a copy of which is in my possession. I had thought my maternal grandmother to be a direct descendent of his, but research uncovered that this John Stow only had daughters, so the surname Stow is unlikely to have come from this line. In those days, it was usual for a sibling to be given the same first name, and it is probable that this was the Stow my grandmother descended from. There is a monument to John Stow in St Andrew Undershaft, in Leadenhall Street, London. A Service to replace the quill in the John Stow Memorial is held every three years. This was performed by the Right Honourable Lord Mayor of London in 2014, which I attended with Victoria and Louisa. Above the alcove, within which John Stow’s effigy sits, are carved the words ‘Either do things worth writing about or write things worth reading about’. I have endeavoured to do both! I have adopted the name of Stow Publishing for the publication of my own books, and hope my ancestor is smiling on me. Knowledge of my mother’s side of the family, with photographs and information, has being directly passed down to me. I inherited a large family bible, inscribed by my great-greatgrandfather ‘Edward Stow, Maldon, Essex. 1846.’ A handwritten family register inside the book, includes the names of family members, together with dates of birth, baptism, marriage and death. The first names to be mentioned are Edward’s 159

parents, Louisa and Jacob Stow. The names have been updated over the years, and the most recent entry is my own daughter, Louisa. Between them they span two hundred years, and seven generations. Another family keepsake in my possession, is a nineteenth century, boxed miniature portrait of Edward Stow, mounted on to a brooch. Alongside the brooch, are the names of both himself and his wife, Mary, née Smellie, and each of their five children. Protected by glass on the back of the brooch, is a lock of hair from each. It is still in perfect condition. There were just two fair-haired ones. My great-grandfather, Major Harry Vane-Stow, V.D., O.B.E., was the fourth of their five children. He was born in Lambeth, Surrey, on the 13th January 1852. He married Daisy Maria, née Hodge, at St. Matthew’s Church in New Kent Road in January 1878. He was a Master Printer, and was Joint Secretary of the Federation of Master Printers and Allied Trades. He was Assistant-Secretary to the Royal Military Tournament, and sword bearer and close friend to Queen Victoria’s son, Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught. The Queen was very fond of my great-grandfather, and he would frequently be by her side at events. He was an expert with a sword or rapier, and was thought to be the only Englishman to have gained the medal of the French Society for the Encouragement of Fencing. Sadly, my grandmother destroyed many of the photographs from this time. I have no idea why she did this but, fortunately, a few remain. Major Vane-Stow was also a ladies’ man, and whilst in Paris took a liking to the ‘Windmill girls’ of the Folies Bergère. His somewhat straight-laced wife visited him whilst he was working in Paris and, allegedly, found a lady’s hairpin in his bed. With that, she and her children moved to Paris forthwith! They lived close to the Place de l'Étoile, and all spoke extremely good French. He must have been a formidable character. He was described as soldiery-looking and was known by his friends as ‘the Major’. It is surprising to find, that he closed letters written to people close to him with ‘C-Y-K’, which stood for ‘consider yourself kissed’. 160

His younger sister, Matilda, married Sir Gordon Carter. Sir Gordon became Clerk of the Course at Royal Ascot in 1910 and served until his death in 1941. He was a fastidious man, and every night had his shoelaces washed and ironed, but his military discipline brought great benefit to Ascot. During Royal Ascot Sir Gordon would be on the course, in riding kit, at seven in the morning. Later in the day, he would change into a lounge suit in his office. At noon he crossed the road to his home, to change into morning dress. Prior to the day’s racing, the Royal Procession would travel down the racecourse. Sir Gordon would stand at the gate where the Procession exited, and it was at this spot that his ashes were scattered after his death. After the first race, which was at one thirty pm, there was a break of one hour for luncheon. Sir Gordon and his house party always took luncheon in a private dining-room on the course. After the racing, his valet brought another lounge suit over to the office, into which Sir Gordon changed. He changed again, for the fifth time that day, into evening dress for dinner. They would sit down to a nine-course affair of iced melon, soup, fish, entrée, water ice, saddle of lamb, sweet, savoury and dessert. Followed by coffee, liqueurs and cigars. A photograph shows him to be a slim man! My maternal grandmother, Edith, was born on the 24th November 1878, the eldest of five daughters. Both her twin, May, and her youngest sister, Maud, died as infants. Along with her surviving sisters, Nora and Beatrice, born in 1881 and 1885 respectively, she lived to be a good age. My maternal grandfather was Herbert Theodore Burrow, a silk merchant. Unlike my paternal grandfather, he was one of a large family. I never knew either of my grandfathers, as they both died long before I was born. A newspaper report of my grandparents’ marriage reported, ‘An event of local interest, at St. Raphael’s Roman Catholic Church on Monday, was the wedding of Miss Edith Vane-Stow, eldest daughter of Major and Mrs. Vane-Stow, of Holmstead, Lovelace Gardens, Surbiton, to Mr. Herbert Theodore Burrow, of Hornsey. A large number of relatives and friends of the bride and bridegroom were present at the church to witness the ceremony. The bride, who was given away by her father, wore 161

a handsome dress of ivory satin, festooned with true lovers’ knots of chiffon, and embellished with horse-shoes of heather and myrtle; the bodice was richly trimmed with Brussels lace, and her tulle veil was surmounted by a coronet of orange blossom. Her principal ornament was a pearl necklet and pendant, the gift of the bridegroom, and she carried a shower bouquet of choice flowers. The only bridesmaid was Mademoiselle Maude Chervot, who wore a dainty gown of blue silk, and hat to match. Master Willie Temple acted as page, and Mr. James North attended the bridegroom as best man. The ceremony was conducted by Father du Plerny, who was assisted by Father Robo. In the absence of the organist, Miss Smalpage officiated at the organ, and played appropriate music while the guests were arriving, and also as the bridal party left the church. A reception was subsequently held at the residence of the bride’s parents and was attended by a large number of guests. Mr. and Mrs. Burrow left later in the afternoon by motor-car for Woking, en route for Devonshire, where the honeymoon is being passed. The wedding presents formed a large and handsome collection. Photographs of the wedding party were taken by Mr. Debenham, of Electric Parade Brighton Road.’ My mother was born on the 2nd July 1912, at their family home at 1 Holden Road, in North Finchley. She was a twin, and the second of four children. As an upper middle-class Edwardian wife, my grandmother had very little to do with the upbringing of her children. They were cared for by Ethel, who fed and bathed them, made their clothes, took them to church, and put them to bed. The children spent most of their time in the nursery, on the top floor of the house, and were only invited downstairs to see their parents during Sunday lunch. I know very little about my father’s side of the family. My paternal grandfather was William Stanton-Keep, a merchant in soft goods. I believe he came from the West Country, possibly a farming family, and that he may have had a brother or a half-brother by the name of Stanley Keep. Stanley had two sons, John and Richard (Dick) who were my father’s cousins. John never married and was somewhat eccentric. Richard, who was born in 1911, married Barbara. They had four children and lived at Great Rye Farm in Hampshire. At some point, my 162

father owned land in the Crookham area and may well have been trading as an estate agent around that time. There was also another branch of the family that went to Canada, who visited us in Worthing in the early nineteen seventies. My grandfather died when my father was around twelve years old. My paternal grandmother was Rosa Frances, née Short. I was still very young when she died. All I do remember is that she was a small woman, with a large girth and a big personality. She ran her own business and loved to party, never wanting to retire for the night! My father was born on the 23rd July 1905, at their family home at 171 Fentiman Road, in South Lambeth. He was their only child. Other relatives on my father’s side were the Jessops, probably cousins. We would visit their Hampshire home to be greeted by an elderly couple. He would be wearing a battered straw hat and she would be wrapped in a knitted shawl. Their spinster daughter Queenie, who was well past her prime, would be screeching with delight at our arrival. (She played cello with a big national orchestra, so perhaps she was just tuning up). Once inside the house, we would be taken immediately in to the garden to one of three summer houses. There we would have afternoon tea, set out on an old lacy tablecloth, in very cramped surroundings. The tea always had little blobs floating on the surface, as the milk had been boiled due to the milkman only calling once a week. No fridge presumably! At some point, the elderly gentleman had dropped a cup and broken the handle, and his wife had made him drink out of the same cup ever since! When I had enough of their eccentricity (and cake) I would wonder off round their garden, past the croquet lawn, and on towards the other summer houses. I always delighted in the fact that no summer house was visible from each of the others. I may have been small but the garden must also have been big! My parents had been close neighbours. As a young man, my father’s family home was 19 Lovelace Gardens in Surbiton. Described at the time as the most exclusive quarter of the riverside suburb. My mother’s family home was just a short distance away, at 15 Lovelace Gardens. As a fourteen-year-old, my mother would admire from afar the tennis parties that were enjoyed on my father’s lawn tennis court. He was twenty-one 163

at the time, and that must have seemed very adult to my mother. When she was older, she and her sister, Marjorie, were invited over to make up a game of mixed doubles. That was the beginning of their romance. My paternal grandmother had, by all accounts, been a very dominating woman. She also employed my father in her woollen goods manufacturing business, so held the purse strings. She had seen off one potential wife to my father, and he was worried how she might react if he was to announce his engagement to my mother. They married quietly, unbeknown to his mother, in the presence of my maternal grandmother and Ethel. The only two people, other than my parents, to attend the wedding. Their honeymoon comprised one night in London, where they went to see the operetta ‘Wild Violets’ at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Then they returned to their respective family homes, my mother wearing her wedding ring on a piece of string around her neck. The first my father’s mother heard of her son’s marriage, was when her maid brought the daily newspaper to her on a tray. “There is something you should see in the paper, madam”, she had said. My grandmother was very angry on reading the news, but as the deed was done there was little she could do about it. My parents and my father’s mother, moved to 11 Western Close, Lancing, in West Sussex, prior to the Second World War. The site is now adjacent to Lancing Business Park and opposite Brooklands Pleasure Park, but at the time the area was covered in open fields. My father spent much of the war years serving in the army in Sierra Leone, in West Africa. He had taken with him a photograph of the front door of their home, determined that one day he would walk through it again. Which, of course, he did. Mother did not relish living with just her elderly mother-in-law, and later said it was the reason she took up smoking! They moved to 177 Brighton Road, in Worthing, around the time of my birth. After two decades of married life, the arrival of a baby must have come as quite a shock to my parents. My mother, at forty-one years old, was considered well over 164

child-bearing age at the time. She was very slim, and had initially been diagnosed with gallstones, rather than a pregnancy! I was born in to a very adult world. I would love to have had siblings to grow up with but my mother did her best to invite children to our house for me to play with, supplying us all with plenty of sandwiches and squash. New neighbours would frequently ask how many children she had! She was very glamorous, a good home maker and produced some wonderful etchings of historic buildings in later years. She was also a very loyal friend. Being an only child certainly gave me opportunities that many children did not have and that has, undoubtedly, steered the course of my life. I hope my parents would be proud of the life they gave me. I do not believe in regrets but am sorry that my father did not live long enough to know my husband and daughters. He would have adored them. He had been a saxophonist in a band in his younger days and used to sing to me when I was a baby. He used to share with me his ideas for stories, and had two titles in mind, ‘The camera never lies’ and ‘Old Smokey’, which sadly he never wrote. He built a conservatory on the back of our home in Charmandean during the latter part of his life, and we spent many happy hours sitting in it together attempting the daily crossword, whilst mother passed us cups of tea through the kitchen window. They were happy times. My Aunt Mimi outlived all her younger siblings, and survived my mother by eleven years, living to the grand age of one hundred and three years. Apart from frequent visits to her home in Birchington, we were in daily, or twice daily, telephone contact. She shared my love of books, and all things spiritual, and was greatly touched by my poems. Reflecting on my life and family, rather than material things, she once said to me, “You have the world”. She was right! With at least one new baby being born in to our family during every decade since the nineteen-seventies, we have certainly been kept in touch with the youth of the day. Because young people are always ready to accept something new, changing technology and fashions are quite normal to them, we have somehow been swept along with it. Not that Roger needs to 165

be swept up by the technology, as he is already ahead of the game! I am pleased that some of that technology has rubbed off on me and I have come a long way since the days of using my fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s old manual typewriter, some fifty years ago. (Now an item to be found in the Imperial War Museum!) Skype calls have been a wonderful way of keeping in touch with family, particularly when Victoria was travelling or living in Durban. The Internet has become a good friend, with everything one needs to know available in an instance. A far cry from my Saturday visits to the library by bus half a century ago, that took the whole morning. Not having emails would be like losing my right arm, as they are essential for all business and social contact today. Event organisation would suffer without access to spreadsheets, and I cannot imagine wedding planning without them! All contributions to newspapers and magazines have been sent electronically although, in the early nineteen-seventies, one of my favourite days out of the office was driving the newspaper copy from the Worthing Gazette and Herald office to the Eastbourne office for printing. For musical accompaniment on the journey I would take my battery powered tape player, with songs I had recorded off the radio, and place it on the passenger seat beside me. Now that is out of the arc! On other occasions, I took my mother! As our family has enlarged, I have endeavoured to seek one-to-one time with family members. Whether it be a holiday, shopping trip, afternoon tea, or visit to the theatre or cinema, it has been about sharing quality time. Thoughtful presents are lovely to give and receive but a parcel may soon be forgotten, but creating memories is a gift that can last forever. From a parentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s point of view, it is wonderful to know that our daughters, and their families, are close to one another. There is always a family member to turn to for advice or support, and plenty of people to celebrate any, and every, occasion. Carole is very involved with the running of the West Worthing Club, where all the family enjoy playing tennis. Gail has two little dogs, a Yorkshire and a Border terrier respectively, guinea pigs and some fish. Her family would fill their whole house with animals if they could, and there would not be room for anyone 166

else. Jasmine has a wonderful gift for singing and dancing, and Tamara enjoys playing drums. Victoria and Nick love walking Poppy, and enjoy travel, good food and fine wines. Louisa and Adam have moved home and are now within walking distance of Victoria and Nick. Their wedding plans are underway. We are quite a dynasty! As soon as this publication goes to print, life will have moved on, and perhaps there will be sufficient adventures for me to write a sequel. I would love to think that my words will touch lives, but if they reach future generations with a message of love, I will be well satisfied. To be honest, I am just grateful that you, dear reader, has read it! Thank you and ‘C-Y-K’ – consider yourself kissed!

The Italian Job family holiday in Tuscany, 2018. Heaven!

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John Stow's Monument St Andrew Undershaft.

My great, great grandfather, Edward Stow, 1883.

Great grandpa, Major Vane Stow, 1895.

Great grandpa as sword bearer to the Duke of Connaught. 168

Great grandpa second from left.

Queen Victoria with my great grandpa standing immediately behind her.

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My great grandparents with my grandma left and siblings Nora and Beatrice, 1890s.

My great grandparents Golden Wedding Anniversary, 1928.

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Sir Gordon Carter, my great, great uncle, with Lord Glanely at Royal Ascot. One of many letters sent to great grandpa from Buckingham Palace, 1918.

Grandma, left, with siblings Beatrice and Nora, 1893.

My maternal grandparentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; wedding, 1906. 171

Siblings Barbara, Marjorie, Jim and my Mother, Surbiton, 1920.

My grandmother with my Mother, uncle and aunts, circa 1920s. 172

My grandparents with Marjorie, my Mother and her twin Barbara.

My paternal grandparents.

My paternal grandmother.

My Father pranking on the beach. 173

My parents, 1930s.

My parents, snapped on Marine Parade, Worthing, 1938.

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My parents, with father home on leave.

Mother with early transport.

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With Victoria and Louisa in our garden in Ferring.

Victoria and Poppy, Ferring.

Roger and self with Judy at her Freedom of the City of London ceremony at Guildhall, flanked by her daughters, Charlotte and Rebecca, 2017. 176

On family holiday, with Roger in Tenerife.

Silver Wedding Anniversary cruise aboard Braemar, 2010.

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Carole, William, Emma and George, 2018.

Gail, Nick, Jasmine and Tamara, 2018. 178

Victoria and Nick, Sardinia 2018.

Louisa and Adam, 2017. 179

National and Local Charities I have had the privilege of working with, include: Alzheimer’s Society Cancer Research UK Chestnut Tree House (Children’s Hospice) Christians Against Poverty Foodbank Kent, Surrey and Sussex Air Ambulance Macmillan Cancer Support RNLI Rotary Club of Worthing SCOPE St Barnabas House (Adult Hospice) Street Pastors The Queen Alexandra Hospital Home The Salvation Army – Youth and Community Centre Worthing Churches Homeless Project

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Louisa born circa 1790 *

Jacob Stow

William Matthew Smellie

Edward Stow born 1813

Elizabeth

Mary, nĂŠe Smellie born 1823

Edward Hodge and his wife (unknown)

Mary Louisa born 1845

Edward Matthew born 1847

Margaret Elizabeth born 1849

Harry Vane born 1852

Matilda Jane born 1855 m. Sir Carter

Daisy Maria, nĂŠe Hodge born 1859

Herbert Theodore Burrow

Edith born 1878 (twin)

May born 1878 (twin) died in infancy

Nora born 1881

Beatrice born 1885

Maud born 1896 died in infancy

William Henry Stanton Keep b 1905

Marjorie Mary born 1910

Roger Sidney Miller born 1943

Sharon Anne Stanton born 1953

Victoria Rosanne Stanton born 1987

Louisa Francesca Stanton born 1991 *

Hilda Rosemary born 1912 (twin)

Barbara May born 1912 (twin)

Edmund James born 1914

Maternal Family Tree.

* Denotes a span of seven generations over two hundred years.

Acknowledgements With thanks to Face Media Group for their help in printing this book. To the hundreds of good folk who have attended my charity events, helped in any way, given generously and shared in a whole lot of fun. To all my family and friends, who have enriched my life beyond measure and without whom there would have been little to write about. Special thanks to our son-in-law, Adam Holmes, for turning his talents towards designing this book cover. To Pauline James, for patiently proof reading the text and being wise enough to point out when I had divulged too much information! And last but not least to Roger, for his endless support and encouragement and his amazing skill in transforming my raw material in to something suitable for publication - thank you Mr. Technology!

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