26: Charlie makes Christmas

The doors of the Park were kept firmly shut until 11,00am. Between nine and ten Charlotte, Julia, Uncle and I served a relaxed breakfast to the company staff and club officials. Between ten and eleven, Uncle and I gave a short presentation on the possible futures of the Park, followed by half an hour of Q & A. Then we opened the doors and waited for all hell to break loose.

It had been agreed that all club officials and committee members should be volunteering to prepare and serve lunch, plus run the bar before and after. We had of course to concede a right of oversight and veto to Chef and the Chief Steward - we couldn’t very well be allowed to wreck our own club, let alone the Park’s furniture and fittings!

Charlie was a revelation. Suddenly she was operating at a different speed and rhythm, she placed herself at the centre of the lounge, pushing the rest of us helpers behind the bar, a waitress turned maître d’hôtel; taking all the orders, placing herself between the punters and us incompetents. It rapidly became clear that the regular staff were being given a virtuoso performance in how to keep a zoo under control.

‘Born to command that one, wouldn’t you say?’ Uncle said as we struggled to find our way around.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Good portends for the future. Talking of which, from what you said at the meeting you’ve clearly had a look at the manuscript.’

‘Yes, about fifty pages in, been somewhat distracted by those early illustrations of the parkland you’ve reproduced.’

‘Ha! Your brain is as deft as Charlotte’s footwork.’

‘Somebody balls-ed-up tree planting. What, a hundred years ago? And we’re about to compound the error if we build a back nine to the golf course in the open spaces. It’s vistas isn’t it.’

‘Spot-on.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well you know how after the first war they set up the Forestry Commission, well private landowners were encouraged to do much the same thing, with equally crude results. Funny how the Greens go on about trees, when the country is greener than it has been for well over a hundred years now. Still, the point is, some of the nine holes we have should be part of the back nine, another couple should be trees, then we really need to cut down trees and plant elsewhere. It just has to be handled right.’

‘I’ll tell you what, see that woman who’s just arrived with Tuffy, she used to be in PR, might be useful.’


‘Cat! Give us a hand to bring some stuff in from the car, would you?’

‘Certainly old chap.’ We wandered into the carpark. There was that odd, almost yellow tinge to the light, suggesting there might be snow.

‘What do you make of Tuffy’s new girl?’

‘Well, he’s all over her and she appears to be equally entranced by him.’

‘Good. She’s your distraction.’

‘Really, you set them up?’

‘Well, it didn’t take much, I simply arranged for them to be in the same room at the same time!’ I sprung the catch on the boot, revealing a couple of elegantly printed cardboard crates.

‘Oh I say!’ Cat exclaimed.

‘I know. Here, let me show you a sample. And it’s not just in the packaging. See there, on the back, pucka labelling of contents. Apparently that particular mix of minerals is not only generally good for everything; but is also mildly cathartic.’

‘You mean it makes you shit like clockwork!’

We carried a crate each into the dining area and proceeded to place a bottle (glass) in everyone’s soup bowl. ‘By the way, I’m counting on you to stop unnecessary drunken speech making. Officially, the plan is that the Earl speaks for five minutes on what a wonderful year we’ve had and how next year will be even better. Then Rory gets five minutes, I’ve briefed Prudence to prepare something on what a great honour it is to represent us, and how despite these turbulent times he will strive to protect our freedoms and generally do his best.’

‘So we treat them with the respect they deserve; but give anyone else who insists on standing up, the bird! I’ll see what can be done.’


As you will have imagined, members had over the previous six weeks or so, without invitation, been festively decorating that part of the house given over to the club. As the club secretary tapped his glass, then rose unsteadily to his feet, various low hanging streamers threatened to impede his vision. ‘Lords and ladies, ladies and gents, honoured guests, just one item of business before I call upon our distinguished speakers, the proceeds from this audaciously priced shindig, will as in previous years be going to the homeless shelter in town. I give you his grace, our Chairman of the board, Reggie!’

As Uncle rose, he mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear; ‘Well he’s for the chop, I’m an Earl not a bloody Duke.’

‘Hear, Hear.’ Much banging of the table.

Uncle then proceeded to be as entertaining as usual, it was only at the end of his peroration that he surprised me; ‘Finally I wish to mention someone else without whom our successes would not have been possible. I regret to say, that in the past my nephew Anthony, has often been something of a disruptive and undisciplined influence in our happy community, but this year he has met his nemesis in the form of a companion who in short order has turned him and those who surround him into a force for good, long may it last. Please raise your glasses to Charlotte Sparkwell, saviour of souls…’

I don’t think I’d understood what the phrase 'raucous applause' meant until that moment. The two of us were standing rather embarrassed and somewhat dishevelled in the corner, our aprons thoroughly stained from stray food. I turned to her and said; ‘You notice how he always calls you "Charlotte"! Why don’t you ask him if he’ll give the two of us a tour of the closed part of the house before they leave?’


Rory was word perfect, in other words not his words at all. He stood for unity, tradition and nation - and promptly sat down. A twinkle came into Uncle’s eye when, as everyone was beginning to doze off in the lounge - it was inevitable our amateur cooking should slow everyone down - Charlotte requested a tour. We slipped away just the four of us, me delegated to carry the torch. The temperature was noticeably colder, the light dimmer of course, snow falling gently but persistently outside. Uncle had his regular route, the cellars, the back stairway, servant’s bedrooms, down through state rooms with the climax being the ballroom. As he explained the intricacies of the sprung floor, I took my cue and set up the wind-up gramophone. Suddenly there were the strains of Al Bowlly and the New Mayfair Orchestra with The Very Thought Of You. I asked Julia if she would do me the honour and she duly obliged. A moment or so later Uncle induced Charlie to do the same.

You Ought To See Sally On Sunday provided undeniable evidence that a British band could swing by 1933, although we utterly failed to live up to it. Afterwards Uncle took me to one side and said; ‘You know there’s something I don’t quite understand about you two.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘She told Julia you first met when she was a waitress. But the way you tell it, it all started when she serendipitously turned up on your doorstep as a therapist. Like some Mary Poppins.’

‘Now you’re really pushing it.’

‘Am I? Only teasing, it’s just I’ve stopped believing anything happens by chance with you.’


By six o’clock we had the entire house to ourselves. ‘This is a bit scary,’ said Charlie.

‘Well, let’s see how it goes. I suggest we take some exercise outside.’

We left a couple of lights on, otherwise we had only the faint illumination from the bungalows and the carpark reflecting off virgin snow. ‘This is what’s called privilege by the way, but it still requires effort.’

‘I see that.’

‘Want more of it?’

‘You bet.’

‘Better stick with me then kid! I feel a poem coming on, Robert Frost no less, 1923 if memory serves, he was in rural New England, but it might as well be… Anyway, he’s out with the horse by the woods on a snowy evening; “Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep”.’


(That’s all for season two folks! This blog will return when I have the time and inclination.)

25: Ghosts of Christmases past

‘Your mail, sir.’

My eye was caught by something bright and shiny entering my periphery. ‘Oh, we like that, we like that a lot, where on earth did you get it?’ Charlie was brandishing a silver tray or platter of some description upon which was a single printed letter, three apparent items of junk mail and the latest edition of The Countrywoman in a plastic wrapper.

‘I found it in a charity shop, I’ve been buffing it up. I hadn’t realised how polishing could be made an exercise in mindfulness.’

‘Oh well! In that case, you’ll find my handmade shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe.’

‘That reminds me I must sort through your clothes, some will need discarding, but most just need altering so they hang properly on your new body. I’m looking forward to meeting your tailor, never met one before.’

‘Yes, I suppose it has to be faced. Edoardo is going to love you, you’ll both be on my case in seconds, I don’t stand a chance.’ Then a thought suddenly struck me. ‘You know, he’s a bit of a sportsman, if you to hit it off, and he appreciates what we’re about, he might have some ideas about how to dress you.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘In your role, to use Daphne’s expression, as my valette.’


Later, as I was concluding a brief perusal of the magazine I couldn’t help wondering what the advertising said about the readership. Inside the back cover the entire page was given over to ‘bespoke’ fencing for an authentic ‘heritage’ effect, supplied by Woodlast Woodcrafts Ltd of Wellingsfield. Well, if it pays the bills I thought.

‘Julia has asked me to become a guest columnist.’

‘Excellent.’ I replied.

‘I’m not sure. There is lots I could say, it’s just I’ve never done that kind of writing.’

‘I’d be more than happy to edit you.’

‘She says most of the magazine has become too old fashioned, but she’s afraid of losing the readers she’s got. Her editor says she wants me to write about wellbeing and ecotherapy, but without the naff language. She says the column needs a title. I can’t image what.’

I found a piece of scrap paper and scribbled “The Home Wood Spirit”. ‘Just off the top of my head, as a start, traditional and modern?’

‘How do you do that? Get started I mean. Creating stuff.’

‘By knowing that the first attempt won’t be great, but then it doesn’t need to be. It just has to get you started.’

‘So how do you know when you’re finished?’

‘Well most people have deadlines. But you should know something can never be perfect, so you stop when it’s good enough, for now!’


‘So what do you normally do for Christmas?’ She said it like she was dreading the answer.

‘Well, it’s always been a sort of back and forth movement between Aunts as you might imagine, just a little less so whenever I’ve been involved with someone. The last couple of years it’s been Checkley for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, then to Aunt Elisabeth’s for a Tea with the Book Club on Boxing Day.’

‘A book club on Boxing Day!’

‘Yes, it started life as an ordinary book club, hosted by a local library, but over the years it’s become all Auntie’s cronies, so they now tend to meet in each other’s houses.’

‘Literary, “tea and scandal”.’

‘Now that is good, but if you’re going to remember everything I say…’

‘Were they good Christmases when you were a child?’

‘Yes, and we do the dead a disservice if we don’t remember the good times. Wordsworth said it best, “Surprised by joy - impatient as the Wind ..Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind. But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour…” His three-year-old daughter had died, he reproaches himself for letting the memory of her death, exclude his remembering the joyous moments of her life. Of course it also took me a while to appreciate that my aunts might be missing a brother and sister too. Sometimes it seems important to regress, to be the idiot child, they seem happier when I’m like that sometimes.’

‘My parents are alive and well, I see them about three times a year, but never at Christmas.’

‘There is some talk, that the Club Christmas lunch could be held on Christmas Eve itself. Quite a few of the members have no particular place to go. I could book one of the bedrooms for us?’

‘What about Checkley?’

‘Well they’d be honoured guests at the lunch.’

‘Yes, book a room. No surprises mind.’

‘The only surprise, if it goes ahead on the twenty-fourth, is that the Club has adopted the military tradition of officers waiting on other ranks.’


It was mid-afternoon about a week before Christmas that the apartment doorbell rang triggering the online imagery of two figures, Madam Concierge and our regular postie. Strange.

‘Personal delivery by hand sir, to be signed for’. I hesitated.

‘I found him in the building at an odd hour.’ Said the Dragon as some sort of justification for her presence.

‘I’m not expecting a parcel Barry, any idea what it is?’

‘Has the weight and feel of paper sir, like a mail order catalogue or a pack of printer paper.’

‘There’s no sender info apart from this code?’

‘No sir, they have to give their name and address to our computer though. It’s been scanned for security obviously. All I know is the first five digits there, tell you it’s our district, so a post office sometime after nine this morning.’

‘Thankyou Barry, most helpful, where do I sign?’

After closing the door I sat and fondled the parcel for a while. ‘Well! Open it.’ Charlie instructed.

‘Mm… The sender has clearly walked into one of our main post offices, grabbed stationary, had the counter help parcelling it up, and sent it, paying top whack.’

‘Oh for goodness sake, less of the Sherlock!’

I took my best scissors from the draw and began work. Charlie seemed agitated, rocking a little on her feet, it took me a moment to realise this was hovering - normally felt, not seen. ‘Well you could knock me down with a…’

‘I certainty could.’ She replied.

‘Ha! So much for “Recollections of a Long Life”, the sly old bugger, this is something else altogether, oh look - a note or missive. “Just a first draft you understand, sent it to Eddie, former County Librarian who will edit, thought you ought to see it if you are in this for the long haul.” Well, well. There appears to be a final chapter that is contemporary, but clearly a go at history, rather than gossip…’

‘What’s it called then?’

‘Brilliant, “Cattle Rustlers and Courtiers - a family history”.’


Uncle’s great work, over three hundred pages long, managed to grab our undivided attention in the days running up to Christmas. He wrote as he spoke, but that would be his editor’s problem, not ours. The story was more or less the Reformation to the present day, a gift of land by the Crown, for services rendered during Elisabeth I’s reign. The document screamed loyalty, continuity, community and a spirit of place.

‘He’s challenging you.’ Charlie said.

‘Yes, yes he is. And, despite the lack of a blood tie, offering numerous reasons to spend every last penny on the Park. This isn’t me making money for the Trust, this is Uncle’s mental takeover of another family’s Trust! And there was Julia, thinking it was some other kind of revenge.’

‘He has you snookered old boy!’

24: Recollections of a long life - gone astray

We first heard word of an impending crises at Checkley Manor when Julia texted, asking for a crash meeting. ‘What should I reply?’

‘Er, “We are at the Dissipated Kipper till about 12,00am comma with Tuffy Tufnell full stop”. That should do it.’

‘Why are we here?’

‘Good question, now I’m not particularly religious as you know…’

‘I mean why are we here, meeting Tuffy, I only sorted him a couple of days ago.’

‘I’m sure you did. But I haven’t spoken with him for a while, thought we might catch up.’

‘But why here, a gastropub is hardly your cup of tea.’

‘Well, makes a change. You never waitressed here then?’

‘No. Wish I had now, could have learnt to do proper silver service.’

‘Is that what they call it, formal waiting at table?’

‘Of course.’


When Tuffy arrived I invited him to sit down and asked him what he fancied. ‘That’s alright old man, I’ll order myself at the bar.’ And he was gone.

A moment or two later I turned around and there he was chatting away; ‘My, God. He’s even faster out of the trap than I’d imagined.’

‘Oh no, he’s not trying to pick-up the barmaid?’

‘Succeeding by the look of it. I assumed I’d have to give him a bit of a nudge.’

‘You’re setting him up! After what happened the last time?’

‘Yes, but Carrie’s much more his type and more likely to come across.’

‘And… You’d know all about that I suppose? What’s going on? This is a proper thought through scheme, isn’t it?’

‘You don’t wanna know.’

‘No I don’t, but you think she’s a serious contender for a relationship?’

‘Yep, and the perfect distraction.’

You… You’ve just let me off the hook.’

‘That was the general idea. And I don’t want to know either.’


‘I want you to hack your Uncle…’

‘Say that again.’

‘Stop him, make the words fall off his screen, or whatever it is you do.’

‘That’s not exactly the business I’m in, Julia.’

‘No, but you know people who do.’

‘In the most extreme circumstances, associates of associates, I suppose.’

‘Well this is a real emergency Tony - all our reputations are at stake.’

‘How come?’

‘Your Uncle has taken up writing his memoirs again.’

‘Oh, golly good!’ Turning to Charlie; ‘This has been an on-off project of Uncle’s for some years now, working title - Recollections of a Long Life.’

‘Well he has to be stopped.’

‘Why? You’ve been allowed to read some of it.’

‘Not really, I just caught a glance over his shoulder, that was enough.’

‘What did it say?’

‘It said, “..sometimes I see reflected in my nephew, myself as a younger man”.’

‘Oh, come Julia, that’s the sort of thing that would worry my Aunt Elisabeth, but not you!’

‘I know you Tony, and I know my husband, I know precisely what he intends.’

‘Anyway, Charlie and I are a team now, anything you require of me, will require her approval.’

‘Does Charlotte want to read about the Sixties and Seventies from someone who was there and does remember? All about a couple, who’s company she hopes to go on enjoying for the foreseeable. I’d be embarrassed to be a guest in my own house.’

‘But really, if this is just the old stories about running naked through the woods, high on whatever…’

‘From whom did you here that? Not your Uncle I trust?’

‘I don’t recall. Ill-informed servant’s hall gossip no doubt.’

‘It would be better for all of us if the entire period was airbrushed out.’

‘At the risk of having my head bitten off, who cares? Uncle isn’t exactly a public figure. He’d be unlikely to find a publisher anyway.’

‘But what if he does it as a blog or an e-book? Bots will search, names will link, everyone will know.’

‘Wait a second, let me get this clear. You’re saying Uncle will name, names; some of those are the rich and famous and that will mean his revelations will show up in search results and suggested links all over the Web?

‘Yes.’

‘But why would he name people?’

‘Revenge.’

‘Can I take your order, sir? Nice to see you Tony darling, you are stopping for lunch?’


‘So, what’s he using to write the Recollections?’

‘Bought a new laptop, paid cash for some reason.’

‘Oh yes. You, helped him set up then, got him online?’

‘No, no, he’s been going to a night class, they helped him with all that. Besides, he said he didn’t need to connect to my Wi-Fi yet.’

‘I bet he didn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think he’s read you like a book, anticipated you’d come to me, taken avoiding action. You didn’t happen to notice if he’d bought uninstalled software on old fashioned discs or flash drives etc.’

‘He said he needed back-up.’

‘Nothing much you can do then I’m afraid. Nothing much any of us can do, if it was all set up with help in a “dead” location, allowing the disabling of location tracking, the Wi-Fi and perhaps more besides. And presumably he’s not done something dumb like carrying a mobile whilst he was doing all this?’

‘Still hasn’t got one.’

‘Well there you are then. Sorry and all that. Just don’t go doing something silly like breaking his password and copying the text into your machine.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it would go straight into your cloud account. Then it would come down to your own default settings. Privacy is usually all about permissions to share, it doesn’t stop your operating system suggesting links for viewing based on whatever content you’ve given it! You might see a link to advice or an app; something interesting about copyright, attribution, plagiarism, libel etc. You click on and read, thinking I must stop Uncle making an arse of himself, yet all the time you are actually, bit by bit, putting his stuff out there for him…’

‘But that’s awful.’

‘Well, only if you think the thinking machine is your enemy, rather than making it your friend.’

‘And how is that supposed to happen?’

‘Well, it sort of requires a change of world view, seeing the machine not as part of some other realm or virtual world, but part of the here and now, it brought us here today via text, sits at the table with us, we interact with it in much the same way as we do with each other, gossiping about you and uncle and the past, showing what we feel. Me trying to be helpful whilst at the same time wondering whether Tuffy is still in the building, because after all I’m pretty certain that when I go and pay the bill I’ll find Carrie loitering ready to interrogate me about said friend…’

‘Who is this Carrie person?’

‘The barmaid, used to be something in PR, associate of the infamous Buffy Trumpton.'

‘All you’ve done is depress me Tony, I was going to reward a positive outcome with an offer about Christmas.’ Suddenly Charlie grabbed me under the table and hung-on - I took it as a danger signal.

‘Ah yes, well we’ve not come to a view as yet on what to do with our Christmases.’

‘So what is your advice, re said memoirs.’

‘Don’t interfere, let him do as he wishes, I can’t believe he’s not taken your feelings into account. After all, a whiff of scandal might be just the thing to shift a few books at the end of day!’


‘I don’t do Christmas.’ Charlotte said categorically, pausing, reluctant to start the engine. ‘I’ll stay at home if you’ve got commitments.’

‘We can do better than that, devise a way of avoiding Christmas altogether. We are not without resources. Of course, there is another alternative.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Create the Christmas we always wanted but never had. I mean, if Charles Dickens could fix it for an entire nation, it can’t be that difficult for the two of us!’