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.)