Last weekend Battleaxe and Philosopher went to Buckinghamshire, primarily to attend the funeral of my cousin Nigel (John) Heywood. We stayed the night in High Wycombe, at a Premier Inn, and went to the funeral, in Amersham, the next day. Battleaxe visited her old prep school, Godstowe, in High Wycombe – the first time I had been back there in over 60 years! As well as that, I did a WI book talk in Eastbourne, we went to a Hastings Philharmonic concert at the White Rock Theatre, enjoyed a sunny walk in Alexandra Park, and of course, I’ve been writing, writing, writing…
This is the front gate of Godstowe School, where, aged eight, I used to wait for a parent to pick me up after school. So often, I’d be in a weeping panic because they were late, and I’d be left there alone. Battleaxe doesn’t write that much about her childhood, but the older I get, the more I understand that it was not at all a happy one. As one of my relatives said at the after-funeral do, about my mother – dachshunds were up there – and he held his hand above his head, while her children were down there – nearly on the floor.
When I grew a bit bigger, but still only aged nine, I’d walk down through High Wycombe Cemetery, and along a few roads to the main Hughenden Road, where I’d catch a bus to Naphill, where we then lived. The walk must have been about a mile, but of course many children undertook long walks to school in those days – but perhaps not when the parents had two cars, like mine did. We had three homes while I was at Godstowe, first at Radnage, then Naphill, and then out in a tiny village called South Weston, on the way to Oxford. The moves were mostly due to an expanding number of dogs, and led to my home life being very isolated. Here’s the view down to the Cemetery.
I wasn’t unhappy during school-days at Godstowe – I had friends – some were the daughters of famous Wycombe furiture manufacturers – Jane Ercolani (Ercol), Julia Gomme (G Plan). I was fine until the parents tried to make me board – I lasted a fortnight, not eating, not washing, hardly speaking. I also remember biting the gym teacher when she tried to force me into the horrible freezing swimming pool head first. See the windows in the sticking-out bit of building on the right of this picture? – I jumped out of one of those windows during a hated maths lesson, and ran off. That room is now the Headmistress’s study. I must have been a difficult child. The school has grown massively, and it is still the feeder prep school for near-by Wycombe Abbey School.
So, why did John Nigel have two names? I always knew him as Nigel, because when they were both children, he was very friendly with Pat, my much older sister, who, Battleaxe readers may remember, died just before the pandemic. She always called him Nigel, but everyone else, and all his work colleagues, knew him as John. He had a very successful career, ending up as Vice-Chairman of Hambros Bank, and was also a prolific and successful watercolour painter. However, I knew him very little, because Nigel’s mother and her sister, my mother, had pretty much a life-long feud. I wanted to go to the funeral because Nigel is the last of the older generation of my family – I am the next oldest, stuck in the middle of two generations between Pat and Nigel, Nigel’s children, and my nieces Sara and Nicola, who were both at the funeral with their husbands. It was good to see them. Nigel also had a lovely wife, Di, now of course, a widow.
The funeral was at Amersham Crem and then at the King’s Chapel, behind the King’s Arms Hotel in old Amersham.- a lovely old black and white building. I remember Amersham quite well because the parents used to go to another old Amersham hotel, the Crown, for Sunday lunch.
Enough of that. I think it is right to understand the effect the past has had on life in the present, and the way we are now, but it does not do to dwell on it.
So, in the present, Battleaxe is enjoying talking about ‘Death, Deceit and Cake’ to WI Groups, and say it as I shouldn’t, I show ’em a good time with lots of laughs. Here I am at Eastbourne Townies. I need to make more notes though. I am always asked what books inspired me to write, and my mind immediately goes totally blank. All I do know is that I realised I could write better than Richard Osman…
Concert? It was the 10th anniversary concert of the Hastings Phil, playing the same programme they had done 10 years ago. Firstly, a strange piece, ‘No Man’ by Philip O’Meara, which required the presence of a massive massed choir, soloists and a big orchestra. I regret to say I slept through most of it, only waking at particularly loud clashes from the percussion. Philosopher said that at least I didn’t snore. Anyway, the massed ranks of choirs etc meant that the main piece of the evening was Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, the Choral. I know it well, but have never seen it live. It is very long, and very technically demanding, and although the choir and soloists delivered the goods, I felt it was right at the limit of the orchestra’s capacity, and in some places it sounded a wee bit ragged. However, who am I to moan, we are very lucky to have the Hastings Phil and above all, the excellent Marcio da Silva. Here he is, ebullient as ever!
The weather has changed radically – it is now winter. We even had to buy a new winter duvet from Dunelm. Today it was very cold, but sunny, so we enjoyed a walk in Alexandra Park. Here are a couple of wintry trees.
Finally, I got this through the post. Don’t you love it?
