To market, to market to buy a fat hog, Home again, home again jiggety jog.
English nursery rhyme by John Florio, 1958
I have somehow allowed myself to be persuaded to write a weekly Blog. It seems immensely presumptive and arrogant to suppose that anybody might be interested in my personal opinions or history, but time will quickly show whether or not this is the case.
So, where to begin? “Where shall I begin, your Majesty?” asked the Knave of Hearts. “Begin at the beginning, carry on, and end at the ending” replied the King. It has always seemed to me a deeply wise instruction so I shall attempt to follow it.
And where shall I cast my eye?
“Under bare Ben Bulben’s head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid,
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:
Cast a cold eye on
On Life on Death
Horseman, pass by!”
That’s very memorable, especially the first line which has a splendid Celtic ring to it but it won’t do at all. I do not have a cold eye. Life is far too exciting and mysterious to regard coldly; so too is Death as at my great age it draws closer: I have hardly ever deliberately cast a cold eye on anyone except two ‘Donalds’. One was a nine year old boy who sat at the desk next mine at my preparatory school to whom, for reasons unknown then or now, I took an instant dislike. His parents lived in Tangier, meaning that he actually deserved sympathy for being unable to go home on the short Easter and Christmas holiday escapes from boarding school Hell, but I could gladly have throttled him – and might have done so had I not feared serious punishment. (How odd that I recall this ancient unworthy antipathy.) You will probably identify the second loathsome Donald without difficulty. “What’s in a name?” Potent magic according to necromancers: insignificance according to Juliet, pleading her famous rose metaphor.
So my blogging eye will be cast on the strange path I have trodden for ninety-four years and the wonders of the world I have wandered.
*****
I have no memory of my Nanny Mabel Smith prior to meeting her when I was grown up and could put a face – a pleasing one – on the woman who sent me birthday and Christmas cards full of expressions of the warmest lasting love each year. I am sad that I remember so little of earliest childhood. I seem to recall my nursery as a large and unusually tall square windowless room colored by yellow wallpaper. I believe there was a dumb-waiter in one corner by which meals arrived from the depths of the huge mansion for me and my younger brother Rupert, born 2 years after me, and our attendants. There was a pony-sized rocking-horse against one wall which arrived as a christening present from his godmother. It was a magnificent dappled steed but neither of us rode it frequently because the pleasure it provided was somewhat limited: up and down, back and forth – rather like life itself.
Later we moved to spend our days in our school-room. Its windows overlooked the immense graveled forecourt outside the front door to the deer park studded with magnificent Sussex oaks and the long driveway curling half a mile down to the gatehouse, and of course its internationally famous red deer herd. Warnham Court had been purchased by my great-grandfather at the height of his success as one of the leading contractors in the boom economic expansion of the Victorian era. With his younger brother as partner he had built many major London monuments including the Albert Hall, the Royal Opera House and the Crystal Palace as well as railways and docks across the country. Though a tiddler among the largest of great country houses Warnham Court was a substantial pile. An aerial photograph shows the frontage climbing five storeys high and pierced by rows of twelve windows, some of them very large. It was set in massive terraced gardens. A lawn looking south to the Sussex Downs was broad enough for six tennis courts side by side, though only two were netted. Some beginning, hunh?
The situation needs explanation. I was born in 1926, six years after the end of World War 1. My grandfather had divorced my grandmother after she ran away with a handsome young actor: a huge scandal in 1898 – (to be told in due course) – leaving him alone with their two young sons, my uncle Joe the elder and my father the younger aged ten. He did not remarry. Both his sons had miraculously returned from active service to relieve his solitude in his great house and after a few years both married themselves to a pair sisters, the elder to the elder and the younger, appropriately enough, to the younger. They were beautiful Scots/Irish girls whose father had retired from a lifelong career in the Indian Army to rent a substantial house on the Warnham estate.
Joe and Biddy had two daughters: Joan two years and Priscilla a month older than me. The especially close relationships meant that all the parties could live together without friction in enjoyment of the ample space and its wonderful amenities. I say ‘could’ because in practice Rupert and I saw little of our double-first cousins living on the floor below us, owing to rivalry between our two Nannies. Theirs, referred to by my father as “the Peahen” on account of her shrill voice, was so jealous of her prerogatives as the senior nanny that garden walks were scheduled in different directions to ensure we did not meet. Our parents, not subject to such arbitrary regulation, lived harmoniously together.
*****
Three requests! I love hearing from readers so please scroll down to the bottom of the page and leave me a comment in the box below. Please also register your email to receive notification of new posts. (Either enter your email into the ‘Subscribe’ box in the top right hand corner of this page. Or select the check box below the comments section. And finally, please help me spread the word by recommending Blogetty to your friends. Thanks ever so, Cyril!
Well done Cyril! I look forward to reading more!
Thank you, Cyrill, for allowing yourself to be persuaded to write a weekly blog. I so enjoyed this first one, and look forward to reading more. You have a wonderful way of putting things that makes my heart smile.
Thank you for your encouragement Sherry, it’s very much appreciated.
Thank you Cyril for sharing these memories. They are ever more important as you remain the lone teller of these tales. As I read your blog I try to see it through Granny Joan’s eyes and I feel even closer to her. I greatly appreciate your efforts to share with us all. With much love, Coulee. P.S. I look forward to you finishing the story of your grandparents scandalous divorce
Thank you Coulee! I certainly feel the responsibility of being the lone teller of these tales and am glad to be able to make this record. Am currently writing about your great-great grandfather Colonel Herbert Brander who led the Younghusband Expedition into Tibet, but I will get to Granny Millie and her scandalous divorce.
Dear Cyril, this is Frances, Catherine’s friend from IOW days. I so enjoyed this blog and will definitely subscribe to discover more. What a lovely idea to have a website and great that you still have so many photos. Very precious memories.
Dear Frances, how lovely to hear from you and thank you for your encouragement. I’m really enjoying making a record of my life and family history. And thanks to Catherine for creating this website for me. Cyril.
Thank you for starting this blog. I’m really looking forward to following along. I can sure see where Catherine gets her writing skills and sense of humor!
Thanks Robin, I appreciate your support and your fondness for Catherine!
I shall look forward to reading more of your blogs.
Thank you Miriam! I’ll be continuing to post the most recent blogs on facebook as usual.
Can’t wait to be alerted for more stories, thanks Cyril!
Thank you Patti, that’s very kind!
What a wonderful story teller you are Cyril, I absolutely loved this story and your reminisces. I am looking forward to reading your other posts.
Thank you so much for your kind comment, Paul. I really appreciate your help in drawing attention to BB. My first post reached 7 people. The most successful, about Easter Island which was owned by cousins on my mother’s Brander side at one point – reached 550, but the audience has declined recently from that level so your support is most welcome! I hope you will enjoy further reading and will welcome your comments with open arms. Respect and regards. Cyril.
This is a delightful blog, Cyril. “Tis an extraordinary heritage you have, a bit like Downton Abbey but more personal. For an American whose forbears arrived on the Mayflower, it is quite difficult to recognize that such people as you and your family really exist.
Your daughter Catherine (she introduces herself in my company as Catherine with a “C”, and I as Katherine with a “K”) connected me with you; we live in First Valley, Inverness, CA, just across from her and Mike. In this time of pandemic we howl at each other every evening right at 8, to honor the medical personnel who are putting their lives on the line and just for fun.
My husband Bridger and I are grateful beneficiaries of their warm friendship and Catherine’s amazing green thumb; all summer she has been spoiling us with the most delicious tomatoes, Japanese eggplants, zucchini, and sweet peppers.
We’re happy for the opportunity to get to know you a bit.
Katherine
Thanks for your comment Katherine with a K. I’ve often wondered how that difference arose. Glad you enjoy. Catherine with a C has been an enormous help!
Your memories of holidays at Sandwich with Florrie Grenfell co-incide with the remembered stories of my now-dead father, Nicky Bowen. His parents were Vera and Harold Bowen. I believe they spent several holidays there with them. Does this ring any bells with you?
Hello Michael. Good to hear from you. At first glance I regret the Bowen name rings no bells. That’s not too surprising. My mother’s photo album records only one visi to The Dunes in September 1928. I was two and a half. There’s a photograph of the huge house and others with Peter G and a pony. I do have faintest memories of that. The purpose of the visit was for my father to play golf and the children to play on the beach: the two activities did not coincide. Florrie was my father’ s favorite cousin and my godmother. I will look at my family tree to see if it records any Bowen name among its 2k entries. Best regards,
Michael. The tree includes Carmen Bowen b1911. d? m1950 Somerset Struben de Chair b1911. One son Peter b1939. d1962. Her inclusion is not explained as she has no recorded connection to anyone else.
Cyril,You say that Joe and Billy had two daughters didn’t they have Charles as well I thought Joey as we knew him was Charles’s dad ? really enjoying reading your blogs I’m Warnham born and bred keep up the good work yours Alan Ramsay
Hello Alan. You are perfectly correct. At the time mentioned Charles’ arrival was still 4 years in the future, replacing me as heir to the estate. I will amend the text. Hope Warnham has not suffered too badly in the pandemic! I have been fortunate enough to receive fo 2 shots of Pfizer.