Letter 19
04/02/23 14:33
My Dearest Bunty,
Burns Night this year is going to be a lonely affair as most of the guests we have asked for our traditional celebration are previously engaged. What a shame! Last year I was the toast of the night with my 'Reply to the Address to the Lassies' and although I am assured that I did not make offence, and that my humour was most appropriate, I do get the feeling that I am being Sent to Coventry this year by the county Worthies! We have not been invited to any other event that night so I think we are being snubbed. And after us throwing the Hogmanay Party of the decade too!
I shall not take this to heart, dear, as there are those about who NEVER get an invitation to any social event throughout the year. I am thinking of you, sadly, when I write that sentence, as your days of socialising seem to be over now that you are permanently tied to the Countess with all her problems. What a shame it is. Still, you were never that sociable when we were slips of girls and always that wallflower at the dances and parties put on for us to attend. I know your heart was set on James MacDonald, but when he ran off with that Indian princess back to Manipur, you should have set your cap at someone else rather than seething and stewing in resentment. Oh heartbreak! Is it not a terrible thing? Some of the greatest poets in English have written their finest works when under the broken arrow of Cupid - you should have taken a leaf from their book and carried on but no you had to start wearing sensible shoes and high necked lace blouses in cream. At least you did not move to those dreadful floral things you now wear as day attire! I would have dropped you then and there if you had. Here am I writing about sensible shoes when I have cupboards filled with them now! Still I do like my court heel for the days when I aught to be presentable and court shoes do not go with winter tweeds at all. I have my ladies brogues for that, and well heeled I may add.
Sir Hector and I were in Inverness the other day and attended a harp recital in one of the halls there. Not classical I am glad to say but some young people with clarsachs - how I hate using the English plural for that wonderful instrument, but then you were not blessed to come from a part of the country where the Language of the Angels is still spoken in pockets. The playing was quite delightful with lilting slow airs and rousing Strathspeys and Marches, whilst one of the young men sang songs of longing and parting in the most tear producing tenor whilst playing accompaniment on his instrument. I well remember Nanny playing her instrument. She was a stern governess for us young Deerestalkers I can tell you, but that is Harris folk for you. I cannot remember ever seeing her smile. She had the same expression from the moment she was employed until the day we Deerestalkers headed off to boarding school. She headed back in her black cardigan to Harris I believe and took up with some Tweed weaver, to the shock of my beloved parents I may add. Who would have thought it? I guess she was taken in by that lovely Hearrach lilt and the dark evenings in the winter.
I think I shall arrange a little musical evening next month and invite Rev Battershaw, the new vicar I mentioned before, along to hear some traditional Scottish music. I am sure he would enjoy that and it would give me a chance to give him some local advice and colour. I am sure he is settling in well, but I hear that he now drives about the parish on a motorbike, totally in leather. What the helmet will do for his cropped hair and stubbly beard I shall not know but as long as he looks presentable at Divine Office I shall not care. The single ladies on the Estate are still vying for his attention I can tell you but he has not made a single convert. It is such a worry I can tell you and I was thinking of offering to have his laundry done by our own Housekeeper. She never has enough to do.
Yours as always, Flora
This story first appeared on www.panetwork.co.uk in 2004
Burns Night this year is going to be a lonely affair as most of the guests we have asked for our traditional celebration are previously engaged. What a shame! Last year I was the toast of the night with my 'Reply to the Address to the Lassies' and although I am assured that I did not make offence, and that my humour was most appropriate, I do get the feeling that I am being Sent to Coventry this year by the county Worthies! We have not been invited to any other event that night so I think we are being snubbed. And after us throwing the Hogmanay Party of the decade too!
I shall not take this to heart, dear, as there are those about who NEVER get an invitation to any social event throughout the year. I am thinking of you, sadly, when I write that sentence, as your days of socialising seem to be over now that you are permanently tied to the Countess with all her problems. What a shame it is. Still, you were never that sociable when we were slips of girls and always that wallflower at the dances and parties put on for us to attend. I know your heart was set on James MacDonald, but when he ran off with that Indian princess back to Manipur, you should have set your cap at someone else rather than seething and stewing in resentment. Oh heartbreak! Is it not a terrible thing? Some of the greatest poets in English have written their finest works when under the broken arrow of Cupid - you should have taken a leaf from their book and carried on but no you had to start wearing sensible shoes and high necked lace blouses in cream. At least you did not move to those dreadful floral things you now wear as day attire! I would have dropped you then and there if you had. Here am I writing about sensible shoes when I have cupboards filled with them now! Still I do like my court heel for the days when I aught to be presentable and court shoes do not go with winter tweeds at all. I have my ladies brogues for that, and well heeled I may add.
Sir Hector and I were in Inverness the other day and attended a harp recital in one of the halls there. Not classical I am glad to say but some young people with clarsachs - how I hate using the English plural for that wonderful instrument, but then you were not blessed to come from a part of the country where the Language of the Angels is still spoken in pockets. The playing was quite delightful with lilting slow airs and rousing Strathspeys and Marches, whilst one of the young men sang songs of longing and parting in the most tear producing tenor whilst playing accompaniment on his instrument. I well remember Nanny playing her instrument. She was a stern governess for us young Deerestalkers I can tell you, but that is Harris folk for you. I cannot remember ever seeing her smile. She had the same expression from the moment she was employed until the day we Deerestalkers headed off to boarding school. She headed back in her black cardigan to Harris I believe and took up with some Tweed weaver, to the shock of my beloved parents I may add. Who would have thought it? I guess she was taken in by that lovely Hearrach lilt and the dark evenings in the winter.
I think I shall arrange a little musical evening next month and invite Rev Battershaw, the new vicar I mentioned before, along to hear some traditional Scottish music. I am sure he would enjoy that and it would give me a chance to give him some local advice and colour. I am sure he is settling in well, but I hear that he now drives about the parish on a motorbike, totally in leather. What the helmet will do for his cropped hair and stubbly beard I shall not know but as long as he looks presentable at Divine Office I shall not care. The single ladies on the Estate are still vying for his attention I can tell you but he has not made a single convert. It is such a worry I can tell you and I was thinking of offering to have his laundry done by our own Housekeeper. She never has enough to do.
Yours as always, Flora
This story first appeared on www.panetwork.co.uk in 2004