Letter One
25/11/22 15:37
My dearest Bunty,
Thank you for your last letter which arrived with Mr Morrison the postman this morning. I have to say that it has arrived not a moment too soon! What has been going on I ask myself? We are right in the middle of the hunting season and Sir Hector is avoiding all the paying guests. I know times are hard and the estate needs the cash, but must we as the landowners join in with the frivolities required? I think not.
Catriona our sturdy Estate Manager has managed to talk Sir Hector around to inviting a hoard of dreadful people to the estate for a few days of shooting. Goodness, you would think that they had never held a gun before! Some of them were more danger to themselves than to the birds. The latter have been sadly absent, but Ruaridh our head gillie tells me, they are there just that the paying guests make so much noise that the birds have fine warning that they are on the way. I am glad I must say, as that is more for Sir Hector and I to have to ourselves whenever we do get a moment to ourselves for a quiet afternoon of shooting.
The days are drawing in up here in Banffshire and I have only just moved into my winter tweeds, and not a day too soon as there was a sharp fall in the overnight temperatures last Monday and those raspberries we had not had taken in all withered on the bush. Such a shame as Cook will not be able to make as much jam for the Estate shop as she had hoped. A tighter squeeze then for the Estate, which will mean more of these dreadful social climbers having to come along to "do the country". You will never guess, but one of the recent "guests" had the nerve to complain about damp in the North Wing of the house. Yes really! As if a house with four-foot thick walls will ever need a damp course, and I do not care that this was the proprietor of a building firm, he is still in trade after all, and from Leeds! Did I ever tell you about that dreadful woman I met when travelling by train last year on the Flying Scot? She was loud brash and opinionated and it has tarnished my love of Yorkshire and the Dales somewhat.
Last evening some of the "wives" arrived yesterday evening. I say "wives" as some of these had never seen the face of a minister in a church service and it was nothing but Common Law companions. And as for country fashion! Not a decent tweed amongst them! All Country Casuals I must say, and not even inherited at that! Loud? I had to take to my bed in disgust, pretending I had a flare up of perennial short term debilitating condition that we country ladies suffer from: New Money-phobia. All that ostentatious display of wealth: diamonds in the countryside and several twisted strands of nasty Japanese pearls before six, Post Meridian. The Misses Forrester who taught us deportment at Cheltenham Ladies College will be turning in their graves. I ask you, is there no end to this?
We have decided not to install access to the Satellite television for the guests. Well it cost so much and really it is for us, dear, me for those wonderfully uplifting programmes on "The Hallmark Channel" and Sir Hector for his occasional horseracing. Well we do need a break from the guests. Not that he has access to his horseracing channel, dear me no. I managed to convince Catriona's teenage son to teach me how to put a parental lock on the box! How Sir Hector fumed without the password! I love technology dear! You must really save up for an electronic mail account. I have read on the BBC that there are cafes in London where you can go to access mail and shop. I am sure these are nothing like Luca's of Musselburgh or Nardini' in Largs and that the ices will be nothing but water, but I am sure that you will be able to get a strong Darjeeling instead.
Cook tells me that she has sent you some damson jelly. How you will get the opportunity to use it on game whilst still on your income I shall never know. You really must keep your chin up, dear, there are enough dowagers about to keep you as companion for years to come.
Your ever friend, Flora
Thank you for your last letter which arrived with Mr Morrison the postman this morning. I have to say that it has arrived not a moment too soon! What has been going on I ask myself? We are right in the middle of the hunting season and Sir Hector is avoiding all the paying guests. I know times are hard and the estate needs the cash, but must we as the landowners join in with the frivolities required? I think not.
Catriona our sturdy Estate Manager has managed to talk Sir Hector around to inviting a hoard of dreadful people to the estate for a few days of shooting. Goodness, you would think that they had never held a gun before! Some of them were more danger to themselves than to the birds. The latter have been sadly absent, but Ruaridh our head gillie tells me, they are there just that the paying guests make so much noise that the birds have fine warning that they are on the way. I am glad I must say, as that is more for Sir Hector and I to have to ourselves whenever we do get a moment to ourselves for a quiet afternoon of shooting.
The days are drawing in up here in Banffshire and I have only just moved into my winter tweeds, and not a day too soon as there was a sharp fall in the overnight temperatures last Monday and those raspberries we had not had taken in all withered on the bush. Such a shame as Cook will not be able to make as much jam for the Estate shop as she had hoped. A tighter squeeze then for the Estate, which will mean more of these dreadful social climbers having to come along to "do the country". You will never guess, but one of the recent "guests" had the nerve to complain about damp in the North Wing of the house. Yes really! As if a house with four-foot thick walls will ever need a damp course, and I do not care that this was the proprietor of a building firm, he is still in trade after all, and from Leeds! Did I ever tell you about that dreadful woman I met when travelling by train last year on the Flying Scot? She was loud brash and opinionated and it has tarnished my love of Yorkshire and the Dales somewhat.
Last evening some of the "wives" arrived yesterday evening. I say "wives" as some of these had never seen the face of a minister in a church service and it was nothing but Common Law companions. And as for country fashion! Not a decent tweed amongst them! All Country Casuals I must say, and not even inherited at that! Loud? I had to take to my bed in disgust, pretending I had a flare up of perennial short term debilitating condition that we country ladies suffer from: New Money-phobia. All that ostentatious display of wealth: diamonds in the countryside and several twisted strands of nasty Japanese pearls before six, Post Meridian. The Misses Forrester who taught us deportment at Cheltenham Ladies College will be turning in their graves. I ask you, is there no end to this?
We have decided not to install access to the Satellite television for the guests. Well it cost so much and really it is for us, dear, me for those wonderfully uplifting programmes on "The Hallmark Channel" and Sir Hector for his occasional horseracing. Well we do need a break from the guests. Not that he has access to his horseracing channel, dear me no. I managed to convince Catriona's teenage son to teach me how to put a parental lock on the box! How Sir Hector fumed without the password! I love technology dear! You must really save up for an electronic mail account. I have read on the BBC that there are cafes in London where you can go to access mail and shop. I am sure these are nothing like Luca's of Musselburgh or Nardini' in Largs and that the ices will be nothing but water, but I am sure that you will be able to get a strong Darjeeling instead.
Cook tells me that she has sent you some damson jelly. How you will get the opportunity to use it on game whilst still on your income I shall never know. You really must keep your chin up, dear, there are enough dowagers about to keep you as companion for years to come.
Your ever friend, Flora