November 2022
Letter Two
27/11/22 15:39
My dearest Bunty,
Will my trials and tribulations never end? Sir Hector was most pleased with the proceeds of the shooting party we had last week and sees this as the Next Big Thing. He has suggested that we open the house for paying guests at New Year of all things. Just when I was looking forward to bringing in 2005 with a select group of locals. Still, the roof could be doing with a few tiles here and there, so I shall have to relent. I shall make him suffer a little before giving my assent. Men! Not that you would know much about them, dear, I know you never get much opportunity to meet a nice man and we are all getting on and let us face it, any looks you did have in your youth have long gone. The "rose that withered" is apt, you will agree. I have today switched to my "winter strength" moisturiser, as there can be a cold blast down the Cairngorms that can dry a lady's skin so when on the way to Church. Why does it always seem to be windy on church visits? I hate turning up to hear lovely Dr Williams preaching at the Episcopal Church and having to sit there with a bright red face and nose. It is not fetching in the least. I am sure he likes to see me at my best. He has never married, but has maintained himself well since his translation from Ely Cathedral two years ago. I am sure that moving from England has not been too much of a shock. Sometimes I wish I had been a clergy wife, dispensing good advice to the Savage in those parts of the World that once were Empire. I sigh that our Dear Queen is no longer entitled to use "Empress of India" like her mother before her. We knew where we stood during the Empire days, and the World looked back in awe.
I do not see much point in bringing you up in conversation with Dr Williams as I had promised you, as he seems elusive about discussing ladies and I put that down to having a Harrow education. My boys have done better I think with their Fettes College training. I did tell you years ago that it was necessary to maintain a good complexion in order to get and keep a man, but you never seem to listen to me. After all I have had lots of experience with the male species as you know and have ever been disappointed that you have paid scant regard to the advice of a critical friend.
Back to New Year plans, and that means I shall not be able to invite you up this year, as all the rooms will be used. I am sure you will be able to amuse yourself in London instead and that there will be some event you could attend at low cost. Sir Hector wants to advertise in the Aberdeen Press and Journal, but really, dear, I could not abide Aberdeen trades people cavorting in my home at that special time of year. I have suggested that Catriona, the Estate Manager drop subtle hints to Sir Hector that "Hunting and Fly-fishing Monthly" and indeed that source of all that is right in Society, "The Tattler" and if all else fails, "The Lady" are better suggestions. I am going to renew your subscription again this year as a Christmas gift. So practical these gifts you know, it means I can get on with planning and thinking of others now that yours is easy and out of the way.
I read in the Telegraph the other day that London hopes to host the 2012 Olympic Games. What a shock! With all that dirt and crime I would not want to be an athlete from Botswana arriving in England for the first time and coming across some of those nefarious characters that the streets seem to team with these days. Still, Daddy did have a lovely time at the 1920 Games and I still sport his rifle from that event when out on the grouse moor. It is good to have things to remind us of the past and better times. How I miss Daddy! He would be shocked at how the estate is now with all that new money tramping across the well tended lawns.
Your ever friend, Flora
This story first appeared on www.panetwork.co.uk in 2004
Will my trials and tribulations never end? Sir Hector was most pleased with the proceeds of the shooting party we had last week and sees this as the Next Big Thing. He has suggested that we open the house for paying guests at New Year of all things. Just when I was looking forward to bringing in 2005 with a select group of locals. Still, the roof could be doing with a few tiles here and there, so I shall have to relent. I shall make him suffer a little before giving my assent. Men! Not that you would know much about them, dear, I know you never get much opportunity to meet a nice man and we are all getting on and let us face it, any looks you did have in your youth have long gone. The "rose that withered" is apt, you will agree. I have today switched to my "winter strength" moisturiser, as there can be a cold blast down the Cairngorms that can dry a lady's skin so when on the way to Church. Why does it always seem to be windy on church visits? I hate turning up to hear lovely Dr Williams preaching at the Episcopal Church and having to sit there with a bright red face and nose. It is not fetching in the least. I am sure he likes to see me at my best. He has never married, but has maintained himself well since his translation from Ely Cathedral two years ago. I am sure that moving from England has not been too much of a shock. Sometimes I wish I had been a clergy wife, dispensing good advice to the Savage in those parts of the World that once were Empire. I sigh that our Dear Queen is no longer entitled to use "Empress of India" like her mother before her. We knew where we stood during the Empire days, and the World looked back in awe.
I do not see much point in bringing you up in conversation with Dr Williams as I had promised you, as he seems elusive about discussing ladies and I put that down to having a Harrow education. My boys have done better I think with their Fettes College training. I did tell you years ago that it was necessary to maintain a good complexion in order to get and keep a man, but you never seem to listen to me. After all I have had lots of experience with the male species as you know and have ever been disappointed that you have paid scant regard to the advice of a critical friend.
Back to New Year plans, and that means I shall not be able to invite you up this year, as all the rooms will be used. I am sure you will be able to amuse yourself in London instead and that there will be some event you could attend at low cost. Sir Hector wants to advertise in the Aberdeen Press and Journal, but really, dear, I could not abide Aberdeen trades people cavorting in my home at that special time of year. I have suggested that Catriona, the Estate Manager drop subtle hints to Sir Hector that "Hunting and Fly-fishing Monthly" and indeed that source of all that is right in Society, "The Tattler" and if all else fails, "The Lady" are better suggestions. I am going to renew your subscription again this year as a Christmas gift. So practical these gifts you know, it means I can get on with planning and thinking of others now that yours is easy and out of the way.
I read in the Telegraph the other day that London hopes to host the 2012 Olympic Games. What a shock! With all that dirt and crime I would not want to be an athlete from Botswana arriving in England for the first time and coming across some of those nefarious characters that the streets seem to team with these days. Still, Daddy did have a lovely time at the 1920 Games and I still sport his rifle from that event when out on the grouse moor. It is good to have things to remind us of the past and better times. How I miss Daddy! He would be shocked at how the estate is now with all that new money tramping across the well tended lawns.
Your ever friend, Flora
This story first appeared on www.panetwork.co.uk in 2004
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