C/O Mrs Clive
Brympton D’Evercy
Somersetshire
Monday, August 7th 1939.
Dear Daddy,
We have been exploring the country side in spite of the wet, since I last wrote.
Brympton is a tremendous place still, in spite of sales and bad times. You have to walk a long way to get away from it. The “abominable” aeroplane factory is just outside the border in the Yeovil direction and it is separated from Montacute by a tiny village called Lufton. This village has a church, an enormous vicarage, but no vicar, and a population of 21. Our parson takes charge of Brympton church, Lufton and Odcombe. Lufton Manor belongs to a cousin.
We have had another cricket Sunday. Cyril and Mrs Clive were once again the choir as all the maids were busy preparing for the lunch and tea for the cricketers.
Mr Lawrence Collingwood was the organist as the “regular” was missing for some reason or another, and Mr Braithwaite sat with his children and helped his little son to read the hymns. Michael of course was quite at home even during the sermon. Young Mrs Nicholas sat alone in the family pew while her husband was playing cricket. He really is an enormous man and exactly like his bull dog. They have the same walk exactly.
After church we watched the cricket a bit. Mrs Collingwood and her son and elder daughter did not go to church. I don’t know why. Mrs Collingwood knows nothing at all about cricket and made the most amusing remarks. She thought it such a shame to make “the poor young men run so hard”, and also said it seemed a very sad sort of game because “the poor young men always seemed to stand about with bowed heads”.
Mrs Roper came over after lunch with Geoffrey and some friends so I did not stay to watch the cricket but entertained her in the house and garden. We hope to go to Forde Abbey on Tuesday. Mrs Clive has some very special breed of ducks which she introduced on to her lake for decorative purposes. They are white with grey speckles and look very nice. However, they are spoiling her island which she has been making in the centre of the lake, so she is now gradually eating them all, as she had decided that she hates ducks in gardens.
The island is rather a pet of hers. She started it in the first place to get rid of surplus mud from the lake sides and bottom. Then she realised the decorative possibilities and got keen about it. Stone sides were placed to make the island keep shape, but whenever she got it just right the stones slid out and “the island was sick all over the lake”, as she expressed it. Then wire was fixed round the stones and the wretched island took to itself the shape of a large match box. She was in despair. However, it is now a nice irregular shape and covered with flowers.
One Bank Holiday, when all the gardeners were off for the day, she decided that it was a good time to attend to the island. She put on a bathing-dress and rowed across to get on with her work. She was well into it, mud and all, when to her HORROR she saw some strange people wandering in her garden and picking her lovely delphiniums. Even she was unable to cope with the situation, clad in a bathing suit, standing in the mud and cut off from the main land, she could not give chase. She stood up and shouted at them as hard as she could. They said something about thinking the flowers were growing wild (which was utter nonsense) and departed.
By the way, we have discovered that Miss Collingwood’s name is Mariana and her brother is Cedric. He is 20, studies forestry or something of that sort and is a conscientious objector to military service. He has to appear before the tribunal next month. Nice names, are they not? Mariana, Cedric and Francesca.
Michael has been playing in the old Ballroom most of the afternoon with the other children. They have a grand time together. They had a concert without audience. Michael played an organ he found there. He tells me “it had lots of little knobs, and made a noise but no tune.”
Georgina Clive-Ponsonby-Fane, the heiress, aged 2½ is a very sweet little person, dainty and very good looking, with a charming and most polite way of speaking. She is named after the lady through whom the estate came to the Ponsonbys – Georgina Fane, Duchess of Westmorland. Some great artist painted a beautiful portrait of her as a child among the crags and hills of Westmorland (or so I presume – any way crags and hills). It really is a lovely picture. Two original sketches hang in the house; the painted portrait hands in the Tate Gallery.
I went over the house today with Mrs Roper. Mrs Clive really does not do the place justice inside. Scarcely any of the rooms are used, and those that aren’t are crowded with furniture and treasures. Not half of them can be properly seen. Even the pictures are not seen to advantage. It is a great pity, but when Montacute was sold Mrs Clive brought numbers of pictures and treasures from her Aunt’s house to her own. I think that is what causes the congestion. Forde Abbey, on the other hand, looks so fresh and inhabitable. Mrs Clive always lives in the garden. She usually eats in the garden too, when it is fairly fine, so she only has to go in to write her letters and sleep.
I must go to bed, I’ll continue tomorrow.
Your loving daughter,
Veronica
