REPORT 40 APRIL 2006
I really enjoyed the frivolities . . .
I gave a talk to the Thursday Club the other day - not a successor to
the mildly louche club that Prince Philip used to attend at Wheelers
in Soho along with James Robertson Justice, Arthur Christian, Reggie
Bennett and Larry Adler who sued me and Reggie for describing him (in
my biography of Prince Philip) as ‘that ghastly little man who played
the mouth organ'. It was an odd business because Adler sued and we had
to apologise in open court. None of us actually turned up but Adler
sent his press agent who duly put out a statement and next day all the
papers carried a prominent story headed "Larry Adler not ‘ghastly
little man who played mouth organ’ says author."
Tim Heald
Well, as they say, there’s nowt so odd as folk, or whatever and Adler
and Reggie are both now dead so I don’t think I’ll get sued for
repeating the story, though one can never be too sure.
Anyway this Thursday Club is the one on the other side of the Fowey
River in Polruan. They meet in the village hall and listen to someone
such as me drone on for a while and then have a scrumptious tea.
Marjorie Barrie, who I knew in another incarnation at the Telegraph
Magazine in the old days and who is the widow of James Barrie once of
the eponymous publishers Barrie and Jenkins, wrote a report and we
ended up in the Cornish Guardian alongside such headlines as
"Councillors overrule bungalow planning", "New Traffic Warden" and
"Plan to run bus service in summer". I was "Club’s talk from royal
biographer".
I hope I don’t sound patronising or smart-alicky because not only do I
love local newspapers but I also take genuine pleasure at being on
page 4 alongside the councillors, the new traffic warden and the
proposed bus service. It not only gives the lie to that chilling
Margaret Thatcher line about there being no such thing as society it
actually makes being a writer seem like a reasonably normal and
respectable job, not something that one will grow out of one day or
something that any fool could do if they had the time or the
inclination.
I’m donating my fee to the fund to restore Lansallos Church which was
badly damaged by fire not long ago and must remember to send a cheque
to the new lady vicar who was apparently a stockbroker in an earlier
life. That makes me feel part of the community as did the event itself
which was warm and friendly and, well, good fun. Thank you Mary Thomas
for setting it up and to Pam Dalley for organising it.
I had a week based on the Royal Archives at Windsor in the early part
of the month which was riveting as usual. I stayed at the Frontline
Club which is so close to Paddington that it was almost like being in
Windsor. I just walked down to the station, picked up a hot chocolate
and took the train to Windsor and Eton via Slough. I also had a talk
to Davina Alexander who was a lady-in-waiting and had various suppers
with friends and relations including a first-ever meeting with Sara
Paretsky who has been a pen-friend for ages but whom I hadn’t
previously actually met. I also went over to have a kitchen supper
with Denis Compton’s widow Christine who had found some old scrapbooks
of Denis’s. I’ve now had the copy-editing for my revised version of my
earlier biography which Aurum are to publish in May. On the 16th of
that month I am chatting about that and 'Village Cricket' with Bishop
Bill of Truro who knows more about cricket than is quite decent at
this year’s du Maurier Festival. Earlier in the day around lunchtime
we’ll be launching that book and the paperback of 'Village Cricket' at a
buffet lunch at the Marina Hotel in Fowey. Do come and hear me and the
Bishop if you’re down our way. The Marina do is by invitation only but
I’m sure the odd gate-crasher would get away with it!
After my week in London and Windsor I got an early train and Penny
picked me up at Liskeard from where we drove over to Ince Castle for a
Cornish Oxford Society lunch. Ince is the home of the Boyds - Viscount
and Viscountess - and it was a jolly occasion except that the Ox Soc
has done an amazing job on recruitment and the Cornish branch has
suddenly grown from a sleepy thirty-something members to over a
hundred. Suddenly there are waiting lists for meetings and we don’t
recognise half the people. Still I am now on the miniscule committee
of four so one should be able to have a say in plans for the future as
well, one hopes, as avoiding the waiting list!
Head down for the next week or so, partly editing Denis and partly
editing the Palmers’ Brewery Company history plus working on the
slow-moving ‘Death and the Visiting Fellow’ and a (commissioned) crime
short story. I’m commissioning some little crime pieces for a Folio
Society anthology and have had some encouraging acceptances. And, of
course, the elusive Princess Margaret. More than enough though not
particularly riveting to write about. Just a necessary slog. The April
issue of Literary Review carried my review of a new sequel to Ronald
Blythe’s ‘Akenfield’ together with a contributor’s note at the front
mentioning the impending paperback of ‘Village Cricket’ but otherwise
it’s been all quiet on the publication front.
Back on the domestic front my two sons and a daughter-in-law came down
from London for the big local rugby match between the Cornish Pirates
and Harlequins. A sell-out crowd of about 6,000 including the bizarre
Falmouth Marine Band and a great atmosphere on a soggy day. The game
itself was, however, slightly boring because one-sided with result
never in doubt. It would be wonderful to have genuine first-class
rugby in Cornwall and there is the potential support to make it
possible plus an ever-replenishing bank of top players. One just
slightly wonders whether the will is genuinely there particularly at
the local government level. Enlightened support from this source is
essential as it is in other areas - vide my constantly thwarted plan
to build a Real Tennis Court in Cornwall. But, alas, enlightened
support from local government is not something which appears to be in
great supply, here or anywhere else, but particularly here it seems to
me.
Then the other night we had an offal dinner at the Royal Fowey Yacht
Club. A small group of us have been moaning on for ages about the lack
of offal available in restaurants or even butchers so we decided to
have an evening devoted to almost unmentionable parts of animals and
the chef, Steve, more than rose to the challenge. We started with
tripe in a parsley sauce. Then came a warm salad of pigs’ ears with
bacon and liver. Next the main course, a mixed grill of tongue, heart,
sweetbread and testicles (which the French rather charmingly call
frivolities I believe) together with mushrooms and baked tomatoes.
Then a piece de resistance where Steve said he would normally serve a
sorbet. Instead he produced a small casserole of stewed somethings
with tiny spoons for everyone to help themselves. Three of the company
of seven managed one each but the others were completely defeated and
none of the three adventurers could manage a second. The mystery
delicacies were sheeps’ eyes. I’ll eat almost anything but I rather
hope that’s my last sheep’s eye! Then a savoury of whole fresh sardine
followed by ‘spotted dick’ because as Steve put it "I couldn’t find
the real thing". It was certainly a gastronomic experience and some of
it was delicious. I’m sorry to say that I really enjoyed the
frivolities but I draw the line at the eyes.
Now at last there is a hint of spring in the air. I have even written
the introduction to the Fowey "Fowey in Bloom" portfolio. Last year
Tim Smit of Heligan did the job and Fowey won a gold medal. I fear
Tim’s fingers are greener than mine so hope I don’t turn out to be an
unlucky choice. Meanwhile I have penned some thoughts on blogging
which seems to be something everybody else in the world has now taken
up and which in a curious way I think this probably is. So far the
piece has been turned down by the Spectator and might possibly be
taken on by the Society of Authors ('if space permits' or words to
that effect). I shall try elsewhere but if all else fails I’ll post it
here on the web.
It’s impossible to know if I’m doing the right thing but John Bennett,
the trusty web-master at Scorpian, reports an ever-increasing number
of ‘hits’ and I seem to get some fascinating feedback. The latest
communication I had was from an old schoolfriend I hadn’t seen since
university forty years ago. Forty years on! Oh dear, oh dear. Talking
of forty years on, Hunter Davies, my old boss on the Sunday Times’
Atticus column has just been signed on as Wayne Rooney’s ghost but
also cropped up in the Independent writing a funny and moving obituary
of another colleague of ours from those far-off days - Michael
Bateman. Michael was an eccentric, life-enhancing fellow, an
innovative writer on food and drink, and, sadly, I hadn’t seen him
for, well, probably forty years. My loss and an opportunity now, alas,
gone for ever.
All very salutary.
Report Number
40 APRIL 2006
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