No 29 - Miss Pringle's Very Brief Encounter with Romance

Pupil Free Day.

Miss Pringle’s (very brief) Encounter with Romance

It was a pupil free day. The Headmistress, Miss Sefton and the Assistant Head, Miss Pringle were to attend the annual conference for GSA Heads (Girls Schools Association) which was to take place in Manchester at the Principle Hotel.

It was Rebecca that noted, ‘In truth, it was not so much a pupil free day but a Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle free day for the girls’. Tamsin said, quote ‘It’s not fair. It is not a free day. We are still supposed to study’ unquote. I am not quite sure why I put that in quotes probably trying to sound like a published author I ‘spose.

In the interim Miss Frenzi the Sports Mistress was left in charge of the college.

These independent schools like Denham Hall are private colleges and are distinguished by their academic excellence, pastoral care, and co-curricular provision… or that’s what it says on the internet. It goes on to say ‘the conference is to discover new ideas, share insights, challenge assumptions, catch up with old friends and above all to inspire’.

As Lord Hampton-Myer Head of the Board of Directors at Denham Hall told Miss Sefton during a coffee break at the GSA meeting, ‘I am aware of these dreadful rumours circulating around the college. As you know Miss Sefton Denham Hall is a privately owned college. It is a place of learning for genteel Christian young ladies, daughters of families of substance, and was given its charter by George II and its status as a privately owned establishment cannot be changed by the government, or anyone else for that matter, and it will remain so in perpetuity. Of that you can rest assured’.

These were comforting and reassuring words for Miss Sefton after recently having to refute the disgusting and distressing gossip that was circulating around the college, a rumour that the college was to be amalgamated with creatures from the Watford Grammar School for boys into some sort of huge government comprehensive school.

While circulating, Miss Sefton noted the Marchioness of Cirencester, a generous Denham Hall benefactor, was present without her husband and deep in conversation with the president of the GSA, a Mr Robins.

The following week the gossip that leaked out of the teachers’ common room was that while on the train to Manchester Miss Sefton moved into the corridor to stretch her legs when a gentleman entered the carriage and struck up a conversation with Miss Pringle. She explained she was on her way to a Heads of Teachers Conference and that it was her first visit to Manchester. He replied saying he was ‘something’ in the city.

The conversation continued until the train was about to pull into Manchester Station. Miss Sefton had yet to resume her place in the carriage. The gentleman stood up gathered his briefcase and asked Miss Pringle if she was free that evening. Miss Pringle was speechless, or at loss for words.

Anyhow she informed him in the most polite manner that ‘yes, she was free’ and ‘yes, that is the way it always had been’ and ‘yes, that was the way it was going to remain’ and thanked him very much for asking.

I knew this story would get the girl's tongue’s wagging, not that they wanted to see Miss Pringle married off or anything like that, and being in her late forties/early fifties I guess children were not necessarily upper-most in Miss Pringle’s mind.

Today was Friday; the forecast was fine for the weekend and I had phoned mother to alert her that I would be bringing Phaedra Gascoigne home for the weekend. As Tamsin was returning to Loch Awe for the weekend I asked mother if I also invite Mr Crisis the science teacher. He was presently living in the empty caretaker’s room. Miss Sefton the headmistress was unaware that Mr Crisis, although his appointment was a permanent position, it may turn out to be more of a temporary nature. He may be called back to Epsilon Bootis any moment.

On arriving at Inveraray Castle I asked mother, where the cat came from that was wandering around the kitchen. She replied it came from the bread shop in the village. When the shop was recently sold Mrs Rutherford, the owner, said she wanted the cat to go to a good home. She assured mother it was a good ratter.

Mother said, “if I had known at the time Mrs Rutherford had rats or mice in her bakery I may have thought twice about having a standing order for a cottage loaf or two, whether her cat, Lorraine was a good ratter or not”. I pondered, yes good point. By the way, we haven’t had a cat for many years at Inveraray Castle, not since Barnaby died.

Colonel Carter-Brown and his wife were calling around this afternoon and the colonel informed father he was bringing Reynard the orphan fox cub with him. He had been given permission from the authorities to keep him as a pet.

I realised, as did father, if this Reynard beast were to revert to its natural instincts and was mistaken in thinking we had a rabbit living in the kitchen instead of a cat there was going to be one hell of a kerfuffle when he catches sight of Lorraine, so when the colonel arrived father asked the colonel if he might tie him up outside.

A little later I and Phaedra asked the colonel if we could walk Reynard down to the river. We left the men sorting out the world’s problems. Although the priority I imagine will be to decide if there was any noticeable difference between a Chivas Regal 20 and the 25.

Mother and Lady Rowena the colonel’s wife meanwhile sat in the saloon with the intent on demolishing a bottle of reddish colored stuff while discussing the occult or the after-life or something.

We dare not take Reynard off the leash as we were not sure just how domesticated he was but he did attract a lot of stares and a few comments like ‘lovely looking dog you have there’, and ‘looking for Rabbits?’

Arriving back at the castle we took Reynard the fox into the castle’s tea shop thinking it would be a good talking point for the tourists when they arrived back home. A young Asian lass asked us what breed of dog it was and Phaedra told her it was a fox. Wide-eyed she confessed she had never before heard of that breed. As she leaned forward to stroke Reynard I intervened and suggested that may not be such a great idea.

From the tea shop, I thought I heard the musical strains of ‘I Belong to Glasgow’ emanating from the saloon. It was certainly not Mr Crisis who was leading the singing. I reckoned father must have opened the Chivas Regal 20 or failing that had finished the 20 and then opened up the Chivas 15, 25…. or whatever.

As the piano was in the saloon I could not see how I and Phaedra would be able to prise the males out of the saloon so we were forced to retreat to the Green Room and listen to the wireless and play cards followed by ‘Who Am I’. We really must get the piano tuned.

No 28 - Harpist in the Roof

   

Inveraray Castle

Nathan had been trying for ages to entice Tamsin round to his place to listen to his Harry Belafonte record collection. So far she has declined his invitation. Wise move. Nathan’s mother warned Tamsin if she does accept his offer to keep a clear head and an alert mind at all times when around Nathan. 

I saw my lifelong friendship of two weeks crash soon after I met Nathan. It wasn’t as if we had little in common. We had nothing in common. His love interest is now squarely aimed at Tamsin and I know what is going to happen. Her mother is going to ask me where I find these strange male creatures of the opposite species, as if it’s my fault.

Anyway, it was a new day. Better still it was the weekend and I will be going home. I confirmed with Tamsin and Rebecca that they were both aware they had been invited to stay at Inveraray for the weekend. That’s Rebecca Macleod, not Rebecca Tate who left the college. Tamsin’s home is only about ten miles north of us at Kilchurn on Loch Awe so she might pop home for an hour or two over the weekend.

Beecham had arranged for Andrew the stable lad to pick all three of us up at Oban Airport. On arriving at Inveraray mother told us she had also invited Lord and Lady Bêsant-Carter over for the weekend. They were staying in the district from their home in Edinburgh.

At least father will have the chance to pair with another connoisseur to discuss what constitutes the finer points of a good whisky;
a good whisky being a Chivas Regal. So father was armed with two bottles in case the choice was to become demanding and time-consuming.

Meanwhile, mother was paired with Mrs Dalrymple against Lady Bêsant-Carter and Mrs Pasta in a game of bridge. She is not a relative of the Carter-Browns – that’s Lady Bêsant-Carter, not Mrs Pasta.

With dinner over the bridge players assembled in the Green Room. Mother said Betty Flowers, the gardeners wife had telephoned earlier to inform her that the Wassailing Club at the Argyll hostelry in the village had been closed down by order of the police due to the continued noise complaints so she was unable to attend the bridge party this evening. No, it was not the hostelry that was closed down just the Wassailing club and she was required to ferry her inebriated husband home.

While the cards were being shuffled and dealt mother recounted an event that had happened earlier that afternoon.

She said whilst walking along the western corridor of Inveraray Castle a maintenance man had reported seeing a small water stain on the edge of the ceiling running down the cornice and onto the wall of the gallery. He told her husband it appears there was a small leak in the roof and it should be attended to as soon as possible.

Maintenance was taken very seriously at Inveraray Castle, as father rightly pointed out, although it might be our home, we cannot take it with us when we go. It is the people’s history. It was a legacy and Inveraray belongs to the people.

The builders in the village were notified immediately and the foreman and his son a student architect came and inspected the roof. During the inspection, they did find a number of broken tiles. They also found a mattress in the attic which had everyone mystified. The tiles were replaced that same day.

The dusty straw mattress was brought down from the roof. It was anyone’s guess how many years the mattress had lain hidden in the attic but from its dusty state, it had been a very long time. It was temporarily laid in the old kitchen while it was examined.

As an aside, but still on the subject of kitchens, I should make mention of our college kitchen at Denham Hall and the culinary delights they fed us, girls. Our tuckshop specialty was cheese and cardboard wafers, and apples, and stuff. At home at Inveraray there are no meals of what would be termed ‘foreign design’; oh there was an exception for noodles. By foreign, I mean eastern exotic foods like curries, pizza’s or Chinese or birds nest soup and the like.

Mother said curries are fine for Indian persons living in Bombay or Karachi and its environs but not in the Inveraray Castle kitchens or the café’s in the village. Whether father partook of these ‘exotic foods’ on his overseas travel who knows.

Now back to the mattress. The truth can be lost over time and the story that a young harpist was killed for just taking a peep at the lady of the castle is too silly for words. Even Tamsin noted this punishment was way over the top for taking a peep at the lady of the castle, whether she was clad or in her birthday suit or not.

It is said he is a friendly ghost that appears more often to women and is rarely seen by men which could go a long way to explain why he was butchered, because if the harpist was a Roué or a debauched person then I suspect his strengths were not so much in playing the harp as cohabiting with the lady or ladies of the house, and that’s all I’m saying.

As I said there were a number of ghosts that dwelt in Inveraray Castle, but we will discuss the harpist ghost.

To put you in the picture the Duke of Argyll was driven from his castle in the year 1644 by the Marquis of Montrose. But the Duke's harpist was left behind. Some sources say the harpist was left behind as punishment for peeping at the lady of the castle.

Another tale is the Marquis of Montrose ordered him to be executed by hanging. Being Irish the harpist was accused of being a spy. Other reports I have read say he was slaughtered and his remains left on a bed. For warranting such a cruel sentence I suspect it was a little more than just a peep.

Since his death the harpist has been seen roaming Inveraray castle, playing his harp and dressed in the Campbell tartan.

The story of the harpist took on a new turn when the mattress was found. Mrs. Pasta, the kitchen hand, while inspecting the mattress, found what appeared to be a deliberate tear in the side of the mattress. I would hastily add this harpist person might have had more than one clandestine thing going on at the same time, so we must not necessarily point the finger at the lady of the castle.

On further investigation, a part written note was found as well as a spare set of unboxed new harp strings. I like to put all the facts before my readers.

It was assumed the letter was written by the harpist warning the lady, whoever she was, that he suspected their tryst in the castle attic had been uncovered and suggested their relationship should end here and now.

I agree there may have been a number of young ladies in the distant past that may have been invited by the harpist for a tour around the castle’s attic, be they servants, scullery maids or kitchen staff.

Here is food for thought. The 3rd  and 4th Dukes were both renowned soldiers and their reputations were almost destroyed by the 5th Duke, I think I have got that right. He was  a playboy and he left a string of debts. So it is possible if this chappie left a string of debts he also left a string of children that just might have been conceived during tours in the attic that I write of? Just saying.

To my gentle readers I have deliberately omitted the full title of the Duke who was in residence of the castle at the time of these clandestine meetings, if only to shield the name of his good lady wife who was she still alive could also be slanderously accused of nocturnal visits, but more importantly to protect her reputation, that’s assuming she had a reputation to protect that is and had not accepted any offers for guided tour of the attic.

I grant you frankly it does not matter anymore but nevertheless, reputations are important for the living and the dead.

The bridge game started. As the bottles of Chivas Regal 25 were freed from their cork restraints father turned to Colonel Carter-Brown and Lord Bêsant-Carter and proposed a toast to the young harpist. Glasses were raised, toasts offered and Mrs Dalrymple opened the bidding with two hearts as I, Tamsin and Rebecca retired to the saloon.

No 27 - Tamsin Questions Reality

Tamsin Questions Reality  

It was another of those beautiful lazy summer afternoons. Tamsin, Jessica and I were not returning home but staying in the college for the weekend. Most of the girls were in town. We were laying on the grass by the tennis courts. No sounds of traffic could be heard from the road interrupting our daydreaming, the college being too far from the road to be disturbed by passing traffic. The only sounds to be heard were the birds.

Most of the topical college gossip had been covered when Tamsin sat up and resting on one arm pointed out that there was something odd about the top floors of the college, the floors that housed the four dormitories. The college by the way was a huge gothic building built in the 18th century.

It was said to be haunted and was proved so quite recently when it was discovered that a young girl by the name of Sophie Rochefort who died in 1835 aged 10 of meningitis made contact with Jessica Wyndham when she was sick in the infirmary.

Nurse Mayo said Jessica’s account was triggered by the result of hallucinations following a food poisoning scare after eating toadstools in mistake for mushrooms. Even so, Jessica swore she had a number of conversations with Sophie after lights out. It was not nurse Mayo that had any conversations with Sophie but Jessica, so we had to believe Jessica and not Nurse Mayo.

Questioning Tamsin’s earlier comment I asked: “Tamsin what do you mean odd?”

She said, “Well on this side of the building we can see the six windows of each of two of the dormitories. Right”?

“Yes……. so”?

She continued “Well the two dorms on this side of the building also have six windows each, so the two dormitories have a total of 12 windows, right, plus the window in the middle which is Duty Matron’s room. That’s a total of 13 windows right?”

“Right Tamsin, but where is this leading?”

She continued. “The other dorms, Nightingale and Victoria, are the same. Looking up from the quadrangle one can see the 12 windows of the two dorms on the southside but there is no Duty Matron’s room on that side. The Duty Matron’s room has only one window in total. I am seeing one window too many”.

We leaned back and studied the windows.

I asked Tamsin “Do you normally pass your day counting windows, Tamsin?”

“We will ask Mr Crisis, the science teacher, on Monday. He knows everything. I found out he comes from Epsilon Bootis or thereabouts. I misled my readers earlier writing he came from Proxima Centauri. Hang on it really doesn’t matter, it’s immaterial”.

Sunday morning church service was held by Pastor Dickie. His congregation was sparse as most of the girls had returned home for the weekend but enough girls remained to start a collection for those that were ‘less fortunate than us’.

After church Tamsin and I explained to Mr Crisis about the anomaly of the number of windows in the main building.

He confirmed “you are certain there are 12 windows in total in both dorms plus the one in the Duty Matron’s - room that is a total of 13, but when viewed from the ground you see 14 windows, is that right?”

We chorused “Yes Mr Crisis”.

“Leave it with me”.

The following day after classes we met Mr Crisis who was just leaving the teacher’s common room.

“Bridgette, Tamsin come with me”.

We followed Mr Crisis over to the façade of the school.

“Right, sit down. From this vantage point, we see a total of 14 windows of the Boadicea and Pankhurst dorms. I accept your word that in the dorms there are only 13 windows, but what you see from BOTH perspectives can be right”.

Tamsin said “Mr Crisis that does not make any sense”.

“Your eyes see what it is you are seeing and send this information to your brain, but where does this ‘reality’ originate that your eyes see? You believe what your eyes tell you. Perhaps reality is projected as a hologram and it is the very nature of the whole universe. You coined the word ‘reality’ but reality might be very hard to explain”.

“What is reality? Maybe it does not exist; maybe it does but in different forms depending on where one is in the universe”.

“If you saw an oasis in the desert your eyes never saw it your brain imagined it. Elspeth ran from the infirmary across to the main building a few weeks ago because she thought she saw the end wall of the ward was on fire. It was her brain that told her so. She may have been hallucinating but it makes no difference. Her eyes told her the wall was on fire, but it wasn’t”.

“Neither was a reality. Jessica said she spoke to a Sophie Rochefort in the infirmary, Sophie who died hundreds of years ago. She lays in the chapel graveyard, so what is a true reality?”

“Let us take the ‘very small’ for instance or the ‘quantum’. Quantum Physics tells us that the way we look at something affects what it is. This means that at the quantum level ultimately THERE IS NO OBJECTIVE REALITY, and without an observer there is no reality at all. If the quantum field is scaled up; at what point do these properties still apply? By scaled up I mean scaled up to the vastness of the universe’’.

“They also found in the realm of the very small, things could be in two places at once, that their fates are dictated by chance and that reality itself defies all common sense. Everything you thought you knew about the world might turn out to be completely wrong”.

“Don’t always believe what your eyes are telling you Tamsin. I have been around for a very long time. Your people arrived yesterday”.

He continued “An interesting point is an observer cannot observe in a microscopic system without altering some of its properties. A principle of Quantum Physics …’the way we observe the quantum field decide what we see’, thus your belief systems determine the reality you experience”.

“So in the real world, you have to believe what signals your eyes send to the brain. Do not be too concerned about the number of windows Tamsin. You have noticed just one anomaly. Believe me there are many”.

“A very famous person stated even the distinction between Past, Present and Future is only an illusion, however tenacious this illusion maybe, but that is not all”.

I said “Mr Crisis, we have not been taught anything about quantum physics”.

I like Mr Crisis. He explains things so well. The problem is I don’t understand what he is talking about and I am sure Tamsin feels the same way.

That ended the discussion on windows.

In conclusion Tamsin Lacey, my best friend since Patience left, has always been a trusting soul, but she has a propensity of being too trusting. Also being a Scottish girl, like myself she told me she met this boy at a Scottish dancing event at the Rickmansworth and Environs Home Counties Gaelic Appreciation Society, the (REHCGAS Club) in Canal Street. It was Burns night. He told her his name was Peter. Tamsin said he was ‘coming on to her’ whatever that means. She said he was very evasive about telling her his full name. She said he eventually ‘fessed’ up and told her his name was Peter, Peter Rabbit.

Angrily I told Tamsin “for heaven’s sake Tamsin, he just made that up”.

No 26 - Fairies In the Shower: Rickmansworth Reflections

Rickmansworth Reflections

                                                                

Again I must apologize unreservedly to my gentle readers for the misleading and/or confusing title of this article but to my credit as an author (unpublished  that is), there is a loose reference to ……Fairies and Showers .

While walking through Boadicea dormitory Nurse Mayo noted blood on Tamsin’s pillow and asked her if she suffered from nose bleeds. She could have asked me that question and I would have told her it’s Tamsin picking her spots again.

Nurse Mayo who was not unknown for having a droll sense of humour pointed out Quote, “Miss Lacey it looks like the end result of a chainsaw massacre now go and get another pillowcase from the linen cupboard” Unquote. I am not sure why I put that in a quote to be honest.

As an aside and off-topic Charlotte noted Tamsin was her own worst enemy……which could be a plus as she did not have a lot of enemies. Mmmmmm, I’ll have to pause and think about that one.

Like the catty comment Tamsin made after Naomi’s winning performance at the college talent show.

While Naomi was on stage receiving rapturous applause and her award from the Rickmansworth Lady Mayoress for her performance of O Mio Babbino Caro, Tamsin was heard to say ‘yeah but I bet she can’t do bird imitations’. Closing her eyes for emphasis she shrugged her shoulders and added in a matter-of-fact way ‘my friend can’.

Luckily Miss Pringle was only marginally out of earshot so did not overhear or even appreciate Tamsin’s remark or she would have been on her way for another visit to Miss Sefton’s office.

I was reminded of Nurse Mayo chiding her about wasting water in the shower. One afternoon when she was ‘wasting water’ a maintenance man, not realizing a student might be showering in the middle of the day, unexpectedly walked in on her in the bathroom.

It was his sudden entrance that surprised Tamsin who happened to be stepping out of the shower naked as the day she was born. His sudden appearance causing her to freeze ……not unlike a fairy caught in the glare of a car’s headlights. I believe there was a vain, yes even a futile attempt, to cover ALL of her places of interest at once……or in other words simultaneously, as she screamed ‘ER YUK’.

Now to bring you up to speed on other exploits.

I have explained on a number of previous occasions Denham Hall is a very exclusive college for genteel young ladies from well to do privileged families. receiving its charter from King George II in the 17^th century.

Denham Hall was a comparatively small boarding college. The four dormitories were Pankhurst, Boadicea, Nightingale, and Victoria each housing 10 beds, 5 each side.

They separated us seniors from the junior girls as they were a pretty excitable and noisy lot. Most of the juniors, unlike the boarders, were local girls, well fairly local if fairly local includes Little Missenden and/or Chalfont St Peter.

On the weekends we didn’t go home, us seniors were allowed to go into town, which is where Tamsin met Nathan at the Rickmansworth Folk Club, above the fish and chip shop in the high street. He was the lead guitarist in a group called the Melody Five. Actually, there were only four in the group; it is thought a player might have left without telling the rest of the band.

The line-up was strange for a folk group. It originally consisted of an accordion, a guitar, banjo, mandolin and trumpet. Jessica told me it was the banjo player that left as he could not keep up the payments on his banjo. While the band was rehearsing I told Nathan straight out, pulling no punches, ‘Nathan, personally I don’t think a number like a White Sports Coat and a Pink Carnation can be considered a folk tune’. He was not listening.

Phaedra said Nathan had the hots for Tamsin but that wasn’t news; I already knew that. She added the ‘hots’ will get him nowhere while he persists in wearing his ‘Keep the Falklands British’ tee-shirt. She said Tamsin will not be ‘seen dead’ in public with him. Fair comment I feel.

Believe me, there was certainly no encouragement for the ‘hots’ telegraphed to Nathan. Trouble is Nathan is so full of his own self-importance he is yet to understand Tamsin is no man's fool.

Anyways he was the only guitarist in the group who play cover songs of The Kingston Trio and others. Nathan’s specialty was singing Pete Seeger songs. Giving credit where credit is due if pushed he could do a passable impersonation of Tiny Tim.

Believe me, there was certainly no encouragement for the “hots” telegraphed to Nathan. Trouble is Nathan is so full of his own self-importance he is yet to understand Tamsin is no man's fool.

Next weekend could not come fast enough. I will be on my way back home to Inveraray for the weekend.

Beecham was to meet me, Tamsin and Phaedra at Oban Airport, drop Tamsin off at her Loch Awe home and proceed on Inveraray Castle. Tamsin was to join us the next day. Mother asked why I did not bring Rebecca Macleod. I had to explain to mother there was a limit to the number of passengers the plane could carry as it was only a little airplane. Father was also home this weekend, so I wondered what the weekend was going to bring.

Saturday afternoon Phaedra and I walked down to the river and lazed in the afternoon sunshine. The following day, Sunday, Tamsin arrived.

Mrs Dalrymple was a guest Sunday evening, and as far as I know had not planned to attempt to communicate with the dead or contact our ‘dear departed’. I was not sure, but I suspected it was going to be an evening of charades. There is not a lot one can write about charades so we can turn to the subject of cats.

Mrs Pasta, the kitchen hand, said she had seen a rat or a mouse in the kitchen. This was right up Tamsin’s alley as she was into that sort of thing; cats not rats. It was Phaedra who started a conversation with Tamsin inquiring whether one should get a large or small cat to deal with the rat…or mouse.

I don’t think this was a serious question by Phaedra. I think she was just being mischievous and I suggested she should not encourage Tamsin and at the same time, I posed the question, ‘did it matter?’

Tamsin replied, “Well if it was a mouse you need only buy a small cat but if it was a rat, well that’s an entirely different matter”. I never thought of that. It is called ‘Tamsin’s logic’.

By the way Tamsin’s mother told my mother that she moans and cries out for Gandalf in her sleep, that’s Tamsin, not her mother. God only knows what she gets up to in her dreams. I don’t like to pry as dreams are very personal and private things, aren’t they?  Trouble with Tamsin is she is too trusting.

Her mother had to tell her not to do cartwheels in front of the boys; she said all they want to do is look at your knickers. Tamsin said “I know that mother; I know thaaaaaat don’t I?” with emphasis on that.  “That’s why I keep them in my bag”. I suspect she was winding her mother up.

Meanwhile, father was showing Col. Carter-Brown a new set of brandy glasses he had purchased on his last trip to Brazil. They were both in agreement that perhaps tonight might be an opportune night to baptize them, a Chivas Regal 25 being the baptismal liquid.

I saw myself in the saloon for the rest of the evening playing a duet of chopsticks accompanied by Tamsin on the Bechstein with Phaedra as the audience; scintillating to say the least, when through the open door of the music room I heard mother say ‘who am I?’ 

No, it was not the first signs of dementia from mother, charades had commenced.

I must ask mother to get the piano tuned.

No 25 - Putting Rumours to Rest

                                                             

      

                                                                                                   Photo Robin Ree

                                                                                     

Putting Rumours to Rest  

The first term had only just commenced and the old rumours had already re-surfaced. I am not sure who spreads this slanderous, disgusting gossip but I have my suspicions it was Chloe Higgins of the fourth. I made mention of her in a previous article. She is a known trouble maker. True or false, what made it genuinely alarming was the rumour resurfacing that Denham Hall was to be ‘amalgamated’ with Watford Grammar School for Boys, believe it or not?

If that was not bad enough, what made it even more distressing was the news that after the ‘amalgamation’ the college was to be turned into a comprehensive school, whatever that means. Tiffany said it is sort of a secondary school; a sort of government school. Tamsin rolled her eyes and whispered, ‘heaven forbid’.

She hurriedly butted in, as if it were an afterthought, saying ‘anyway if we were amalgamated with those Watford Boys Grammar School creatures they might just as well turn Rickmansworth Young Ladies College into an unpatrolled wild game reserve’. I am not sure what she meant by that and I was not about to ask. George, number Two, our founder would agree with Tamsin on this one, were he still alive that is.

I do not want to dwell on this news. Later on during the day, after I had just left the infirmary from visiting Jessica who was still under observation by Nurse Mayo after ingesting toadstools instead of mushrooms, I spied Tamsin and Tiffany sitting on a bench at the approach to the college entrance.

As I approached I overheard Tiffany saying “Tamsin you cannot call them that”.

I interrupted “call them what?”

Tiffany answered “it’s Tamsin; she just called them Red Indians”. I chose not to reply to this pair instead I chose to listen.

Tiffany turned to Tamsin and repeated “you cannot call them Red Indians, Tamsin. For starters, they are not red”.

Tamsin replied “well what about Pink Indians? Anyway it is not just a question of colour, is it? It’s also a question of race’’.
“How do you mean?” queried Tiffany.

“Well I agree they may not actually be red coloured persons per se, but they are not Indians either,” said Tamsin.

Tiffany persisted “they are American Indians”.

“No, no they can’t be” replied Tamsin. “They don’t even come from India. They just called themselves that and anyway, red is just a friendly nickname, like for people with red hair”.

Well, I could not argue against Tamsin’s logic. Rarely does she lose an argument. Her insistence is legendary. Fortunately, the bell sounded for the afternoon session and as Miss Pringle, the assistant headmistress and English teacher, was a stickler for punctuality, I did not tarry or even hang about.

In the afternoon Briggs was to drive the college bus to the Gurnell Leisure Centre where the college had booked three of the swimming lanes. Miss Frenzi, the Sportsmistress, was hoping to put together a strong swimming team for the up-and-coming Schools Swimming Carnival.

Unfortunately, Rebecca Tate, a county representative swimmer who we could always rely on to put Rickmansworth Young Ladies College in a respectful position on the leader board had just left the college. Our only really serious threat in the competition was Pixie Hill Camp School.

Tamsin had little or no interest in competitive swimming and would have been quite happy playing in the shallow end of the pool with a bucket of sand and a spade. Nevertheless, we did have a couple of hopefuls with Charlotte Patterson, a new girl to the college who was no slouch when it came to freestyle.

To be fair Tamsin’s strengths lay more in her acrobatic ability. She found out the hard way the importance of knowing when to straighten out after completing the third of a triple somersault during the school Christmas concert.

It was a small error like this that resulted in her recently finding herself in Nurse Mayo’s brief care with bandages, iodine and everything, even plasters after colliding with the pianist upon leaving the stage like a projectile.

That was Friday over with; now for the most important day of the week. It was Saturday. Inveraray here we come.

Father had arranged a long term contract for the hire of an executive jet twice a month to ferry me and college friends from Stanstead Airport to Oban. He was able to afford this luxury having ‘interests’ (his word), in mining and oil in Brazil.

We were initially going to ‘Awe Grange’, Tamsin’s home, a restored ex presbytery overlooking Loch Awe. In the afternoon Tamsin’s parents drove the short drive to the ruins of Kilchurn Castle where we parked in the car park and spent the afternoon fossicking around the castle ruins and taking photos for our Facebook page.

The following day, Sunday, Tamsin’s mother and father drove us home to Inveraray Castle.

Tamsin’s parents returned home and Tamsin stayed and spent Sunday evening with us. Father was again on business in Brazil. I am pleased to say no séances or reading of tarot cards had been arranged this weekend but a bridge party had. The bridge parties were not as much contests as social evenings.

This was apparent by the participants,  the new gardener’s wife, Mrs Pasta the Italian kitchen hand and not forgetting Mrs Dalrymple, the village physic. Mother usually paired with Mrs Dalrymple thinking she must have an advantage of being in touch with the ‘other side’.

Before the bridge parties commenced Mrs Flowers would drive her husband  down to the Argyll Hostelry in the village where he had joined the local Wassailing club. Tamsin dumbfounded queried ‘a Wassailing Club? It must be the only one in Scotland’.

Seeing the main appeal of wassailing was drinking cider to the point of intoxication and allowing, if I may to resort to the vernacular, of ‘getting limp on the turps’ at the same time indulging in discordant caroling. I could see the attraction for Mr Flowers but not for Betty. I guess she will be the one doing the driving home.

It was Monday morning and back at Rickmansworth Young Ladies College. It was Miss Sefton the headmistress who mounted the stage of the concert hall to address the full college assembly. Normally this duty would have been undertaken by Miss Pringle the assistant headmistress so I assumed there was an important announcement about to be made.

I am pleased to inform our readers that the news that was about to be delivered by Miss Sefton will not only delight but will convey a huge feeling of relief and lay to rest any lingering doubts that you, the gentle reader, or the girls may have had for the long term future of the college. The news was unambiguous, brief and to the point.

Miss Sefton chose her words carefully. She began. “Despite rumours to the contrary, I cannot stress too highly this college will NOT (pause) be merging WITH, amalgamating WITH or integrating WITH any other place of learning. It will remain Denham Hall Young Ladies College”.

She continued “This college was founded for the education of the young daughters of families of influence and substance over 400 years ago. Any change from its original purpose would have its founder and benefactor, George II turning in his grave”.

She paused briefly for a desired dramatic effect before continuing.

“The college governors will concur with me that for the last 400 years THIS is the way it has been, THIS is the way it is now, and THIS is the way it will remain, certainly during my tenure at this college”

Stepping back from the dais Miss Sefton nodded “Thank you. Miss Pringle you may continue”.

There was a brief pause…… er that seemed to go on forever, followed by a spontaneous and sustained outburst of applause and cheering from the students, the teachers and the two gardeners standing in the hall doorway. I cannot say for certain but I suspect I saw Miss Pringle dabbing her eyes with her hankie.

The rumours had been laid to rest once and for all; with school principles of the calibre of Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle at the helm of Denham Hall Young Ladies College, it will also be their legacy, as well as George number two’s, hopefully for the next 400 years.
 

No 24 - Tamsin and the Exotic Dancers

                                                 

                                                                                           

   Tamsin and the Erotic Exotic Dancers 

     Or who pays the ferry man?

Firstly, I must apologize unreservedly for the misleading or confusing title of this article. I am forced to confess it has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with Tamsin or exotic dancers; that was a ruse.

You see the fault lies squarely with Phaedra who at present is my second best friend as I’m not speaking to Rhonda, but that’s another story. Back to Phaedra, that’s Phaedra Gascoigne, who being aware I write a blog and keep a Facebook page about the comings and goings at Denham Hall Young Ladies College said it would increase my readership or number of hits if I did. She proved her point because you are reading this.

Anyways Phaedra also pointed out at the same time it was the Brothers Grim, hang on or was it the Grim Brothers, who made a fortune making up fantasy stories. As I have a blog AND a Facebook page and they didn’t I have a head start.

As an aside and off-topic, mother noted that new mothers who name their children Shaylene, Kaylee or very silly names like Rebekah could have been suffering from the after-effects of a general anesthetic or ‘praps an epidural, whatever that is, or even the after-effects of glue sniffing and thus should not be ridiculed in any way or even be made fun of. For a boy’s name, I warm to Pericles. I thought I would just get all that off my chest before I start.

Tamsin is almost our next-door neighbor now and she and Rebecca were again our guests at Inveraray Castle for the weekend. I overheard mother telling father she was anxious about my disturbing imagination and wondered if I had a fantasy fixation, whatever that is, and if so I should be put on sedatives.

Anyway, if mother is suffering from anxiety I think it is she that should be taking pills not me.

What caused the anxiety I believe in the first place started one evening at home in Inveraray. You see mother had overheard me telling a story about being on a ferry on a river called the Styx I think it was, and that I had been having an altercation with the man in charge. She had drawn her own conclusions to the story and got it all wrong ………………….…..as usual.

I recalled that this man, the ferryman, got red in the face and had shouted at us girls “Come on you lot. This is not a bleedin’ free ferry service”. You could tell Tamsin was taking it personally. She put her hands on her hips, shook her head from side to side like she does and heatedly shouted “Don’t you shout at me Mr Ferryman. It wasn’t me that ordered your silly boat”.

The ferryman, who for some reason or other called himself Mr Kharon, went red in the face and barked ’’I don’t care who ordered the bleedin’ boat. Who is going to pay the freakin’ ferryman?”

Mother turned to father and pondered “David dear, I have a sense of déjà vu here, like I may have heard this story before”.

Unfazed and in full flight I continued. The exchange was getting really heated and this difference of opinion could easily get out of hand, so much so I thought for a moment blows might ensue or even exchanged so I looked around for Marlene, who is the biggest girl in the class to take care of him.

I was horrified to learn she might be still waiting outside the office of the headmistress Miss Sefton, possibly awaiting detention, expulsion, deportation or worse like a crucifixion. Phaedra had heard words, though not actually joined together of ‘causing bodily harm’ mentioned by the assistant headmistress Miss Pringle to Miss Sefton regarding Marlene Kuczynski’s behaviour.

It may be of interest to my gentle readers to know that Marlene’s parents were able to pay for her exorbitant or is that extortionate ransom-like college’s fees because her father was earning a kings-like ransom as a famous TV wrestling personality known fondly as the ‘Bone Crusher’.

Incidentally, and again slightly off-topic, it was Tamsin Lacey that pointed out the elation one would experience if one was left with the letters N.S.Z.K.U.C.I.Y.K in a scrabble game with twenty pee riding on the result then suddenly realizing it was possibly the name of the Polish Prime Minister.

I had no idea these conversations were taking place between my parents about putting me under sedation until she quizzed me about this Mr Kharon person and questioned if he was attached to the college in any way. It was then I realized she must have overheard me discussing the dream I had.

Father was always a very cool and laid back person and told mother not to worry and that it was only a teenage pubescent thing and could be put down to a rush of estrogen and I would in time grow out of it, but nevertheless he was relieved to hear it was only a dream.

A dream or not, mother was not going to let the matter drop. I knew she was up to something when she asked me what other dreams I had lately. I told her it was a one-off.

It was the weekend. There was snow on the ground and a big roaring open fire in the Green Room. Mother was talking to Mrs Dalrymple about a forthcoming séance. The news is the family of squirrels had moved house and their entrance/exit blocked up. No doubt they had moved house to the southern turret. At least they will not interfere with Mrs Dalrymple’s efforts to contact ‘our dear departed’.

My own personal opinion, for what it is worth, is that mother should stick to bridge parties and leave the dead to their own devices.

The news from Ruthin Castle is that Colonel Carter-Brown has managed to domesticate the orphan fox cub and he is now sleeping in the kitchen; that’s the fox, not the colonel. His wife said she will not allow him to sleep on the bed either. Again that’s not the Colonel but……oh never mind it doesn’t really matter, don’t worry about it, it’s not important………frankly it’s neither here nor there.

No 23 - Tamsin and the Travellers Stone.

Tamsin and the Travellers' Stone

I never gave a second thought to the stone that sat on Tamsin’s bedside locker other than she might be using it as a paperweight. It was about 3½ inches in diameter and a 3/4 inch in thickness. One day out of curiosity I asked where the stone originated from. Tamsin said her father discovered the stone in an antique shop when passing through New Mexico near a place called Roswell. He had concluded an official visit to America in his capacity as a minister of the Northern Ireland Government and was sightseeing around America before returning home.

The shop owner could not confirm the origin of the stone or its purpose, or even if it had a purpose. The gentleman who found the stone in the desert said he thought it might have been a native American relic. One must question how such a ‘relic’ could be made by a native American who lacked the technology to carve such an intricate, delicate pattern of an astrological design into extremely hard stone. I understood they were hunter-gatherers and rode horses across, well whatever it was they rode across.

Tamsin said her father pointed out that if one were to hold a magnet very close to one end of the stone it would move the orientation of the stone in one direction and holding the magnet at the opposite end of the stone would move the stone in the opposite direction, which was strange as her father said the stone after tests showed no magnetic properties at all, and had no magnets buried inside. That was the end of the matter or so I thought.

It was about a year or so later scientist Professor Stanton, the leading scientist from the Deep Space Tracking Station at Downton Heath, was giving a science lecture to the sixth form girls on NASA’s decision to retire the space shuttle and refine a new form of propulsion for the latest generation of deep space vehicles.

During the lecture, Jessica put her hand up and called out “Sir, Sir”.

“Yes, who am I speaking to?” acknowledged the Professor who appeared unconcerned about the interruption.

“Jessica Wyndham sir. Why is it that questioning the possibility of other intelligent civilizations and extraterrestrial visitors to earth is never discussed on television science and space programmes, yet we know they are here. They have been seen and have been visiting for a long time so why are they never spoken about by the media?”

“Miss Wyndham, that is the first time I have been asked that question and I might add it is an extremely difficult question to answer. You must understand one must be extremely careful answering such a question as it can put a scientist at odds with his peers, which then leads on to the subject of conspiracy theories and they could find themselves ostracised”.

Tamsin, sitting in the back row and not realizing Miss Pringle was sitting immediately behind her, moved her head close to Phaedra’s and giggled “does that mean they will be unable to have children?”

Miss Pringle leaned forward and whispered to Tamsin “one more comment like that Miss Lacey and you will find yourself waiting outside Miss Sefton’s office”.

Jessica continued “does that mean we are not being told the truth?’

“There you go, Miss Wyndham. If I were to say yes, the story will make the front page of the newspapers tomorrow. The headlines will scream a ‘space scientist commented during a science lecture to the students at Denham Hall Ladies College that the public is not being told the truth. Other intelligent life DOES exist’ and with it goes my reputation in the science community”.

We were not going to get the truth from Professor Stanton. Mr Crisis assured us there were many civilizations in various stages of evolution like ours among the trillions of galaxies in the universe. That was good enough for us. Professor Stanton’s reputation was safe. We knew the answers.

Mr Crisis, our science teacher, could have answered any of these questions as he was one of these travellers that the scientist was hedging his bets and avoiding like the plague to give his honest opinion on. I have explained about Mr Crisis in previous stories.

Very briefly, Mr Crisis applied for the vacant position of science teacher when Miss Cribb resigned to get married. Whether it was revealed during his interview that he was a visitor to this planet I cannot say as I was not at the interview. This was a surprise he later confided to the girls on securing the science teacher’s position.

Jessica said she thinks Miss Sefton may have taken pity on him thinking he was homeless and offered him the caretaker’s empty accommodation, not realizing he had just arrived here and had no opportunity to find his own accommodation. I really couldn’t say.

This lecture would have been right up Tamsin’s alley. She is always seeking the truth. I remember when we were in the junior school during lights out in the dorm she once asked why are people so afraid to ask such questions like who was the first person to actually pluck up enough courage to eat a chicken’s egg knowing full well where it came from.

I shiver just thinking about it. She said, “for heaven’s sake, it is not as if one is asking delicate questions on private and personal bodily functions that discretion dictates that one does not discuss”.

She was in full flight; she questioned “why do dogs chase their tails when badgers don’t, and do squirrels dream? Furthermore, I have no idea why these questions and others are never discussed openly on science and natural history shows without fear, ridicule, controversy, and threats to one’s life”.

I really had no answer.

Now back to Tamsin’s stone. The stone her father bought in a shop near Roswell he assumed was not the original one but a copy of the original that was being sold to tourists as being proof of alien visitation.

What was very strange was the carving on the stone was the same as a crop circle discovered in the UK, a continent away. Now that is quite a coincidence in anyone’s books.

Charlotte said “It seems we are not ready to be told the truth. To believe that we are the only intelligent species living on trillions of planets that circle trillions of suns is ludicrous”.

I suggested to Tamsin the stone she possessed might be the original stone that was brought here by one of these travellers which he…or her dropped and might possess properties we are yet to discover.

Charlotte weighed in saying “Yes and one night when you are in bed asleep Tamsin you just might find on awakening a seven-foot-tall creature with a long tail, scaly skin, pointy teeth and huge eyes looking to retrieve his or her personal belongings a foot from your head”.

It might have been a coincidence but after that remark, the stone never again saw the light of day and was moved to the bottom of Tamsin’s locker.

continued below pix

Crop Circle at Chiseldon, Wiltshire U.K, August 2,1996 

Gentle readers, you can trust me on this one. You are not being told the truth. You can rest assured this crop circle in Chiseldon, Wiltshire which is a quarter of a mile long, and like many others, was not created in a farmer’s field by a couple of inebriates ‘Smudger’ Smiff and ‘Chalky’ White using just a couple of fence palings and a length of rope and constructed during the hours of darkness, after being poured out of the Red Stag at closing time, purely for the purpose of ‘aving a bit ‘a fun and to annoy the hell out of the farmer.

No 22 - Inveraray. The Musical Wraith.

Inveraray. The Musical Wraith

There had always been speculation if either of the Heads was seen talking to a male of the opposite species the tongue-wagging started with the girls speculating the imagined friendship could lead to matrimony. Most of the time the girls got it all wrong when the male I refer to was a maintenance man or a piano tuner or the like.

It was not a maintenance man or a piano tuner person that was seen embracing Miss Pringle in the high street and on parting gave her a peck on the cheek, but it did start some outlandish rumours.

It was Briggs that witnessed this exchange, if I might call it that. Phaedra, that’s Phaedra Gascoigne, nosey as usual, inquired of him if this ‘exchange’ was it like a ‘wet pash kiss’ or what? Briggs, the caretaker, told her the male in question was Miss Pringle’s brother visiting from the States, so that rumour was quashed even before it took hold and before Phaedra had an opportunity to cause it to blossom.

Charlotte, I assume speaking from experience, said males were more trouble than they’re worth and were a complete and total waste of time.

Charlotte could have a point. There were some strange males requesting to be friends on Tamsin’s Facebook page. She told me one person said his name was Jack but she found it was difficult to elicit his full name. He finally ‘fessed up’ to Rabbit, Jack Rabbit. I told her he just made that up.

Like another chap who said his name was Bob but was also hesitant to divulge his full name; turns out he admitted his full name was Catt. Bob Catt I think it was. I warned Tamsin it was a virtual minefield out there.

Tamsin said he told her he was so wealthy he had his very own shipping container in his front garden. Jessica noted he may be wealthy but he doesn’t display much taste.

Rhonda used to be part of our gang, but she now knocks around with Bethany and her friend Rosemary, ever since she returned from Epsilon or Proximus something or other after a botched experiment by Mr Crisis to get to his home planet.

Nothing mattered. It was the Christmas break and it was going to be a white Christmas.

All the boarders and staff were going home for Christmas as the College went into the recess; exceptions were for any repairs and maintenance that needed doing and security patrols.

I was about to head home to Inveraray Castle. Mr Crisis, who was living in at the college in the vacant care-takers accommodation and who would have spent Christmas on his own, had also been invited. After lunch, Beecham was to pick up Tamsin from Loch Awe which was only about 25 miles from Inveraray.

I do hope mother is not going to try and evoke the castle’s spirits again. There is likelihood as Mrs Dalrymple had been invited, as well as her psychic associate Mrs Pasta. Beecham and his wife Symphony were also invited as was Colonel and Lady (Rowena) Carter-Brown. It was to be a social evening with food, great conversation and drinks.

Colonel Carter-Brown had just finished telling the story about a fox that had been killed after being seen killing his sheep, and had left an orphan fox cub that was now scavenging for food around Ruthin Castle. The colonel, somewhat of an eccentric, was not going to have it killed but trapped to try and have it domesticated.

Our family had known the Carter-Browns for many years. Father had first met Colonel Carter-Brown while the colonel was still in the military. They first met socially at a polo match. Ruthin Castle had been in the Carter-Brown family for centuries. They had one son who was in the military.

I was heartened Mr Crisis did not turn the conversation round to quantum physics or inter-stellar travel. It would have been difficult for any of us to offer any meaningful input, unless of course it was of a spiritual nature, which Mrs Pasta the Italian kitchen hand and her mentor Mrs Dalrymple were the experts.

There were three distinct conversations going on at once. One between father, Mr Crisis and Colonel Carter-Brown, then mother, Rowena, Mrs Dalrymple, and Mrs Pasta and then myself and Tamsin.

It was Tamsin who had arrived about a half-hour earlier that suddenly stood up and said: “shush, can you hear music? It sounds like a harp. It seems to be coming from this room”.

I replied “It might be coming from a radio somewhere. To me, it sounds not so much a melody as a lament”.

Everyone stopped talking and tried to listen for the music’s origin.

There was a knock at the door.

Father put down his drink and walked to the door. The harp continued to play softly. It was Mrs Crocker from the kitchen who in a subdued tone started a whispered conversation with father. She finished. Father nodded and Mrs Crocker left.

Father turned and said “its bad news apparently. Charlie Potter, the gardener has just died. The doctor has been called so he will ascertain the cause of Charlie’s death”. Mrs Crocker related that one of the groundsmen said he had seen Potter earlier in the day when he had returned to the castle to retrieve his overcoat.

Potter had worked for a number of years at Inveraray. He was in the kitchen talking to Mrs Crocker when he told her he felt unwell and needed to sit down. The doctor was called but a moment later his eyes closed and he appeared to cease breathing. Mrs Crocker felt his pulse and whispered “I think Charlie has passed away”.

Mr Crisis interrupted “don’t be too sorry for Mr Potter. He is about to start on a wonderful journey”. When Mr Crisis made a comment it was non-debatable. It was so.

Ignoring the cascading sound of the harp father repeated the story of the young Irish harpist who was killed by Irish mercenaries.

“It is said when a member of the family is about to die harp music can be heard coming from this room, with the last report of this ghostly phenomenon being when the 10th Duke died in 1949. Sometimes a bagpiper has been heard playing on the balcony of the Brown Library. Maybe this could account for the harp music we are hearing right now; not by the bagpiper of course, but the harpist. It is one of the castle’s legends and respects are now being paid at this very moment for a death in the castle”.

It is said legends may be transformed over time in order to keep them fresh and vital, and realistic. Many legends operate within the realm of uncertainty, never being entirely believed but also never being entirely doubted. The legend of the Harpist at Inveraray will always be believed and after tonight certainly, never be doubted. Tonight there were nine witnesses.

There had been no respect paid when the young harpist was hanged in 1644 for just peeping at the lady of the house and, as Tamsin quite rightly pointed out, it was nevertheless somewhat of a harsh sentence for just taking a quick peep at one’s employer, regardless of their state of dress….. or undress.

There was no activity from the bagpiper that evening. Maybe he had not been notified of this poor man’s death.

No 21 - The Rickmansworth Strings

Tamsin's Place

  The Presbytery 

 The Parrot 

The announcement on the notice board was to alert the students that the college was calling for interest from the senior girls regarding the forming of a string orchestra. I had no need to apply as I was already seconded as the college piano player for religious services.

There were already a number of girls in the music room when I arrived. Miss Franklin the music teacher was busy interviewing Tamsin. I remember thinking at the time this does not bode well for Miss Franklin or Lulu her nickname, unbeknown to her.

The interview was still young. I overheard Miss Franklin ask “Well Tamsin have you decided on an instrument?”

“Yes Miss. I would like to play the banjo” replied Tamsin.

“This is a string orchestra we are forming, Miss Lacey”.

Tamsin then explained a banjo has strings and that she had always been fascinated by the banjo.

Miss Franklin said, “We are forming a college string orchestra, not an Appalachian mountain band - strings, think strings”.

Eyes raised, Tamsin queried “a guitar Miss?”

I realized where this guitar thing originated. It was a brief interlude she had with the Rickmansworth Folk Club in the high street and her introduction to sea shanties, including a brief fling with Nathan someone or other, a somewhat ungifted guitar player, a member of said folk club.

Miss Franklin who was beginning to lose her patience said sharply “Tamsin try a viola, cello, a double bass, or maybe a harp. No, on second thoughts stick with the violin”.

I thought Miss Franklin handled that very well.

In no time at all it was dinner time. The large dining hall buzzed with anticipation of the weekend break, meanwhile Miss Pringle, the dining hall monitor, watched over the girls with an eagle eye.

One could not complain about the food at Denham Hall. It was salt-free, fat-free, additive-free and preservative-free. All the veggies were homegrown in the college allotments.

While we are discussing food I was reminded that at the Rickmansworth Folk Club in the High Street Nathan, whose only musical repertoire was a number called Kumbaya, and badly played at that, told Tamsin that when blended, green tree frogs make an excellent energy drink containing 92% of recommended daily vitamin intake, preferably taken with no added sugar or preservatives.

I warned Tamsin not to try this concoction until I had double-checked with Miss Pringle because of my unease I had over this Nathan person as whenever I saw him he gave the appearance of being an interstellar visitor.

The French classes over, science classes over, also intermediate Latin classes over and it was tea time. The buzz in the dining hall was elevated due to the excitement of the students again going over their plans for the weekend. Many were picked up by their parents. I was to go home the following weekend and had invited Tamsin to stay for the weekend.

Although it was only 5pm, being the middle of summer the sun was still shining brightly. After tea, I and Tamsin walked down to the town and headed for the canal at Batchworth Lock.

Approaching the Lock Tamsin pointed out she had seen a brightly colored bird or something high up in the tree. She said she thinks it’s a parrot.

“Sparrows, robins, crows, chaffinches, blackbirds, blue tits but not parrots. This is Rickmansworth, not the Congo”.

“No Bridgette, it was on telly the other evening about this lady that had lost her bird. It was a parrot, a raptor or something”.

“So what was special about this parrot that it was on tele?”

“The lady said it could whistle or sing the French National anthem, the Marseillaise”. Pausing she added “come to think of it, it would have to whistle it because unless it understood French it wouldn’t be able to sing the words would it?” giggled Tamsin.

“Yes very droll but how do we get it down?”

“The lady said it was very tame. You only have to call it”.

“Call it what? We don’t know its name”.

“We could ask the lady” suggested Tamsin.

“Now look, I have better things to do than spending the afternoon traipsing back and forwards delivering messages to and fro from this parrot to its owner. This is nonsensical”.

It was then Tamsin informed me that the owner said on tele she was prepared to pay the finder £500 for its return that I suddenly decided, after all, it was not that much of an imposition relaying messages, but instead of being intermediaries between the pair we could just go and tell the lady where her parrot is.

Anyway, she would know its name. It would not be a coincidence if she named it in the first place and in any case, our finder’s fee is quite safe. In the best-case scenario, we could also be on tele; another first for the girls of Rickmansworth Ladies College.

I rang the TV station and informed them we had found the parrot but we're not letting on its location in case they claimed the finder’s fee. I hinted that the vicinity was near the Red Lion Pub at Chenies, quite a few miles north of its actual location and could they give me the telephone number of the parrot’s owner, hinting this could be lead story on the television evening news but I could not guarantee them anything.

The owner was contacted, names were exchanged and £500 assured. There was no way I was going to get into a discussion with Tamsin how she intended spending her £250.

I rang father after tea to find out the news from home and was informed mother is holding another séance instead of her usual bridge parties at the weekend. He said Beecham and Andrew, the stable boy had been fussing over a new horse that had just been purchased and asked if I was coming home to Inveraray Castle next weekend and, if so, was I free to bring Tamsin.

I inquired of father, who was mother looking for on the ‘other side’. He said she is not looking for anyone in particular. She just wants to know if there is ‘another side’. That makes sense I suppose. I asked who the medium was. She said it’s the mad lady living next to the gatehouse. I worry mother might be in a permanent state of depression if she were to discover there is no one or nothing on the ‘other side.’

No 20 - Sophie Remembered

Sophie Remembered

Earlier I made mention that Denham Hall was originally the ancestral home of the Second Sea Lord of the Admiralty and 3rd Duke of Sussex Lord Horatio Grantham, and that he might have made First Sea Lord if it was not due to a careless, impetuous indiscretion, with little or no heed to the resulting consequences, with the daughter of the First Sea Lord, young Esmeralda.

When Lord Horatio Grantham died Denham Hall was bought by a group of wealthy and influential business people and converted into a college for genteel young ladies whose parents were men and women of wealth and influence.

Nearly 200 years on a strange event occurred when Jessica Wyndham of Boadicea Dormitory told Elspeth, when she was placed in the infirmary for observation by Nurse Mayo after throwing up in class after eating mushrooms although I suspect it was toadstools, of the evenings when she occasionally spoke to a young girl who she did not recognize who sat on the end of her bed after lights out and told stories of times of Denham Hall of old.

She wore an old fashioned expensive lace nightie and an embroidered lace bed cap. Not much heed was paid to this story as Nurse Mayo thought Jessica might have been hallucinating. Nevertheless, Jessica said the girl's name was Sophie and she was adamant she spoke to her.

Miss Pringle reminded Miss Sefton there was a grave in the chapel grounds of a young girl named Sophie Rochefort, the daughter of a Sea Captain, who died nearly 200 years earlier of meningitis. Miss Sefton said she would make further investigations.

The marble headstone of the grave read ‘In loving memory of Sophie Rochefort beloved daughter of Lord and Lady Rochefort cruelly taken from us at such a tender age. Born 1825 Died 1835. Little Sophie thou art in heaven. You are now in God’s care.” (Without wanting to appear disrespectful it appears she isn’t, as she still roams the corridors of Denham Hall’s west wing, to be precise).

Sophie’s young body was interred in a grave in a quiet corner of the chapel grounds under a mulberry tree. As Tamsin pointed out, her body is not at rest when she continues to roam the empty corridors every night and Tamsin is right most of the time.

There was much discussion about this event and taking Jessica’s account at face value Miss Sefton said she would approach the governors to arrange to affix a small marble commemorative plaque on the wall in the corridor of the west wing, including attaching a small flower holder to hold posies for the girls to occasionally leave a flower, in respect and in remembrance of young Sophie.

Bearing in mind it was the parents of foundation girls like Sophie’s that created Denham Hall in the first place, we thought it was a really lovely fitting gesture by Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle and the girls did not hesitate to tell them so. The plaque would also be a tangible reminder of the history of the college. Questions would be asked by visitors who sighted the plaque. ‘Who was Sophie?’ She will never be forgotten but always be part of Denham Hall’s history.

Knowing just who Mr Crisis was and from whence he originated, the girls asked him if he could do something to help poor Sophie be put to rest, like permanently. Mr Crisis told the girls he will definitely NOT encourage Sophie to leave. He reminded us that Denham Hall is her home too and has been for many years and she will leave when she is ready. We did not question Mr Crisis.

We have our fair share of departed souls that have not quite made it to the other side who wander the corridors of my home at Inveraray Castle. It is these souls with whom Mrs Dalrymple, a neighbour and friend of mothers and medium, has tried many times to attempt to start up a conversation with, but lacked any serious response or co-operation. Mrs Dalrymple needs to understand at these séances a ‘sign or a signal’ is not good enough. These ‘departed souls’ might much prefer a full-on conversation.

I am not hinting that mother would expect them to appear on cue to entertain visitors at social evenings or anything like that, or that the Harpist Wraith that is said to haunt Inveraray Castle would be brought out to perform a couple of numbers to charm the visitors.

I should mention it was mother’s eccentricity that was a contributing factor to father’s attraction to her in the first place. It could also explain why Mrs Dalrymple is a close friend of mothers, and I could be blessed with, or plagued with, mother’s genes so I will not dwell too much on the ‘departed ones’.

Tonight Mrs Dalrymple had been invited to tea and drinks by mother. No séances this evening but tarot cards instead. Father had invited over to Colonel and Lady Carter-Brown of Ruthin Castle for the evening and Tamsin, who was my regular weekend guest, and I was hoping to have a musical evening.

We left the adults in the drawing room and settled in the saloon where the grand piano stood. A guitar had been rustled up for Tamsin. It was well out of tune and would keep her tuning for quite a while. Tamsin’s repertoire was not helped by only knowing three chords that Nathan had taught her at the Rickmansworth Folk Club. He had hoped this little liaison might firm up his association with Tamsin into more of a ‘unit’ or ‘item’ and less of a relationship. It did not work.

Chopin’s Etudes Op 10, Op 90, Op 25, Oh and No 3 all remained in the piano seat but thirty or so choruses of ‘Where Have All the Flowers Gone’ and ‘Kumbaya’ was quite a heavy workload for the evening. On returning to the drawing room no-one had died due to Mrs Dalrymple’s choice of tarot cards, which was a relief all round. Personally, if I were Mrs Dalrymple I would have put the Death Card in a drawer somewhere. She does not want that turning up when someone with a weak heart comes looking for love at a reading.

It was Monday morning back at college.

It was Miss Pringle “Now Girls, while Jessica was in the infirmary she was at times possibly hallucinating. It could be that during a hallucination it might put us in touch with the paranormal, who knows, and Jessica there is no need to go traipsing the corridors of the west wing after lights out looking for young Sophie to inform her about this decision to place a commemorative plaque there. She will know”. There was some giggling from the girls as eyes swiveled round to Jessica.

“Right girls books out, Medieval History”.

No 19 - Tamsin’s Quest for the Meaning of Life

      Tamsin’s Quest for the Meaning of Life   

The rumour circulating the corridors, but not taken seriously, was that Denham Hall Young Ladies College was about to be amalgamated with the Watford Grammar School for boys. I would believe Miss Sefton was a secretly married mother of four or that Miss Pringle was an Extra-Terrestrial rather than believe such silly rumours. I suspect it was started by Chloe Higgins of the fourth. She is a known trouble maker.

It ranked as vicious and chilling; a rumour as turning Denham Hall into a Comprehensive School. But the news allowing ‘boys’ into Denham Hall was not only ludicrous but rumor-mongering of the worst kind and was certainly not part of George the Two’s plan when he founded the Young Ladies College in eighteen something or other. Usually, Miss Sefton dispelled such gossip but this time she chose to totally ignore such tittle-tattle.

Anyway, I have wandered off my thread here which is Tamsin’s question of Mr Crisis ‘What is the Meaning of Life?’

You see Mr Crisis arrived at Denham Hall when Miss Cribb resigned to get married and he applied for the vacant position of science teacher. His credentials stood him in good stead as we found later that he had just flown in or materialized or whatever people do when moving between galaxies and other parts of the solar system. I am not sure if this came out at Miss Sefton’s interview for the position of science teacher or not, but it would have certainly helped Mr Crisis secure the position, that’s for sure.

He certainly proved later he was capable of transporting himself inter-stellar wise when a device he knocked up in the science workshop malfunctioned ……hang on a sec, in retrospect it must have worked because he took himself and Rhonda off to Epsilon Bootis, well not Bootis because that is a star, but a small planet in the Bootis galaxy or system, I think it was. Hang on, look I will have to get back to you on that one. I like to check that all my facts are authentic.

Miss Sefton, the headmistress was not amused with Rhonda’s unexpected disappearance and her mother was beside herself with worry. Anyway, Rhonda, if I remember, showed up the next day, with Mr Crisis appearing a day or so later, which was opportune, even handy, as Miss Sefton did not have to re-advertise Mr Crisis’s position. I think it was a genuine accident but Mr Crisis was not about to admit it.

A week or so later at home at Inveraray Castle, father has flown in from Brazil and mother, thank heavens, had not organized any séances or bridge parties for the weekend. Mr Crisis and my two best friends Phaedra and Tamsin were our guests for the weekend. It was a pity, Mrs Dalrymple, mother’s friend and our local medium and séance host was not here as this subject would have been right up her alley.

During the adult drinks in the library and colored fizzy drinks with umbrellas topped off with slices of orange for the girls, there was a lull in the conversation when Tamsin asked the question of Mr Crisis, triggered by our previous discussion back at college, “has life any meaning and what happens when we die?”

Mr Crisis replied. “Well Tamsin, the first question is easy to answer. The meaning of life is what you decide to make of it. Life has no ‘meaning’ as such. You arrived, you lived and you die. To put it simply you are but a passing traveller clinging to this inconsequential blue/green dying piece of flotsam floating aimlessly without any apparent purpose against a star-studded ebon cyclorama, like lichen on a mossy rock”.

“To put things into perspective, your planet is one of the trillions that circle as many parent suns. Your journey starts again on your death.” Smiling he added “Tamsin, I thought that would make you sit up”.

He continued. “The second question is a little harder to explain. The question starts off with your earthly assumption that in your finality you die. So you do, but on your death you revert back to the form you were before you arrived which was pure cosmic energy. Does that answer your question?”

I looked at Tamsin. It was the identical classic blank stare she exchanged with Phaedra.

“If you say so Mr Crisis”.

“Tamsin, I see you do not understand”.

Father stood up to replenish the drinks. Mother said “David dear, ring for Greaves. Tell him we are here in the Green Library and to come and attend to the fire. It appears to be dying somewhat”.

Mr Crisis turned and continued “I do not want to get into too much discussion about life after death if you don’t mind. It is similar to knowing the outcome of a novel or short story. Knowing the answer will greatly affect your general attitude to life here on earth. But what is of paramount importance is your soul does not die. It is indestructible. It lives on after your death. The number of souls in the universe is finite, or in understandable terms, the soul does not die but returns to the universe. It is continually being recycled, but on death, there is no recollection of a previous existence”.

“I can also tell you that you have been visited by other species of extreme intelligence for millions of years. They made who you are. However, what your species does possess which others do not, is emotion. Be it hate, hope, fear, love or greed. It is some of the more negative aspects like greed and hate that will stop you ever progressing to what I would call a ‘Class A’ Planet”.

“Going one further I would be surprised if this planet will even reach maturity when its inhabitants are killing and slaughtering each other. And as a sport, battering each other in an express attempt to knock each other into a state of unconsciousness, or killing wild animals purely for SPORT”.

“Visitors, try and discover why it is you possess emotion and why other species do not and what is emotion. I will say that although all species of intelligence may not necessarily possess emotion they do possess a soul. It is the soul that lives on after death. On death, your body will decay but your soul will leave the decaying body and join you on the next part of your journey. Your soul is not of substance. It does not think. It is awareness, consciousness, pure cosmic energy found throughout the universe. Your soul IS energy. It IS you’’.

There was a knock on the door. Father said “that will be Greaves. Come in Greaves old chap. See if you can do something with this fire”.

Tamsin was whispering with Phaedra, probably asking her to explain what Mr Crisis had just said. Perhaps they could share it with me.

As Greaves coaxed the fire back into life Mr Crisis turned to Tamsin and said “Look I appreciate your inquiring mind young lady but I suggest we should not delve too much into other futures. It gets very complicated. Do you not agree Lord Campbell?” Father agreed. I have to admit it was rare to see mother speechless for a change.

There was a hint of relief on Tamsin’s face. She was more of an earthly creature, a creature of her time, as were both Phaedra and I, I suppose. Nevertheless, a future after death sounds most intriguing.

When Tamsin asked me when we were going to have something to eat I realized life after death was not all that high on Tamsin’s list of priorities. I suspect Tamsin has worms.