No 38 - The Inveraray Fox

                                                                                  

   The Inveraray Fox

Things were in a bit of a tizz at the castle with the castle manageress lady being rushed off her feet with two events scheduled almost back to back.

Firstly the Inveraray Dog Show was due to take place today and even though we did not have a dog we did have a cat named Lorraine, thanks to Mrs Rutherford who used to own the bread shop in Inveraray Village; a cat she kept when she was being bothered by mice. This event was followed closely by the MG Car Club meeting which initially thought might have to be rescheduled.

You might wonder why the excitement also extended into the castle when we did not have a dog. Well, you see our neighbours, the Carter-Browns of Ruthin Castle our closest friends, had permission from the council to adopt an orphan fox cub after its mother…or father was culled for killing sheep. They named the fox cub Reynard. Now you are going to ask what has this to do with the Dog Show. Hang on be patient, I am getting there.

Colonel Carter-Brown assumed, after his success with the council allowing him to keep the fox cub, his thinking was if his luck held, the dog show judges might allow him to enter him in the dog show, that’s the fox, not the colonel. His analysis being, and quite rightly, a fox is of the dog species but just a little more wild or is that wilder?

Now male foxes are known as Dogs, Tods or Reynards; the females as vixens, the difference in name is to differentiate between the sexes, NOT the species and his argument with the doggy people was his animal was a MALE Fox thus he was officially a DOG so they could not discriminate against Reynard taking part in the Dog Show. Do you know what I mean?

For my gentle readers, this was a real headache for the head doggy people and I suspect it was the threat of legal action hanging over their heads on charges of discrimination that might have presented huge problems at the Doggy Headquarters. As you are all aware in this day and age there is to be no discrimination against ANY kind, ANYclass or ANYone and dogs were no different and I did not hesitate to tell mother the threat of legal action is one I would not like to be faced with.

The dog club president wrote to the Carter-Browns to inform them they were quite happy for Reynard to take part but if there are no other fox entrants he will have to be placed in a class of his own. Lady Rowena warmed to the expression a ‘Class of his Own’. So on their own admission, the canine authority did recognize Reynard was special and Lady Rowena was very happy with that.

It was Saturday morning, a beautiful sunny day; Doggy people were starting to arrive at the castle grounds. Some had already arrived and were brushing, combing and fluffing their little darlings up. Reynard was not like that. He was his own ‘dog’. The opposition was going to be vicious. Mother and father declined to be judges as they were close friends with the owners of one of the entrants.

Reynard’s class represented solely by Reynard eventually entered the ring. Tamsin and I watched from a distance. My chest pounded as he was led in by Lady Carter-Brown; Rowena, there was sustained, jubilant applause, whistling and strident calls of ‘GO FOXY’. One comment I heard was an astonished ‘WHAT BREED IS THAT?’‘

No, the highlight of the Dog Show was not Pekinese, Dalmatians, Dachshunds or Labradors but Reynard the Fox Cub.

He did not growl, look menacing or snap at anyone and appeared to understand he was to be on his best behavior.

I think Lady Rowena was very proud of Reynard winning the title ‘Dog of the Show’……. er or something similar and was happy with the cup, even though the cup was not all that big.

Reynard’s photo appeared on the front page of the Argyll News. I believe there was also an offer from a toothpaste company to use Reynard in a series of TV commercials. Maybe there was a connection with Reynard’s teeth, although as far as I know Reynard has not shown his teeth or growled at anyone yet.

The following day after the excitement of the dog show Tamsin and I decided to travel to her home, Loch Awe Grange. Before we left I asked father if he would make arrangements for us to travel back to Denham Hall on a Sunday afternoon flight which meant travelling to Oban to catch an executive jet to Stanstead.

On arriving at the Grange, to our complete surprise, the highlight of the afternoon was Tamsin’s father, Mr Lacey, was to give us a recital of a classical piece he had learned on his clarinet, a piece that could go on for half an hour.

Mr Lacey brought in his music stand while Tamsin’s mother busied herself organizing the chairs in the lounge. Tamsin and I tried to look busy, with difficulty. Mrs Lacey then went into the study to answer the phone.

Mr Lacey took up his position in front of the music stand, blew a few notes on his clarinet allowing a few squeaks to escape. I suppose to warm the reed up. He paused while he composed himself and was about to commence the recital when Mrs Lacey appeared in the doorway and said ‘Darling, darling there is a phone call for you in the study’.

During Mr Lacey’s absence there was some fidgeting, coupled with an air of suppressed excitement, ‘suppressed’ being the operative word, when Tamsin’s father returned to the lounge and announced “I do apologize. I will have to call the recital off. I have to leave immediately. It appears we have a small crisis down at the council offices. Maybe another time”. Mr Lacey helps out as a consultant with the local council following his retirement.

The expression ‘a close shave’ came to mind. It looks as though Tamsin and I will get to spend an hour on the tennis court after all.

It had been a weekend full of excitement. I was so pleased for Lady Rowena and Reynard. It was a successful weekend for them also.

No 37 - The Limping Badger

                                                                                         

      The Limping Badger

Like you, I also thought it was a stupid title and I don’t have to tell you who suggested it. You might remember the other ridiculous title she suggested once before ‘The Hallucinating Rabbit’. She commented that the title for this particular story was obvious, pointing out the fact it was an injured badger and because of its injury it was limping. She said it was a true story so it was no use trying to confuse the readers and dress it up to be something it wasn’t just to obscure the truth. I had no argument. 

It’s Gascoigne again; Phaedra Gascoigne. Always quick to criticize. I honestly don’t know why she doesn’t write her own stuff. It’s no big deal. 

Anyway to explain - it was not so much a cross country ‘race’ per se as a run to keep the girls fit and healthy and to keep the weight off them. I don’t want to get personal or name names but Chelsea Atwell springs to mind here. 

The event was classed as a sports lesson. As there was little for Briggs the caretaker to do around the college in the afternoon he was requested to help Miss Frenzi, the sports mistress, to shepherd the girls on the cross country run. 

The excitement started when Tamsin, while negotiating the stile at Badgers Bend at the bottom of Farmer Benton’s field, tripped in the undergrowth and almost trod on a badger. It had been injured and was limping; that’s the badger, not Tamsin. 

Rebecca alerted Miss Frenzi who requested Briggs carry it back to the college bus that was parked on the grass verge on the side of the main road, and to take Rebecca with him who was to nurse the injured badger while Briggs was to drive it to the vet. 

The vet said it was nothing serious just a sprained ankle or a pulled tendon or whatever. While it was recuperating the college adopted the badger and named it Bartholomew. I thought it was a really stupid name. I suspected Phaedra had a hand in that too. Personally I would have chosen Betty myself……... If it had been a girl that is. 

The news made the Rickmansworth Bugle, and the Watford Observer also sent a photographer down. 

Anyways to cap it off the BBC sent a local reporter Britney Duff who only covers the really big Rickmansworth news stories. This event just might make the BBC National News or even Current Affairs. Duff did a piece to camera alongside Briggs holding Bartholomew (how I hate that name). 

I am not sure who discovered its gender: I almost wrote sex there, a word which Miss Sefton might frown on were she to read these stories. Not that it adds to the story in any way. 

Giving credit where credit is due, Phaedra was right when she pointed out regardless of its name, it was neither here nor there, once released back into the wild it was perfectly free to divest itself of that ‘silly’ name (my description). 

Needless to say, there was a steady stream of girls traipsing back and forward getting pictures of Bartho… the badger for their Facebook page. 

More news for my gentle readers; Briggs made a really nice home behind the chapel while he was recuperating. I am referring to a home for the badger, not Briggs. I thought that was lovely of Briggs. I heard him suggest to Miss Frenzi the badger should be placed near the stile on its release as it may have a family waiting for him. 

I had Phaedra looking over my shoulder while I was writing this. There was no positive criticism like ‘lovely story Bridge’, just ‘do you know where you are going with this Bridgette?’ I will choose to ignore her. 

So much excitement and the week had only just begun. 

The highlight of the week for Candice was that Nurse Mayo has been given permission from Candice Robertson’s parents to take her to the dentist to have her teeth braces removed. At least Candice will be able to smile once again without attracting wretched, pitiful stares from the public when travelling on buses and things. What's more, boys might just start looking at her again as if she is a human being. It might also lift her out of her depression. 

There was not much else happening in the college during the week, although what did create a stir was that it was Miss Sefton’s birthday on Wednesday and unbeknownst to Miss Sefton, our headmistress, a pound sweepstake had been organized to guess her age. 

Tamsin reckoned Miss Sefton did not have birthdays any more but another furrow added to her brow. 

Knowing Charlotte she would put her age in her early hundred and twenties. It was wide open. The odds were in anyone’s favor. 

Remembering Miss Frenzi’s comment of it being a ‘dog eat dog’ world during the swimming competition with Pixie Hill Camp School last year when she decided not to let on we had a southern counties record holder swimming for us, I should have guessed the chance of monetary gain or even the chance of winning a pound, was going to bring out the very worst in people, as we found out. 

During the afternoon of the draw, it was discovered Bethany had asked her mother who knew Lady Cynthia, who was on the board of governors, to check with the college office ten minutes before the draw and check the records for Miss Sefton’s age. 

She discovered not only her age and the month and the year of her birth, but her birthstone, her sign of the zodiac, the phase of the moon on her birthday and a list of tide tables for Brighton on that day. 

It reminds me of the old proverb ‘The moving finger writes’, hang on that’s not it. ‘Praps it was ‘in for a penny in for a pound’. That sounds about right. Phaedra Gascoigne eat your heart out. 

I rang Mother at Inveraray Castle in the afternoon. She told me the castle manageress lady was beside herself with worry and stress due to tourist numbers to the castle being up because of the gorgeous weather. Father was due back this evening from Brazil and they were expecting the Carter-Browns over a little later. 

Mother had also invited Mrs Dalrymple for tea. When I think ‘Mrs Dalrymple’ I am not sure why I think of witches covens and things, and mother as an unwilling convert. 

By the way, Zanthe Perkins won the sweepstake guessing Miss Sefton’s age (well, she was closest).

No 36 - Roland's Rescue

The Basement   

Roland’s Rescue

Again I was looking forward to the weekend, particularly this weekend. You see mother had rung to say the BBC had contacted father earlier in the week for permission to use the castle grounds to film location shots for a new period TV drama called Mr Grayson. It was just a one day’s shoot. There were no interior shots required.

There were approximately 13 or 14 film crew expected. The director and his assistant, a make-up lady, an audio man and his assistant, a lighting director plus two lighting assistants or ‘sparks’ I believe they call them, a props person plus 2 actors and 2 actresses and a wardrobe person.

The film crew had arrived by a crew bus and brought their own canteen truck which was a relief for Mrs Pasta and the kitchen staff.-

The crew were busy unloading equipment when Rebecca, Phaedra, Tamsin and I arrived at the castle Saturday mid-morning after being picked up by Andrew the stable lad at Oban Airport.

Andrew has now taken over many of Beecham’s duties in deference to his age. Beecham had been our family retainer longer than any of us can remember, well before I was born. It was Andrew that ferried us from Oban airport to Inveraray Castle calling in on the way at Mr and Mrs Lacey’s converted presbytery, Loch Awe Grange.

We had left Denham Hall Young Ladies College very early so as not to miss all the excitement. Filming had not yet started when we arrived at Inveraray. Lights were being positioned and the producer was still discussing shots.

We went into the castle kitchen to see what we could scrounge as we had missed breakfast at Denham Hall in our hurry to get to Stanstead airport. We were not disappointed as Mrs Pasta was busying cooking her own breakfast.

The TV crew had chosen a beautiful day to record; no doubt they had waited for a sunny day to be forecast. After breakfast, we found some fold-out chairs to relax and positioned ourselves like spectators at a cricket match to watch the film rehearsals taking place between the South and West Turrets.

While lights were being rigged, camera positions were being established and actor’s moves being rehearsed Tamsin, Phaedra and Rebecca disappeared in the direction of the kitchens to see if Mrs Pasta had any ice cream hidden anywhere and were successful, I am pleased to say.

As recording had not yet started in earnest mother and father who had surfaced earlier to find little serious activity taking place retired to the saloon.

Tamsin suggested, “We could ask the director if he would like to use us for crowd shots”.

Rebecca giggled “Tamsin, girls did not wear leggings and stuff in the 18th century. It would spoil the illusion”.

“Just asking” Tamsin haughtily replied.

She added “Anyhow I am sure Bridgette could rustle up some gear for us”.

I replied “Tamsin, I don’t think they are going to rewrite the script just for us to show off our gear. It is a period drama for heaven’s sake”.

The director appeared with his personal assistant (PA for short) clutching her script-board. After an animated discussion with the PA, he called for everyone’s attention and announced “Quiet people. This is just a just walk-through. Julian treasure, straighten your wig”.

“Right people, in your own time”.

This film business was a very slow process. I knew Tamsin was going to lose interest very quickly and I was not about to be disappointed. After about 10 minutes of cries from the producer like ‘Stop people’ and instructions like ‘Julian love, you are missing your mark every time and you end up masking Bernice’s MCU (medium close up) and the PA reminding Bernice the word is ‘anyway’ not ‘ANYWAYS’.

Phaedra shook her head and suggested we retire to the tennis courts.

Mother and father arrived and took their drinks out into the afternoon sun and sat by the tennis courts to watch the ladies doubles match. In the late afternoon, two singles matches were played. Scores were not important.

At around 5 pm the film crew started to pack their gear.

It was Saturday evening. There was no bridge tournament. Even though Mrs Dalrymple had been invited to tea there were no attempts planned to contact our ‘dear departed’ and no tarot card readings. Mother and Mrs Dalrymple both suspected they were psychics. I have no idea where they got that idea from, nor did father.

Gentle readers, it was NOT to be an evening of television quiz shows, cooking shows, Come Dancing or talent shows, instead it was a feast of TV delights that exercised the brain.

It was during a natural history programme about the flora and fauna of the highlands of Papua, New Guinea we thought we heard a soft knocking.

Father questioned, “Who would be here this time of night?”

There were no visitors at the door.

Rebecca said jokingly “Hello it might be another of Inveraray’s ghosts abroad tonight”.

The knocking continued sporadically. We tried to chase its origin but eventually the knocking stopped, so we went back to the saloon and to continue watching the natives in New Guinea.

After about 10 minutes the knocking started again but it was very difficult to track down.

Father said irritably “where is that infernal knocking coming from? I can tolerate musical harpists and bagpipers but knocking on walls is not a big thing with them”.

Tamsin pointed out the castle’s brochure will have to be rewritten with the addition of a new ghost.

Rebecca replied, “Why bother? It has no musical abilities. Can we go to bed now?”

As we retired to our rooms the knocking stopped.

I always make sure my mobile phone is turned off in the classroom as Mr Crisis, our science teacher, is a stickler about phones going off in the classroom.

When I left the classroom on Tuesday morning after the first lesson, on checking my mobile I realized mother had been trying to contact me. I immediately rang her in case it was a message of importance.

I will bring you up to speed on the news from Inveraray. We had left the castle early Sunday afternoon to head back to Oban Airport arriving back at Denham Hall around 5 pm.

Mother said the knocking had continued intermittently during the day but all was quiet Sunday night. I had previously suggested to mother to summons Mrs Dalrymple to do whatever one does to encourage the lost soul to go elsewhere. Thankfully she was not needed.

She told me that on Tuesday morning a BBC person had arrived at the castle to inquire if anyone had seen one of the ‘Sparks’ from the film crew. If you are interested his name was Roland. His wife had rung the TV station to say he had not returned home. After it was discovered he was missing it was realized the last place he had been seen was on the film shoot.

Father gathered the gardeners, the maintenance men, and the kitchen staff and told them to search the grounds from top to bottom. Father and Andrew searched the castle rooms one by one.

It was while searching near the north west hall staircase they went down to the basement. There was a small cupboard in the tea room for stores which was wedged open when someone was inside as it had a habit of closing on itself and locking, which was a trap for the unwary. Fortunately the kitchen workers were aware of this but unfortunately for Roland, he was not.

Due to the few numbers of visitors at this time of year, the basement had been closed to the public for a couple of days for renovation and modifications.

It was in this store cupboard off the Tea Room where Roland was discovered. He had been nosing around and got trapped. What made it worse the light in the cupboard was not working. That was another job for the maintenance men.

When father found Roland he was not exactly in a malnourished state, like covered with sores, flies and stuff with a large growth of beard and looking hollow-eyed, thin and dehydrated... er and hallucinating, because he had only been missing a for a day or two.

You could imagine, he was really pleased to see father who immediately took him to the kitchen and gave him a cup of tea and a biscuit.

I told the other girls what had happened and informed them there had been no additions to the tally of ghosts at the castle.

Thankfully Mrs Dalrymple’s services were not needed at this time.

No 35 - Dance with the Watford Boys Grammar School

    

                                                                                                                         

           Dance with the Watford Grammar School for Boys

The news buzzing around the college was Phaedra, that’s Phaedra Gascoigne, won a beauty pageant. It was an event staged during the ‘Save the Children’ fundraiser and was squeezed in I think between the Datsun Classic Car Club Concours D’elegance and the Dog Obedience Class at the Rickmansworth Showgrounds.

This type of extra-curricular activity was not actively encouraged by the college but seeing the drive was to raise funds for people ‘less fortunate than we’ it was permitted by Miss Sefton. I knew Tamsin was not going to let this news pass without a catty comment, and I was not about to be disappointed when out of the hearing of Phaedra she reasoned ‘The opposition could not have been all that strong then’.

It was not just a beauty competition but rather a competition for poise, personality and something else, perhaps breeding, although I thought the word I am searching for started with a Pee, can’t think what it was, doesn’t matter. Hang on, no it was personality, poise, and posture.

Anyhow Phaedra won a cup; I thought money would have been much more appreciative. Prize bulls, dogs and racehorses win cups as do racing pigeons.

I think I failed to mention I was made dormitory monitor of Boadicea Dorm after Patience left college.

You see on Parents Day Miss Sefton, the headmistress, told mother in confidence it was a close decision between myself and Phaedra for the position of the monitor in the Boadicea Dorm. I suggested we share the position six months about as it is our last year and a half in school for both of us. That was agreed upon by Miss Sefton. Next month I would have just passed 15 but a little older than Tamsin and I feel positively ancient.

One of the duties of the dorm monitor is making sure all the girls of Boadicea Dorm have returned to college by curfew time. A 15 minute panic time is allowed before ringing Miss Frenzi who then quizzes the girls as to whom she was with when she went missing during the evening. The rule then is the missing person, if not found, would have been late by half an hour and the police would be notified. No Denham Hall girls have been lost yet.

Curfew time is taken very seriously. You can imagine how awful it would be for Miss Sefton to ring a girl’s parents to inform them the college had lost their daughter.

It was Saturday and I was staying at college for the weekend, which was just as well as in the evening the college dance was being held with boys invited from the Watford Grammar School.

Miss Pringle told us dances were for the purpose of improving our social skills, and looking at some of the girls they badly needed it - that is an improvement in their social skills.

You may remember I told you about the disgusting and malicious rumours circulating around the college that we were to be amalgamated with these creatures of the opposing species.

It ranked as vicious and chilling a rumour as turning Denham Hall College into a Comprehensive School, but the news allowing ‘boys’ into Denham Hall was not only ludicrous and tasteless but rumour-mongering of the worst kind.

That revolting, disgusting speculation was quashed quick smart before it took hold by our headmistress Miss Sefton. I have to apologize as originally my suspicions rested on Chloe Higgins of the fourth that triggered this distressing rumour but it wasn’t. It was another troublemaker Madeline Brown; nevertheless I would not have been surprised if it had been Chloe Higgins.

The dance was held in Denham Hall’s huge concert hall. Dances were very popular. As I remember my first approach for a dance was by a Marcus……er somebody or other, who was a bit spotty and I told him I had a festering, weeping open sore on my ankle …….and it was beginning to smell….. and I had trouble dancing …….and I would prefer to sit this one out if he didn’t mind.

Tamsin was corralled by a height-challenged dwarf named ‘chalky’ White; a boy better left alone. She told him her dance card was full up……..like for the whole of the evening. Things were not looking good until a senior boy, Lance I think it was who was free of spots and things, asked me to dance.

Tamsin faired even better, she was asked to dance by Jason…….er thingy. He was wearing an eye patch like a pirate. He looked quite dashing and mysterious. It appears he got into a fistfight in his school’s playground with a Daphne Phillips person ………and apparently lost.

I saw Mr Crisis our science teacher and Miss Pringle the assistant headmistress dancing together which was lovely. Perhaps when he leaves college and returns home he might take her with him to Epsilon Boötis, a planet in the star system of the Southern Constellation of Reticulum - a fact which I assume you all know.

For those of you that might be interested the live band for the evening was the Rickmansworth Swing Band. They usually hosted the ‘Olde Tyme’ dances at the Autumn Leaves Retirement Home ….er for the aged and engagement parties and things in the events room in the Rickmansworth Public Library. As a rule they are usually free for bookings.

It was suggested to the band that they stick to the more traditional English ballroom type dances like waltzes, quicksteps, and foxtrots. Foreign dancing like hip hop or jitterbugging was to be avoided. I guess they did not want the boys or girls trying to spin on their heads and stuff, particularly the girls.

It was Miss Frenzi that said for young ladies it was unbecoming and unladylike.

Oh, and hokey pokies or whatever and chicken dances were also out. All in all, it was a lovely evening. New Facebook friends found, well just the one and new friendships forged.

Denham Hall was an Anglican establishment and on Sundays, Briggs would drive our Anglican girls in the college bus into town to the St Johns Mary’s Church. In the meantime, I suspect Briggs spent the next hour or so in the Dolphin Hostelry.

The other boarders that did not return home for the weekend were required to attend services in the school chapel which meant sometimes there was only a handful of us. Pastor Dickie usually officiated, so to speak. Occasionally there was a small collection for people ‘less fortunate than we’ so small change was always handy.

In the evening mother rang to inquire how the dance went. She also asked if we had met any ‘nice’ boys, whatever that means. She usually asks the questions and answers them as well. I was careful not to commit myself in any way.

I told her I would be returning home to Inveraray Castle with Tamsin the following weekend. Father meanwhile was still in Brazil. Mother also informed me Mrs Dalrymple had booked to do an online hypnotist course.

I was not quite sure how this was going to work. I hoped mother was not going to do this course also. The very thought of both of them hypnotizing each other for practice is fraught with danger with the chance of accidentally putting each other in a hypnotic trance. As it is they have yet to master the knack of summoning the dead or our ‘dear departed’ as they are referred to.

I turned to Tamsin who was standing next to me, shook my head and rolled my eyes.

I must remember to ask mother to get the piano tuned.

No 34 - The Guards March to Rickmansworth

                                                                                                   
Since Candice had braces fitted she has not stopped complaining that boys do not look at her anymore. I realize that our parents have the best interest of their daughters at heart but, as Tamsin said, she looks terrible, a bit like Hannibal Lecter. Worse still and as Tamsin quite rightly pointed out, she would have trouble attracting creatures of the opposing species while her appearance reminded her of Free Willy, hang on ‘praps was it Jaws.

Remarks like that do not give Candice, that’s Candice Robertson, the poise and self-assurance that she desperately needs or the confidence that goes with having really nice white teeth. I reckon she was being a bit of a drama queen myself but as Charlotte Patterson pointed out it is not her fault her teeth braces do not look natural.

HER TEETH BRACES DO NOT LOOK NATURAL? For heaven’s sake, what is she talking about? Phaedra noted it is not the end of the world, is it? It is alright for her. She does not have to wear braces. Look I do not want to dwell on Candice’s teeth….or braces.

Some of us boarders are going to the Rickmansworth Folk Club this evening. Jamie Figgis is appearing. I assume most of you would have heard of Jamie so I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining to who he is.

Yes, he has two YouTube uploads and Charlotte Patterson reckons on his Facebook page it reads he has got over 60 friends or followers. In contrast, I have only got three; at one point I did have four.

The place will be packed out. I might try and get Figgis’s autograph. I need it for swapsies.  

 I, Tamsin, Rebecca, Candice, and Charlotte together walked down to the folk club. A couple of the other girls were coming later. 

It was going to be a big night. I assumed the Rickmansworth Bugle might have sent a reporter or two. Jamie Figgis, fortunately as it turned out, signed autographs for Rebecca and Tamsin and I before making some critical tuning to his guitar.

There was an air of excitement in the club as Figgis approached the microphone and made some inaudible comments to his sound Man. He tapped the microphone then did a quick audio test counting from one to ten. Happy with the sound test he cheerily called out “can you all hear me at the back there?” there was a chorus of raucous applause.

Gentle readers, there was an air of suppressed excitement as Figgis’s guitar pick hovered momentarily over what I think was a G chord of his Gibson fretboard. It was that moment, as his hand descended, that was going to be the last we were going to hear from him all evening.

The microphones died, the lights went out and the club was plunged into darkness. The only sound heard was the drummer. What folk group has a drummer for heaven’s sake?

Our four coffees, one black, three white, two with sugar and two without and a pastry we ordered, were not going to see the light of day as the kitchen’s power also succumbed to the ebon blackness.

The news leaked back to the club that the mains transformer down the street had just exploded causing the street and traffic lights to go out. I was hopping mad and thought our money should be refunded, which it was.

At least the bonus was the timely request for Figgis’s autograph. It was going to be an early night for us girls. We passed a couple of college boarders also heading for the club and informed them that the Figgis musical extravaganza was off.

Another weekend; every week seems to have them. Weekends that is and Tamsin and I are off home to Inveraray Castle. I thought I might also invite Candice home as she is wallowing in self-pity and she needs cheering up. Braces are not the end of the world. To show how serious this has all become Candice is becoming anxious and withdrawn and is avoiding smiling.

Saturday afternoon back at Inveraray I thought we might ride across to Colonel Carter-Brown’s place. It is only a half-hour ride across the fields and down the lane to the castle. Candice rides, as do most of my friends, so the three of us collected our horses from Andrew the stable lad who already had our horses saddled and we headed for Ruthin Castle. It was an excuse to pet Reynard the fox.

Colonel Carter-Brown told us he has stopped chasing the chickens...…that’s Reynard the fox, not the colonel. That was a timely relief as it also coincided with the chickens starting to lay eggs again.

We were all in the saloon. Mother and father had arrived earlier and father and the colonel were discussing the finer points of a Chivas Whisky, its colour and its history. I left mother and the colonel’s wife Rowena drinking some red stuff from a large decanter. Tamsin, Candice and I wandered around the castle’s gallery.

Tamsin was particularly struck by a Stanford Price painting of ‘The Guards March to East Barnet’.

The brass nameplate indicated that it was painted in 1750. I heard Tamsin whisper ‘that’s strange’.

After a tour of the gallery, we returned to the saloon. Sitting down Tamsin queried the colonel ‘why is the drummer in the painting The Guards March to East Barnet wearing what looks like joggers, and a pregnant woman next to the soldier with a gun wearing what looks like a wristwatch, when it was painted in 1750?’

The colonel turned to me and asked with a smile “Bridgette has Tamsin been at your mother's wine?”

Tamsin replied hurriedly “No, no Sir, but there is a similar painting by a Mr William Hogarth person named ‘The Guards March to Finchley’ - a similar title and an identical painting. I saw it in the gallery at the Foundling Museum in London a while ago. It is why it makes me suspect your painting is a fake”.

“Well that IS interesting” replied the colonel.

“Yes. Sir, I suspect your painting by this Stanford Price person is a fake; a poor copy of Hogarth’s ‘The Guards March to Finchley’. Anyway I don’t think there was an East Barnet in 1750”.

The colonel said patronizingly with a smile “Tamsin thank you for your professional input and to put your mind at rest I will invite Professor Daintree round. He is an art expert. We will ask him his opinion, OK?”

I thought that was the end of the matter and forgot all about it until it was triggered by a comment that Tamsin made when we arrived back at Denham College. She asked if the colonel had purchased the painting at a car boot sale in Inveraray village.

A week later the news filtered back from father and it was not good. The painting was a fake but apart from the jogger footwear and wristwatch Professor Daintree said the colonel’s painting was a fair copy. That was a relief.

Tamsin suggested if the colonel had paid big money for the fake why not keep the painting and change the brass nameplate to say ‘The Guards March to Rickmansworth’ by a fictitious painter, no-one would need to know, would they?

There was a name change. The colonel did plump for ‘The Guards March to Rickmansworth’ and a nameplate was made to replace the ‘The Guards March to East Barnet’ heeding Tamsin’s comment perhaps there was no such place as East Barnet or Barnet in 1750.

I think I put the cat among the pigeon’s a few weeks later when I asked the colonel if there was a Rickmansworth in 1750.

As an addendum, an artist was hired to replace the joggers on the drummer in the painting with more suitable traditional footwear and to remove the watch from the wrist of the lady.

The art gallery in London where the colonel purchased the painting was going to be in for some big trouble.

No 33 - The Girl in the Garden

                                                                    Photo ….John Inglis 

The Girl in the Garden

It was winter time and cold outside. I, Tamsin and Rebecca were seeking warmth in the Rickmansworth Folk Club above the fish and chip shop in the High Street. I looked across at Tamsin who was in conversation with Nathan. He was the lead guitarist in the resident group called The Sheriff’s Men. They were previously known as The Melody Five, actually there were only four of them; you might remember the banjo player left. Anyway Nathan was the only guitar player so I guess that makes him the lead guitarist.

They replaced the banjo player with a saxophone player. So the new line-up of the Rickmansworth Folk Group, The Sheriff’s Men is an accordion, a mandolin, oh yes, the banjo player left and was replaced with a saxophonist and Nathan, the guitarist.

As I mentioned earlier Nathan had the hots for Tamsin. This feeling was not reciprocated by Tamsin. They were both on completely different frequencies. Rebecca said she overheard Nathan telling Grant; er somebody or other, that Tamsin his girlfriend goes to a ‘posh’ college named Denham hall, sometimes known as the Rickmansworth Young Ladies College and that she can speak Latin, French and some Italian and that her parents live in a Presbytery in Loch Awe, Scotland which is untrue because Tamsin is not his girlfriend.

Nathan had asked Tamsin how her studies were going. I heard her tell him they had carpentry classes for the final lesson of the day. She was setting him up again as we did not have carpentry classes… EVER. Tamsin was about to tell porkies. She was forever teasing Nathan.

I heard her say ’Yes Nathan I made a replica Steinway Grand Piano in carpentry classes today’.

Nathans eyes widened “Really?”

She said “Yes, well I would be the first to admit it was not as good as an original one”.

I groaned. She continued “Yes Nathan you can ask my woodwork teacher and next week I am going to make a Space Shuttle”.

I really feel sorry for Nathan. I really do ………well sometimes.

Those boarders leaving the college of an evening sign an ‘off-campus’ sheet when leaving the college and the caretaker checks them in as they begin to arrive back around 9.45pm. No boarder has been lost yet.

Once or twice a month I headed home to Inveraray Castle. Mother said I was quite welcome to bring a friend or two. But this weekend Tamsin’s parents had invited Phaedra and I to stay with her family at Loch Awe.

Tamsin’s parents lived in an old restored Presbytery on the opposite side of the train station overlooking Loch Awe. Her father had just retired. He had been a Northern Irish Minister.

In the afternoon Tamsin and I strolled down to the station with the Lacey family’s dalmatian over the iron railway bridge to the old steamer pier at the edge of the loch in front of the Loch Awe Railway Hotel, now known as the Loch Awe Castle Hotel. Standing behind us was a railway carriage converted to holiday accommodation. Although there was only been a dusting of snow it was still very cold but quite sunny. We stopped while Tamsin took pictures to send to her Facebook friends.

Loch Awe is not the largest railway station in Scotland by any stretch of the imagination. It only has one platform whether one is going north or south, and one train per day, possibly the same train that went south and was due back later in the day but heading north - if that makes any sense. But I am not absolutely sure about my railway times.

On our return to the Presbytery, Phaedra said despite the cold weather she saw a girl wearing a full-length flimsy dress with long golden hair sitting on the garden seat. When Phaedra approached the girl she raised her arm not to wave but to acknowledge her. What unsettled Phaedra was she noticed, as she stood up to walk away she left no footprints.

So as not to confuse my gentle readers it was the girl that left no footprints, not Phaedra. Phaedra asked Tamsin if she knew who she was.

Phaedra also said she noticed when she left, she could just make out the faint carving of a heart entwining two sets of initials that had been carved into the back of the garden seat.

Later I asked Mrs Lacey if anyone had died at the Presbytery or if the Presbytery had a history of ghosts, apparitions and the like.

She replied they had not been living in the Presbytery very long and she had not seen any apparitions but she did say there was a story in the records of St Conan’s Kirk at Loch Awe, incidentally built by my father’s great grandfather, a Campbell, of a young girl who was a parishioner there hundreds of years ago.

She was about to get married but her admirer died of the plague. She had heard stories of the appearance of the young girl but had never seen her and the previous owners had never mentioned her.

Tamsin’s mother said it should not be too difficult to find out whose initials they were and if one of them is the initials of the girl in question. St Conan’s Kirk records will confirm this.

Such was the young girl’s grief she never married. She may have been the girl Phaedra saw in the garden looking for her lost love who once lived in the Presbytery. Who knows? It is all guesswork.

Lady Delilah, my mother, pointed out Inveraray Castle is also the home to a number of resident ghosts. There’s the Harpist, the Bagpipe Player and there have also been sightings of a female ghost haunting the castle. It has been said this female ghost is thought to have been killed by a Jacobite soldier.

I believe there is another ghost who, although unseen, has been heard laughing uncontrollably in the kitchen. The castle has its own resident poltergeist.

A valid point that Tamsin pointed out was the intense pressure the kitchen would be under if the entire ghost ensemble of Inveraray wanted to sit down for dinner at the same time. I marvel at Tamsin’s reasoning powers.

I asked Phaedra what happened to the girl in the garden. Where did she go? She said she did not go anywhere. While walking away she just disappeared slowly as if going out of focus as one might see when disappearing into a shimmering heat haze. Tamsin said perhaps she is travelling inter-dimensionally.

Good point: she added it makes sense if she ever hoped to meet her beau again the Presbytery would be the obvious place to frequent, although, as I told Mrs Lacey, I personally would have waited for the warmer months.

Tamsin’s mother was not as scatter-brained as my mother and I blame that on Mrs Dalrymple. Mother and Mrs Dalrymple are more interested in the afterlife and of the well-being of ‘our dear departed’ than those in their present life. Father; well he is blessed with a lot of patience.

Mother once said if she or Mrs Dalrymple made contact with one apparition, ghost, wraith, poltergeist or with any of our ‘dear departed’ ones during the séances then death, as we understand it, does not signal the end of our journey but possibly the beginning of a new one.

No 32 - Rickmansworth Thoughts

         Rickmansworth Thoughts 

It was while Mr Crisis, the science teacher, was conducting the sixth form's last lesson of the day he turned from the blackboard; “Tamsin Lacey?” All eyes swivelled round to Tamsin. “I would greatly appreciate it if you did not exchange Facebook messages during my science lesson”.

He continued. “Charlotte Patterson?” All eyes re-focused on Charlotte. “I realise my lecture is not discussing the cutting edge of science and technology but it is as basic as it can get. At least at the end of the day you will know how to turn a light switch on and off”.

This rebuke was met with some muted, stifled sniggering.

Both Tamsin and Charlotte sat in the back row but on the opposite sides of the classroom. They both looked up sheepishly. Little did they know if he so desired Mr Crisis could read what they were messaging. Telepathy is second nature to inter-stellar travellers. Although he was able to monitor their messages he may not have fully understood the more subtle meaning of some of their Facebook messaging language.

Mr Crisis continued “Meanwhile, while I have your attention young ladies, you can bring your mobile phones forward and put them on my desk, collect them when you leave and refrain from bringing them into the classroom in future. Thank you”.

It was the last lesson of the day and of the week and Mr Crisis was discussing the relation between time and distance. Tamsin put up her hand and asked “Sir, if a rogue country fired a missile at us how long would it take to get to the college?”

Mr Crisis asked querulously “Miss Lacey, why would a rogue country want to target Rickmansworth Young Ladies College? Are we a threat in some way?”

“No Sir. I just wondered how long we would have to get to an air-raid shelter”.

As Mr Crisis scratched his head and was about to reply the bell sounded. There was a lot of movement looking for bags and stuff which resulted in a bit of congestion at the door. It was the weekend.

The senior girls were aware Mr Crisis was an Inter-Stellar, Inter-Universe and Inter-Dimensional traveller which for the life of me was never discovered at his initial or any other subsequent interview for the science teacher’s position with Miss Sefton the headmistress.

He had arrived at Denham Hall when Miss Cribb resigned to get married and he applied for the vacant position of science teacher. He must have told some huge porkies to Miss Sefton regarding his previous employment history at the interview that’s all I can think of.

I don’t want to dwell on this as, in the scheme of things like Multiple Universes, other Dimensions and Dark Energy, passing Facebook messages during a science lesson is insignificant.

Today is Friday the most important day of the week and being Friday afternoon that makes it makes it doubly important.

This afternoon Nurse Mayo had arranged with Candice’s parents to take her to the orthodontist in town to have a follow up appointment following the removal of her braces. Tamsin quipped “Candice, maybe the orthodontist will have to put your braces back in again. Is this the price you are prepared to pay for your vanity?”

Candice replied “I hope you are not implying I’m vain, Tamsin”.

Oh I nearly forgot. Marlene Kuczynski is leaving Denham Hall at the end of next week. Her father who is, or rather was the famous TV wrestler the ‘Bone Crusher’ lost his TV job. She said it was due to the erratic or inconsistent TV viewing habits of the public. They are fed up with darts and wrestling programmes and want more cooking and talent shows so the family are heading back to Krakow.

I sometimes wonder if I am living in the twilight zone with Tamsin. In the Rickmansworth Folk club the other evening Nathan asked her if she wanted to go the movies sometime. I know he has the ‘hots’ for Tamsin but she reckons he has the ‘hots’ for all girls.

I suppose this was meant to be a date which ceased to be a date when she said “yes, but only if Bridgette can come as well”.

She was just heeding his mother’s sound advice to have ones wits about one at all times when alone with Nathan. Tamsin said there was no way this friendship was going to develop into an ‘item’ thing.

I warned Tamsin I will only come along if it is a girl’s movie. She asked Nathan if there were tanks, gun battles and downed helicopters in the movie.

He said “No. It’s a girls movie”

Tamsin asked what he meant by that. He hesitated then said “Well there are no tanks, gun battles or downed helicopters in the movie”.

I told Tamsin I don’t trust Nathan. If there is killing and blood all over the place I am walking out of the cinema.

This week, by popular demand, they are re-showing Charlton Heston in Ben-Hur at the Watersmeet cinema ….……again. I suspect there might be some blood and gore spilled in this one as well.

It was Friday evening. I was at home at Inveraray Castle. Tamsin was spending all the weekend with my family as her parents were visiting friends in Edinburgh. It was wintertime and cold outside so we did not stray far from the log fire. A car has been sent to pick up Mrs Rutherford who was to spend the evening with mother.

As a matter of interest to my gentle readers, they might remember that it was Mrs Rutherford that sold the bakery and has since opened a pet shop at the end of the village. Now I am not saying for one moment her interest in small animals was triggered by rats she might have occasionally seen in her bakery shop but she is now selling cats, dogs and budgies which might allow her to get a lie-in, instead of awakening at the crack of dawn to bake bread and muffins for a living.

For those of you that are looking for her pet shop it is in the row of shops up from the George Hotel in Main Street East and for those of you who wish to visit the George Hotel it is ‘dog-friendly’.

The new lady who I have not been introduced to and who has taken over Mrs Rutherford’s shop is going to retain the premises as a bakery. I do hope she will encourage her rodents to move so the shop can continue to fill mother’s weekly cottage loaf order.

I realise all this is just idle gossip but there is not a lot going on in Inveraray……well not until the snow melts that is. Well that is not quite true I like to get my facts correct but this year a couple of Canadians did turn up at the George Hotel with snow skis, ear muffs, toboggans and snowshoes.

Tamsin, always the comedian, commented that at least they left the huskies at home.

The visitors were told there was no snow this year, although the lack of snow did not detract the visitors from Inveraray Castle.

Father was pleased as were the castle’s auditors. I know the castle manageress lady has been very busy getting ready for the opening of the castle for the start of the new season so whether there was snow on the ground or not it was immaterial.

No 31 - The Hallucinating Bunny

   

 The Hallucinating Bunny 

The title the Hallucinating Bunny was not my idea it was Phaedra’s, that’s Phaedra Gascoigne. It is why I am using it as a subheading only; frankly, I did not want to use it at all. By the way, she is now my second best friend. Tamsin used to be my second best friend but she’s now my best friend, since Patience left. Incidentally for anyone that’s interested I am not touting for further Facebook friends……. well not at the present.

She, that’s Phaedra, suggested, ‘Why not call your next story The Hallucinating Bunny?’

Astounded I asked, ‘Why would I do that?’

She replied, ’It would attract a lot more readers’.

I was reminded of the title of my story ‘Tamsin and the Erotic Dancers’ or it was ‘Tamsin and the Exotic Dancers’. That had nothing to do with the story either. That was Phaedra Gascoigne being silly again.

Anyway, I said ‘Rabbits don’t hallucinate’.

Mockingly she queried ‘like Sugar Plum Fairies don’t dance either Bridgette?’.

It was beginning to make sense; anyway gentle readers pay no attention to the silly subtitle.

I admit I was at a loss where I would or could go with that story anyway and I had previously asked Phaedra for some help.

I had cautiously asked ‘but why was the bunny hallucinating in the first place?’

She replied ‘well, tell your readers he used to eat weed and stuff and mushrooms down by the river that made him go funny’.

Astounded I replied ‘GO FUNNY? For heaven’s sake that’s not how Lewis Carroll would have written this story. I am going to write something else’.

She said ‘Alright. Suit yourself. Why not leave the title as it is and write about cats?’

I pointed out ‘but I can’t do that. I will be deceiving my blog readers. I will lose all credibility, even credence’.

She teased ‘You’ve only got three followers as it is Bridgette. One of them is me and one is Tamsin. Heavens knows who the third one is’.

It was the weekend again and I was at home at Inveraray Castle. Tamsin was staying with her parents at Loch Awe on Saturday then traveling to Inveraray on Sunday.

After my attempt to write a story on my blog about a hallucinating rabbit, with little help or was that hindrance by Phaedra, it was by sheer coincidence the local chapter of the Loch Awe Rabbits Fanciers Society (LARFS) sent a request to his Grace, that’s father and asked if they could use the castle grounds to host the yearly Rabbit Show.

Last year a lady rabbit had escaped. Hopefully, it went south of the border or there would have been hell to pay if she found a mate around the castle or its environs.

Father passed this request on to the castle manageress lady. It was no easy task that confronted her with last-minute requests causing somewhat of a headache to organize. Her hands were already full getting ready for opening the castle for the start of the 2020 season; this request caused even more unexpected pressure. She informed father they can probably slot it in just before the MG Car Cub meeting or possibly after the Highland Dancing, always a great favorite with overseas tourists.

For the Rabbit Show, she suggested hiring a big marquee to shield the bunnies from any unforeseen inclement weather.

I used to envy the manageress. The fact is I still do as I was hoping one day to mimic her efficiency when I became father’s secretary in the Edinburgh office which unfortunately would mean Mrs Tinkle will have to be offered a redundancy.

Always one step ahead and anticipating possible problems, she also politely requested Colonel Carter-Brown not to bring Reynard the fox even on a leash as he is by nature an excitable creature and seeing rabbits will make him, well even more excitable. It was better if he were left at home ….. That’s Reynard the fox by the way, not Colonel Carter-Brown.

Tamsin and her parents arrived on Sunday morning. Tamsin’s parents Mr and Mrs Lacey and Mr Crisis socialized in the saloon with my parents. Meanwhile, Tamsin and I took Reynard for a walk down by the river.

Later that evening in the drawing-room I told Mr Crisis about the forthcoming summer events at Inveraray Castle and of the upcoming rabbit show. Mr Crisis inquired ‘what is a Rabbit Show?’

Tamsin said people show, buy and sell rabbits and the prettiest rabbit wins a prize. Mr Crisis asked ‘How does one determine the prettiest rabbit?’

Tamsin replied, ‘Funny that, I have not got a clue. I have never really thought about it.’

Mr Crisis was deep in thought when he said ‘my people have been traversing the galaxies and universes for well over one hundred million years. I am not sure what rung of the ladder of evolution your people are on but when you talk about rabbit shows I am also reminded of one of your sporting events when two of your species violently attack each other with the express purpose of battering each other into a state of unconsciousness in the name of sport and the person who ‘wins’ receives accolades and a prize. It will be a long time Bridgette before your people reach the distant stars’.

Mr Crisis had a point. For those that do not know, Mr Crisis, our science teacher arrived like a bolt of pure energy. He was on a fly-by of our planet and decided to stay awhile. Miss Sefton, the headmistress was unaware of this when he applied for the vacant position of the science teacher.

He is from a small planet in the Boötes Galaxy, I think it is; hang on perhaps it was in the habitable zone or is it the Goldilocks Zone of Proxima Centauri …..or was it Epsilon Bootis? Look, look leave that with me. I will have to get back to you on that one.

On arriving back at Denham Hall I heard the news that Patience who was the head prefect who had left College and went on to university to study law had been invited back to college to give the girls a talk about life after Denham Hall.

She had been my very best friend for ages and ages, well at least 3 years I reckon. She told us lawyers and solicitors do not necessarily make a living trading on the misfortune of others but also deal in real estate, contracts, and things.

You might remember I told you Tamsin said that, like Patience, when she leaves the school she also would like to take up soliciting rather than become a teacher. She reckons there would be far more money in it and a lot less agro.

I was inclined to agree with her but Miss Pringle who had overheard that observation obviously did not appreciate such remarks and sent Tamsin straight to Miss Sefton the headmistress’s office where the misunderstanding I understand was eventually sorted out.

It was Monday morning and I wondered what the new week would bring.

No 30 - Tamsin's Dream.

                                                                                                                                               

                       Tamsin’s Dream

It was a big day. It was Saturday, Parents’ Day for the boarders. Tamsin’s parents were making their way from Loch Awe to Oban to meet my parents where they were to board a little airplane father had hired. The parents of the Blodwyn and Myfanwy sisters were traveling from Brecknockshire, as were parents of a number of girls whose homes were in the west counties, all heading Denham Hall, Rickmansworth.

By mid-morning, the hub-bub in the huge dining room where many of the parents were assembled had increased, as the teachers were being quizzed by parents as to their daughter’s tertiary progress and exacerbated by the noise of those girls who had skilfully managed to separate from their parents and were generally socializing with their school friends.

Most of the parents of the boarders were present so perhaps there were almost a hundred or so visitors including people other than parents that included aunties, uncles, brothers, and sisters.

Denham Hall was a very large gothic structure and as a precaution against any lost parents found roaming the long corridors days later Miss Sefton had the foresight to have printed up and placed at strategic places around the college corridors placards bearing the legend ‘YOU ARE HERE’, not unlike a supermarket when alerting shoppers as to which aisle to search when looking for, say, baked beans.

For the benefit of visitors and parents alike Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle had arranged a little marble plaque be placed on the west wing wall in commemoration of young Sophie who died in 1835 of meningitis. Sophie’s young body was interred in a grave in a quiet corner of the chapel grounds under a mulberry tree.

Although her body lies in the chapel grounds she has been seen by a number of the girls over the years as she roams the corridors of Denham Hall after lights out, which triggered both Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle to arrange the small memorial to be placed on the wall of the corridor where she had been seen on more than one occasion.

Many visitors, after sighting the marble wall plaque, ask the question ‘who was Sophie?’ Thanks to the foresight of Miss Sefton and Miss Pringle she will never be forgotten. There will always be a permanent memorial to our dear Sophie, one of the original Denham Hall College girls.

In fact, Jessica said she had a discussion with her on a number of occasions while in the infirmary. Nurse Mayo suggested she had been hallucinating after ingesting toadstools thinking they were mushrooms, that’s Jessica, not Sophie.

Talking about hallucinating reminds me of the dream Tamsin recounted to us she had the other night. Only Tamsin can possibly have dreams of this nature and as Nurse Mayo pointed out it could only be explained by a person hallucinating after ingesting or even eating toadstools…or maybe toads. I hesitate to do this but let us enter Tamsin’s world.

I would like to warn my gentle readers from the outset, if you have any doubts at all I can assure you this is an account of a dream. It did not actually happen. We were in the library, we being Elspeth, Tamsin and I. This dream was recounted to us by Tamsin. Now I admit I have had strange dreams in the past, as we all do, but as I told Tamsin hers ‘takes the cake’.

I asked her if she has had regular dreams of this nature because if so it could signal the suspicion of a much more deep-seated, psychological problem. Tamsin sniggered. Now Tamsin might think this is funny but I was concerned it might be more serious, possibly a genetic anomaly.

I have met Tamsin’s parents, Mr and Mrs Lacey, many times and they appear to be level-headed, down-to-earth God-fearing Christian people. I would even go as far as to say they are pillars of society, and as I have commented before to my gentle readers her father even plays the clarinet.

I really don’t know where to start other than at the beginning.

Tamsin described her dream she had the previous night and she said it was so life-like she thought it was real. It was that comment, dear reader, that triggered my concern. I really don’t know if I should put this on paper, some people might find it disturbing and other people, well not so disturbing.

I will try and relate this ad verbatim or in other words as Tamsin told it to me. Again I must emphasize the fact for people who might be of a delicate disposition and/or who are easily aroused it was only Tamsin’s dream.

She was in bed when she saw this colored spider hanging off the shade of the bedside light. She said it was huge and its colors reminded her of someone wearing a turtle-necked knitted fair-isle jumper. That was when I realized no-one could possibly make this stuff up so I sat up and started to pay attention.

She said, that’s Tamsin, it looked frightened, bewildered and alone. Her actual words. She said she scooped it in a glass jar and went down to the kitchen to get some crumbs of bread and some milk because she said it looked distressed and generally undernourished.

Yes, readers, this dream gets even more bizarre.

The dream continues. She said she was in Woollies. Hang on, no I tell a lie, I think it could have been Selfridges and she had Jack on a leash and they were going up the escalator to the food hall when Jack, that’s the Spider, tripped and fell over.

Suddenly there was a stifled scream from Elspeth. She pointed a quivering finger at Jack who was now on his back as she cried out ’Look, look, heeth not a boy, heeth a girl’. Elspeth has a lisp. I did warn my readers. I am still not sure what triggered this observation of its sex and I was not about to ask Tamsin.

They helped ‘Jack’ up and walked her into the food hall. There was further discussion about Jack the spider and whether the name change should be to Jill. Anyhow Tamsin cannot recall the exact words but what was important it was essential there was a name change for Jack.

There was much deliberation which Tamsin cannot recollect, well not word for word. She said it was just a blur before Elspeth came up with the name of Mith Mithy or for those of you out there without a speech impediment translated it means Miss Missy. At this point, I decided not to ask any more questions of Tamsin.

Now that was yesterday. Today was parent’s day and I decided to obey the old adage that ‘discretion is the better part of…..’. Hang on, I think I might have got that wrong, anyways look I decided not to relate Tamsin’s dream to Mr and Mrs Lacey. They might put her on something.

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.