A Visit to the Grandfather

     Growing up in England, my two children were both active in their various endeavours and able to mix with local children living nearby in the West Dorset countryside. My daughter became interested in riding at the age of 7 and after several private lessons, joined a branch of the Pony Club of Great Britain, (founded in 1929). We, my daughter and her younger brother, were friends with another family living a mile away and they and a farmer friend, sometimes went off for the day on Pony Club rallies and other various gatherings.
     Because I was divorced in England in 1984, I started a small business sewing and doing alterations etc. This eventually lead to expanding it, making soft furnishings from what was called a 'cottage industry' in those days - working from home, but full time developing it into a successful business.  Originally I'd put a small advertisement in the village shop window one day, which was noticed by a lady who lived in London, visiting her father residing in a lovely Georgian house with extensive gardens and swimming pool.  The property was on the edge of a lovely village called Thorncombe, about a mile from our cottage in beautiful hilly countryside.  Farmhouses, cottages, fields and laneways cascaded down into a pretty valley and up the other side. This lady worked for Hardy Amies, a fashion designer and best known as the official dressmaker for Queen Elizabeth II from her accession to the throne in 1952 until his retirement. Her clothes were beautifully tailored and of an excellent quality and I was asked to alter them from time to time. Eventually I met her very charming father who we all called 'Pa', which he requested. He was tall and slim with a kind face and gentle manner and a true gentleman. The children and I also met other members of his family in time, but as his wife had died several years earlier, we also met a lady friend of his who visited regularly. 
     Pa and his friend often sat by the pool drinking coffee, reading newspapers and chatting.  The children and I and our friends were sometimes invited to swim in the pool, particularly after a Pony Club meeting at Forde Abbey. This by the way, has a wonderful history, as the Abbey was originally a Cistercian monastery built between 1133-36. The grounds are substanial and the entire property was, and is possibly still privately owned by the Roper family. Their three daughters were also members of the Pony Club. The children and I walked or drove to some of the fields to pick our own strawberries or through a further field reached by walking down a deep field opposite our cottage, over a stream and up through the hamlet of Hewood, then along a path to the raspberry patch with its many rows of canes. There was a lady who lived in one of two farmhouses in Hewood who found my horse for me, which I bought and enjoyed seven wonderful years with. He was 17 years old when I bought him, and found he taught me most of what I needed to know. My farmer friend taught me certain rules about riding in the countryside and etiquette shutting gates etc.  My very own horse at the age of 49! Eventually she sold the farm to the TV chef Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall. 
     One day while visiting, Pa and I were sitting in his lovely plant-filled conservatory having coffee, and I asked him if there was anything I could do to thank him for his kind offer in allowing us to swim in his pool. His immediate reaction was a request to make him a cake. This I gladly did and set about making him our favourite boiled fruit cake on my trusty Aga cooker. This recipe was gleaned from a cookbook sent to England by post from Australia, by my mother-in-law before she passed away. The book was called 'The Piddle Valley Cookbook', and I still have it - printed and bound in Bodmin, Cornwall in 1978, the year we all arrived in England. Recipes were contributed  by ladies from the Piddle Valley in rural Dorset, Thomas Hardy country. They joined together with over 200 concoctions such as 'Rumble Thumps', 'Hubble Bubble', 'Hopel-Popel' and 'Great Grandfather's Christmas Cake' containing the very best of traditional Dorset cooking. All royalties of the book went into restoration of the village church. But this delightful book also contained a boiled fruit cake recipe, which to me, left out a few important 'goodies' such as nuts, a good slug of homemade marmalade and of course very necessary alcohol. I added whatever I had on hand, whether it be sherry, port, brandy or even whisky. For some reason the ingredients for me never got weighed. As long as the texture was right before pouring into a tin, it never let me down, not ever. This cake was always moist and totally delicious. Pa loved it and I continued to make it for him when required, or anything else that took his fancy. It was always a pleasure. The delicious cake also accompanied us on camping trips in a motorcaravan, pony club events and made each Christmas since. It was a favourite of many which kept well because of the alcohol content. 
     As time went on, Pa grew ill and the house needed to be sold, much to our sadness. I was asked by family members who didn't live locally, but mainly in London and elsewhere, if I would show prospective buyers over the property. Although the very capable agents from Honiton in Devon were a good 30 minues away by car, I was more than happy to oblige, and for more than one reason. In fact I was delighted I could help in some small way.
     Before Pa finally moved away, he and family members offered to give me a picture from several lining the walls up a delightful corridor in the house, as a thank you. I had sometimes paused to enjoy their content when passing, (as much later in life found I enjoyed painting in watercolour, and entirely self taught.) They asked if I would choose one. I didn't feel it necessary as I was more than grateful we could swim in his pool and mix with family members over the years. But quickly my eyes found one with a title being 'A Visit to the Grandfather.' It possessed a special meaning for me and would always remind me of Pa. According to The British Museum it was painted by John Raphael Smith dated 1788 and print made by William Ward. The technique was mezzotint and dimentions are 55.5cms heigh, by 40.5cms wide. Most of the information appears on the framed print I have in my possession. It has hung on my bedroom wall ever since and will always remind me of those happy days visiting Pa in a delightful Dorset village, not one mile from our cottage and home at the time. I'd spent twenty six happy years living in West Dorset and maintain many memories of this area of outstanding natural beauty.