Most of my friends and family are bored with my stories of the happy three years I spent in Texas thirty years ago, and laugh at me when Americans visit and I get out my white stetson.
The many good friends I still have in Houston are kind, friendly and honest, all of them (the worst you could say about any of them is that most are very rich and often a bit LOUD). This, and my memories of the place, have made me forget that there are Texans who are quite different and much less agreeable, though happily not so many.
I came across the blog of one of these by chance the other day, and left a comment gently pointing out that he was not quite right to say that World War Two lasted less than four years; I had a surprising torrent of clumsy abuse in reply. I happened to be emailing my friend Barbara at the time so I sent her a copy and she has put it in her own blog. She also replied apologising on behalf of her ill-mannered countryman but of course it's not necessary: I know this was an aberration and there are very few like him in Texas.
In return Barbara sent me a copy of a piece of illiterate abuse she had received from a young Englishman who sees himself as a modern-day Crusader and writes reams of vicious stuff about Muslim drug-dealers who he says have ruined his life! I checked up on him recently and discovered that he is a religious nut as well as a bigot: as a final touch of lunacy he announces that Prince William is a descendant of King David and is the anointed one who will save the world from the AntiChrist or some such rubbish!
It takes all sorts, as they say. This exchange with Barbara shows that there are poisonous lunatics on both side of the Atlantic.
Voice from the past
The other day Venetia found at the back of a drawer a pair of Grandpa Bohun's SOCKS, and when I saw them they immediately took me back more years than I wish to say, to a day when I was about twelve and GB decided it was time to tell me the things that he thought a young man should know.
I sat there spellbound (it was in the old gun room where I wasn't normally allowed except when a grown-up was with me), and to this day I can remember almost every word of what he told me: it was all about where I should go to get the things a man needs to have.
"Shoes, he said, "Lobb. Get three pairs when you're about seventeen, and you won't need any more for half a century. Hats, Herbert Johnson. Shirts, Sulka. Suits, Kilgour, French and Stanbury, though old Laver's retired now so for all I know they may have gone to pot...."
He went on like this for twenty minutes, finishing: "Socks, now. Go to Fotheringham and Gibbs, in the Burlington Arcade and get 'em made for you. Call themselves Bespoke Hosiers and Brocade Waistcoat Manufacturers by Appointment to Kings and Princes since 1742, or some such nonsense, but believe me they build a very sound sock, last you for ever."
I did take his advice, mostly. It was not difficult since all these places were within a mile or two of St James's—GB was not a great traveller, in fact I doubt if he ever went further than Deauville in his life.
Later I asked him about guns, partly because I hoped he'd leave me his pair which he'd bought from William Evans before the First World War, but he left them to Cousin Freddy. I suppose that was right really because they have to fit you and my arms are longer than Freddy's. But they were beautiful things and a year or two ago I enquired about having a pair made and discovered that William Evans guns now start at around £35,000 each for a 12-bore, and that's before the extra silver bits that GB had put on his! I'm not so keen on killing things as GB was so on the rare occasions when I'm invited I am quite happy to borrow whatever the host can lend me.
I sat there spellbound (it was in the old gun room where I wasn't normally allowed except when a grown-up was with me), and to this day I can remember almost every word of what he told me: it was all about where I should go to get the things a man needs to have.
"Shoes, he said, "Lobb. Get three pairs when you're about seventeen, and you won't need any more for half a century. Hats, Herbert Johnson. Shirts, Sulka. Suits, Kilgour, French and Stanbury, though old Laver's retired now so for all I know they may have gone to pot...."
He went on like this for twenty minutes, finishing: "Socks, now. Go to Fotheringham and Gibbs, in the Burlington Arcade and get 'em made for you. Call themselves Bespoke Hosiers and Brocade Waistcoat Manufacturers by Appointment to Kings and Princes since 1742, or some such nonsense, but believe me they build a very sound sock, last you for ever."
I did take his advice, mostly. It was not difficult since all these places were within a mile or two of St James's—GB was not a great traveller, in fact I doubt if he ever went further than Deauville in his life.
Later I asked him about guns, partly because I hoped he'd leave me his pair which he'd bought from William Evans before the First World War, but he left them to Cousin Freddy. I suppose that was right really because they have to fit you and my arms are longer than Freddy's. But they were beautiful things and a year or two ago I enquired about having a pair made and discovered that William Evans guns now start at around £35,000 each for a 12-bore, and that's before the extra silver bits that GB had put on his! I'm not so keen on killing things as GB was so on the rare occasions when I'm invited I am quite happy to borrow whatever the host can lend me.
After they retired
Here's a lovely picture which Venetia found in a drawer the other day. In 1922 Grampa H arranged a party for all the ladies who had worked at The Hall before the 14-18 war and who were then in retirement and still living in the village. From right to left, they are: Nanny Williams, Beatrice (housemaid 1898-1915), Mrs. Rooke (cook 1899-1912), Lucia (kitchenmaid 1910-1918), Betty (Lady H's maid 1904-1921)and one other we couldn't identify from the family albums.
Didn't stay for the sport
Just back from our usual Jan/Feb jolly round Europe. On the way back we thought we'd drop by and spend a few days with Venetia's cousin who lives about 30 miles from Turin but everyone was consumed with passion about the Winter Olympics and Massimo insisted on taking us into the town several times. Here we are by the Palazzo Something-or-Other as the torch arrived before the Games started.We got very bored with the crowds and general excitement so after a few days we made an excuse and went on to lovely peaceful Como.
Tally-No!
This is a pretty sight
....and I have to confess that Venetia and I used to enjoy participating years ago but we wouldn't do it now even if it were legal. The people who rode to hounds were mostly unspeakably boring and awful, and the talk about tradition reminds me of what Churchill didn't actually say were the three great traditions of the Royal Navy, but wished he had. For the countryside I suppose the equivalent would be stirrup-cup, incest and killing animals for fun.
....and I have to confess that Venetia and I used to enjoy participating years ago but we wouldn't do it now even if it were legal. The people who rode to hounds were mostly unspeakably boring and awful, and the talk about tradition reminds me of what Churchill didn't actually say were the three great traditions of the Royal Navy, but wished he had. For the countryside I suppose the equivalent would be stirrup-cup, incest and killing animals for fun.
Here's a queer thing
A propos of nothing at all, it occurred to me the other day to wonder why it is that most women get on rather well with male homosexuals but think their practices are disgusting, while most men don't like lesbians much but love to hear about what they get up to.
No sun, no leaves, November
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness and all that, but autumn can be drab stuck out here on these Blithering Heights, so it's nice to turn out the photos and see the way the house looked a few months ago.
Not a Ferrari
Following on Caro's comment on my last post but one, I can confirm that, having been assured that the Almighty will approve, I have now traded in the Mulsanne for an Arnage, though with these cars "trade in" is a phrase that seems inappropriate for negotiations between gentlemen over a glass of dry sherry.
This will be the twelfth of the marque in the family since Grumps's 1935 tourer, which he smashed up after a heavy night at The Café Royal in 1938.
The only model I have never wanted to own is this thing, the Franay Bentley, built for the Paris show in 1947. Isn't it hideous? I'm told it's now worth $2½ million.
This will be the twelfth of the marque in the family since Grumps's 1935 tourer, which he smashed up after a heavy night at The Café Royal in 1938.
The only model I have never wanted to own is this thing, the Franay Bentley, built for the Paris show in 1947. Isn't it hideous? I'm told it's now worth $2½ million.
Back again
Sorry that I haven't been around since March. First we had to go to Bordeaux for the christening of Gaetan's new baby and then Venetia decided we should spend some time with Sukin in Osaka, so off we all trooped, including Fiona and Tom.
In the end we were there for nine weeks - not in Osaka of course, that's a hell-hole - but on an island just off the coast of Hokkaido which Sukin and Nakita own.
Fiona took thousands of photos which I won't bore everyone with. All very nice but we weren't sorry to get back.
In the end we were there for nine weeks - not in Osaka of course, that's a hell-hole - but on an island just off the coast of Hokkaido which Sukin and Nakita own.
Fiona took thousands of photos which I won't bore everyone with. All very nice but we weren't sorry to get back.
God likes me to eat at the Ritz
Certain members of my extended family have been taking me to task most disrespectfully, making no allowances for my age and infirmities, for having hung around in Nice for some weeks after Christmas, dipping my beak in the Bollinger, instead of dashing back to check on the farm. Useless for me to say that I did this mainly for Venetia's sake as I felt she needed perking up with a bit more sun; they still bandied phrases like "effete old wastrel" about.
So I am pleased that Fiona leaped to my defence, bless her little riding hat. In her peregrinations on the internet she had come across some websites kept by Jesus freaks, and found that one of them described the extreme luxuries enjoyed by American missionaries. On enquiring about this I was told that, far from being reprehensible, this is actually quite godly behaviour, provided that they believe that God wants them to enjoy the good things of life and the hell with the drain on church funds, and that Jesus himself would have stayed at the Savoy if he thought God wanted him to.
This is splendid news, and would have made me feel much better if I had previously been ashamed of giving myself occasional little treats. I suppose, though, that one cannot always be certain just how much godly expenditure is expected of one: I think it is quite likely that it is the will of God that I should change the Bentley this year - after all, it is nearly seven years old - but can I be sure? This wasn't a problem that Jesus ever had to face, the lucky fellow. I must pray for guidance, or perhaps ask Venetia.
So I am pleased that Fiona leaped to my defence, bless her little riding hat. In her peregrinations on the internet she had come across some websites kept by Jesus freaks, and found that one of them described the extreme luxuries enjoyed by American missionaries. On enquiring about this I was told that, far from being reprehensible, this is actually quite godly behaviour, provided that they believe that God wants them to enjoy the good things of life and the hell with the drain on church funds, and that Jesus himself would have stayed at the Savoy if he thought God wanted him to.
This is splendid news, and would have made me feel much better if I had previously been ashamed of giving myself occasional little treats. I suppose, though, that one cannot always be certain just how much godly expenditure is expected of one: I think it is quite likely that it is the will of God that I should change the Bentley this year - after all, it is nearly seven years old - but can I be sure? This wasn't a problem that Jesus ever had to face, the lucky fellow. I must pray for guidance, or perhaps ask Venetia.
Here we are again
Haven't bothered with this blogging business for some months as there have been too many other interesting things to do.
In November of course it was off to B.A. for the polo (not so good this year). The bright spot was Isidoro celebrating his victory by showing off his tango in the street.
Then it was back to Europe where we had booked for Christmas at the usual place....
...but this time we were a much bigger crowd than last year because Torquil and Fiona's children and their spouses all came as well as the de Villefort crowd who are always there - when we were all together we had to get a table for twenty-two! I would have been the patriarch at the head of the table if Heurtebise de V hadn't been there - he's ten years older than me!
All jolly good fun though, so much so that Venetia and I stayed on until the middle of this month. Shameful really, but we knew Briggs was looking after the old place and I think he actually prefers it when we are not there to pester him. Anyway, when we got back all was fine and there were three new foals to be introduced to us!
In November of course it was off to B.A. for the polo (not so good this year). The bright spot was Isidoro celebrating his victory by showing off his tango in the street.
Then it was back to Europe where we had booked for Christmas at the usual place....
...but this time we were a much bigger crowd than last year because Torquil and Fiona's children and their spouses all came as well as the de Villefort crowd who are always there - when we were all together we had to get a table for twenty-two! I would have been the patriarch at the head of the table if Heurtebise de V hadn't been there - he's ten years older than me!
All jolly good fun though, so much so that Venetia and I stayed on until the middle of this month. Shameful really, but we knew Briggs was looking after the old place and I think he actually prefers it when we are not there to pester him. Anyway, when we got back all was fine and there were three new foals to be introduced to us!
Some notes on my ancestors
Of the origin of the De Bohuns very little has yet been discovered. We are vaguely informed that the first of this name known to us, the aforesaid Humphrey with the beard, was a near kinsman of the Conqueror, but in what particular degree, or by which of the many branches, legitimate and illegitimate, of the ducal house of Normandy, no information is afforded us. After the Conquest he became possessed of the lordship of Talesford, in the county of Norfolk, so that whatever his relationship to or support of William may have been, no very great benefit appears to have resulted from it.
Bohun, or rathcr Bohon, the place whence the family derived its name, is situated in the arrondissement of St. Lo, in the Cotentin, where are still the communes of St. Andre and St. George de Bohon. The mound of the castle was visible some thirty years ago, and may be still. The honour of Bohon was in possession of this Humphrey at the time of the Norman invasion, and his later gift of the Church of St. George de Bohon as a cell to the Abbey of Marmoutier, is confirmed by William, King of the English, "his Queen Mathildis, his sons Robert and William, his half-brother Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, Michael, Bishop of Avranches, Roger de Montgomeri, and Richard, son of Turstain," husband of Emma de Conteville, which certainly supports the belief that he was closely connected with the Conqueror, probably by one of his wives, respecting whose parentage we are left so provokingly in the dark.
He died before 1113, having had issue three sons and two daughters, but by which wife or wives we are unhappily in ignorance. How important, genealogically, to the descent it is scarcely necessary to observe.
One of the daughters appears to me to have been named Adela; at least I find an Adela, aunt of Humphrey de Bohun, in the Fine Roll for Wiltshire, 31st of Henry I, and it could not have been on the mother's side, or she would have been a daughter of Edward of Salisbury, that mysterious personage, one of whose daughters, named Maud or Mabel, was wife of Humphrey II, the youngest of the three sons of "old Humphrey," and the founder of the fortunes of the family.
The eldest son, Robert, died, in his father's lifetime apparently, unmarried; and from Richard, the second son, descended in the female line the Bohuns of Midhurst, in Sussex; but the grandeur of the Bohuns was due to the extraordinary succession of great matches made by the descendants of the youngest sons, who became Earls of Hereford, Essex, and Northampton, the co-heiresses of the eleventh and last Humphrey de Bohun being the wives, one of Thomas of Woodstock, Earl of Gloucester, and son of King Edward III, and the other of Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and subsequently ascending the throne of England as King Henry IV.
Bohun, or rathcr Bohon, the place whence the family derived its name, is situated in the arrondissement of St. Lo, in the Cotentin, where are still the communes of St. Andre and St. George de Bohon. The mound of the castle was visible some thirty years ago, and may be still. The honour of Bohon was in possession of this Humphrey at the time of the Norman invasion, and his later gift of the Church of St. George de Bohon as a cell to the Abbey of Marmoutier, is confirmed by William, King of the English, "his Queen Mathildis, his sons Robert and William, his half-brother Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, Michael, Bishop of Avranches, Roger de Montgomeri, and Richard, son of Turstain," husband of Emma de Conteville, which certainly supports the belief that he was closely connected with the Conqueror, probably by one of his wives, respecting whose parentage we are left so provokingly in the dark.
He died before 1113, having had issue three sons and two daughters, but by which wife or wives we are unhappily in ignorance. How important, genealogically, to the descent it is scarcely necessary to observe.
One of the daughters appears to me to have been named Adela; at least I find an Adela, aunt of Humphrey de Bohun, in the Fine Roll for Wiltshire, 31st of Henry I, and it could not have been on the mother's side, or she would have been a daughter of Edward of Salisbury, that mysterious personage, one of whose daughters, named Maud or Mabel, was wife of Humphrey II, the youngest of the three sons of "old Humphrey," and the founder of the fortunes of the family.
The eldest son, Robert, died, in his father's lifetime apparently, unmarried; and from Richard, the second son, descended in the female line the Bohuns of Midhurst, in Sussex; but the grandeur of the Bohuns was due to the extraordinary succession of great matches made by the descendants of the youngest sons, who became Earls of Hereford, Essex, and Northampton, the co-heiresses of the eleventh and last Humphrey de Bohun being the wives, one of Thomas of Woodstock, Earl of Gloucester, and son of King Edward III, and the other of Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and subsequently ascending the throne of England as King Henry IV.
