which was all self taught by constant reading and self education and with no one to guide him, that it was possible to achieve high yields. He was the most superb orderly and intelligent and a brilliant manager and handler of men, a trait that helped him weather the Great Depression. He had fun with his friends, with his lovely holiday home at Trincomalee, his yachts, his mistress and he enjoyed to the full the wonderful life of tea planting, a million miles away from todays narrow world of ogling at a computor screen. He had the lot, he won the jaxckpot because although he died in poverty, his true wealth was the rich experience of life when it still could be lived to the full. Here was a man on his death bed who had lived, loved was kind to all his family, who in turn looked upon him as a saviour and both Hugh and I felt humble by his bedside. He died, as a gentleman with his soul honest and he was straight in everything, as a true Englishman was in those days, and should still be today.
Hugh and I stayed for his funeral and we took a break one day from the sorrow to journey into the frosts and cold of Mount Manissa near Izmir. Here at 5,000 ft the cliffs were full of giant snowdrops (Galantus Caucasia) some bulbs of which I brought back to England and which as they flower in my garden each February with their blue green leaves and large nodding white flowers, they will for ever will remind me of his last days.
Mother was distraught at hearing all the detail of the news of Father’s death. She so respected and loved him and yet when together they would both continually squabble over the most trivial of details, and yet each respected the other and loved corresponding. It was a truly remarkable relationship. She too was getting increasingly frail but would still come down and visit us in the country two or three times a year. One blessing was that now that Hugh was back in England he would visit her a lot. She would continually scold and harangue him, but he never took umbrage and was always kind and attentive and extremely patient with her during her last years.
In March two months after Father had died we were blessed with our first Grandchild when dear Janet gave birth to Lucy. She was born in a private home by caesarian section, but something had gone a bit wrong and she was taken out a bit early and had to be kept for the first two weeks in an oxygen tent under intensive care. However she grew, thrived and now is a lovely girl at Durham University with a delightful character.
Peter after he had returned from Rhodesia in 1975 had gone on and got a good degree in Geology from Southampton University. He was a very conscientious worker very solid in his outlook but also very gauche and ill at ease with girls. He seemed to have a knack of mixing with a rather common sort and the girl friend he had whilst at University was quite frankly appallingly uneducated. Quietly in the pub I explained it to him in the softest of manner and said whatever he did he should not get lumbered with her. Not like when my Father put me off a girl with the words : “ She has an underling cold manner….you’d be a bloody fool to keep on with her”. Or with Hugh Mother was for ever saying: “You need decent girl, not some trash from a night club”. But I expect with the toughness that a war generates we could all take remarks like that in our stride, and life was made far easier. Nowadays everything has to be said in a “touchy –feely –softly –approach” and boys especially I think are prone to be less worldly wise than girls and also more stupid. The girl in question clung on for dear life with her hooks deep into him and Peter said he could not dish her in case the trauma upset her exam results! I soon found out that Peter who was so gruff and direct with men had knees of jelly when it came to women and seemed to think that only by giving in to the fair sex that he could achieve supreme happiness. It was an error that was to haunt him later. Eventually however he left University and got a job based at Nottingham and the girl moved in as expected. But Peter was very keen on sailing and had borrowed my Fireball and would go off with a friend at weekends to Wales or whereever to put the boat through its paces. The girl got fed up and went off and so our problem was neatly and painlessly solved. Then in the spring of 1982 a girl that he had met in Salisbury, Rhodesia turned up in London, en route to see her Grandmother in Canada. Like Janet who had long lost touch with Paul, so Peter resumed his friendship with Jenny Wall. She was from a good professional family her father being a water engineer and had strong French Connections, whilst her Mother was Canadian. She was well educated and well read being very much a literary type and extremely pretty. When we saw her we were all absolutely delighted and she seemed like a gift from heaven delivered to him just when he had no girl friend.
