(Continued)
My mother was a constant visitor of people, especially to those less fortunate, in those days, than us. As children we used to visit the Almshouses and since, I expect, they didn't see many people they were glad to see us. Tom Adsett, who had lived in the village and had been head keeper before he retired, was another character. He had come to the estate with the Smiths from their estate near Henley in Oxfordshire. He had a delightful way of speaking with a real West Country burr. Jim Cook was another gamekeeper and when he retired I employed him at Great Bradley. He was a fine shot. Alec Sadler was the postman. He it was who delivered the telegrams which Mrs. Pemberton Barnes used to exchange with my father, although they lived less than a mile apart. She was an eccentric yet very kind-hearted character, especially with children.

Ernie Bailey, who latterly lived in Little Thurlow, was a groom. He had been in the regular army and when riding with us he told about life in the army in Egypt, when he and his mates nearly died of thirst in the desert ­ a tale embellished no doubt because his listeners were children.

Mrs. Barnes gave Little Thurlow a sort of village hall, the architecture of which reflected her eccentricity. At times when she would appear at a gathering no one knew what mood she was in. Certainly once my mother reported that Mrs. Barnes had hurled apples and abuse at the ladies on the platform who were obliged to take cover. It did not do to ignore this lady, even if it meant getting out of bed late at night to accept her letter or telegram. Once the Estate had to carry out an alteration to her house which did involve altering a window in some degree. The intrepid Mrs. Barnes at once had a large notice put up in front of her house saying "The Lord is my light".

My father had a succession of agents, the last of whom was George Senior. George Dale, a Yorkshire man, was my father's chauffeur. Latterly he drove a Buick, but he never drove very fast. When cleaning a car he would "siss" continually as if he was washing down a horse. Like many chauffeurs in those days he had been used to dealing with horses and was unused to filling up with petrol and oil, only with water. The earliest car I can recall at Thurlow was my uncle's. I think it was a Ford.

Captain Frink and my mother did not agree on what to do when nearing a crossroads. One held that you should accelerate to get over quickly, the other that you should slow down and hoot. Not so much hooting is done these days! Talking of Captain Frink (my godfather) I recall his labrador Bruno lying in the middle of the main road outside his house. There was so little traffic in the early fifties, and no doubt it slowed down and did not disturb the old dog.