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My father was a good friend of Frank Bly the antique dealer of Tring; some years
ago after my fathers death, Frank had been rummaging through some old papers
and found a photo-graph of Frank that he thought I might like. Indeed I was
most grateful to receive it; it showed my father in full military regalia in
Versailles in 1917. I remarked to Frank that I was not aware that my father
had served in France and Frank agreed that he had not. Clearly a good day trip
and we were amused to ponder the purpose.
My mother, Violet Edith was one of five daughters born to Brinkman the nurseryman of Northchurch. I never met either grandparent since both died early, but I hear stories especially from Ivy the youngest born. Grandfather was a hard man to his daughters laying down strict rules and requiring them to work hard at the nursery. I gather that one of the female staff would help take produce to Chesham Market and apparently grandfather was always in a good mood on this day. Annie was the only sister not to marry, but I remember her telling Queenie of an experience she had with a man on Hunton Bridge, Watford. The man exposed himself and apparently is resembled a milk bottle. Queenie's question was "but my dear, half pint or pint?" The nursery was a full mile from Berkhamstead Church. This gave the sisters an opportunity to put on their finery and parade to and from the church in the hope of meeting young men. Ivy did particularly well; she met Les Evett, farmer and dairy man; a man big in stature with an even bigger sense of humour. For me, Ivy's house was the big time. In the war you would walk in to a blacked out room, so thick with smoke you could hardly see across it. Clutching their cards would be the four players, some with green shades, and I would watch transfixed as piles of half crowns were moved to and fro. Untold wealth at the fall of a . card. It took Ivy several years to forgive me (aged 11) for putting a suggestion to her daughter Janet (aged 8) in her bedroom one night.