5November1995

London: 5th November 1995
My dear folks,

The last time it happened was just before Christmas 1988 when we turned on the late evening news to hear about the Lockerbie crash. Fregs was here at the time. We all sat stunned with that sense of disbelief. I thought then of the Entebbe rescue & the Kennedy assassination & how these things freeze in one’s mind. Last night, Jones & I were having supper at the time. Mavis didn’t like the continuous shrieks & bangs of exploding fireworks & had retired to the safety of the linen cupboard where he kept watch through a crack for his enemies. We had watched the replay of the last episode of Pride & Prejudice - a super series - & then, over chicken & salads, a documentary on the Boeing 777. Finally, the News.

I think it’s the domesticity of the setting that goes to make such things so shattering! The newscaster came on to say that Rabin had been shot at a rally by a young Jew & had been rushed to hospital. There were all the signs of behind-the-scenes panic that we know so well when a newsroom it hit by a major story just before transmission. Noises off, fumblings, crossings to foreign correspondents who have rushed into studios & hardly know themselves what’s happened. We cringe for them. There was clearly a producer whispering things into the Jerusalem correspondent’s ear as he tried to respond to questions. I’m hearing, he said after pausing, that Rabin’s died.

We’d seen & heard enough of the crazies on the Jewish side to know the threat from his own people was real. The old man paid the price of seeking peace with their enemies & giving away some of the land they believe to be their eternal legacy by divine right. I mourn him. May he find the peace in death that he sought in life. We felt thankful only that his assassin - if he was to be assassinated - was a Jewish nut & not an Islamic nut. I woke several times during the night - part of my reversion to a day existence - to listen to exploding fireworks & news bulletins; & then came down early to write to you.

It’s been a heavy week. I finished night-shifts on Thursday morning, returning home to find our American guests back from Scotland. This time we squeezed them into the study while we took the bedroom. But I found it almost more frustrating, being unable to get to the computer & the fax while trying to deal with a couple of tenancy upheavals - two flats changing hands, one with little notice from the departing tenant. Still, it was a brief frustration. The guests left for the airport early on Friday afternoon, just in time, for the phone hardly stopped ringing in response to an ad I’d put in the paper.

I arranged with the outgoing tenant to collect the keys & with the most likely callers to inspect the flat. We got down there at the arranged time to find no sign of the tenant & ourselves locked out. Very, very frustrating! The former eventually arrived during a meeting I was having with other flat-owners to discuss renovations. I was not pleased & told him so. More phone calls followed to make new viewing arrangements. The flat looks decidedly shabby. The decorator is spending today there, trying to make it presentable.

That’s a lot of messy detail. But it’s been a couple of messy days, cluttered with endless arrangements & rearrangements. There was also a flurry of requested Quinta bookings for 1996 which meant trying to reach people who had taken out tentative reservations. A lot of our returning guests like to cover themselves by asking me at the end of one holiday to pencil them in for the following year, which I’m happy to do. When someone else asks for the same period, it’s a case of confirming or cancelling the original booking.

We have been staying in touch with the retired couple still staying at the Quinta while their own house is being built. The builder is a villain of the worst kind, a smooth-talking robber & liar as well as a regular church goer. The extent of his villainy is only gradually becoming clear as their lawyer & their engineer uncover the lies he’s told them. Money is the only interest he has and I’ve urged them squeeze his purse as hard as they can. It’s all he understands.

Meanwhile, the husband keeps himself active and pays his rent by painting & maintaining the Quinta. Suits us both. Suits me so well in fact that I shall be sorry to see them go. The place has never been so well cared for. Andries has meanwhile packed his bags and followed the sun south. We have one more couple due to take a holiday later this month. It’s been a good year & we’re grateful.

Saturday morning dawned crisp & clear - just my kind of day. For once, the air was sharp. October has been the mildest on record. We have barely noticed the arrival of autumn, so gradually has the season turned. It was too good a day to waste so we took ourselves to Cookham on the Thames for a walk down to the river to Maidenhead & back. It’s a favourite of ours at any time. But yesterday was as special as I can remember it. There was a hush over the river - hardly a boat on it. Two swans came beating up it, just above the surface, quite breathtaking! The trees flickered in greens, oranges & reds, the sun slanting down through the leaves. It’s on such days that I wonder why we live in the city. I know the answer, the 3-hour a day commutes of some of my colleagues. But I’d like the best of both worlds.

We always stop for refreshments at an unpretentious tea-room on the fringes of Maidenhead. It’s a wooden structure which leans so severely that you can barely close the door. Tea is poured directly into your cup from a large pot. Generous slices of cake of the dunking variety are wrapped in cellophane. We made our selection & took them to a bench under the trees where we dunked & contemplated the day.

Jones has been busy doing masses of washing & reorganising the flat. She prepared a lovely dinner on Friday night for Penny & Richard. He’d spent the week circumnavigating the country on business. It had taken a toll. So did the good red wine we drank at dinner, courtesy of our American guests. In spite of the admonitions of his good lady, he fell asleep in the TV chair. I was far from taking offence. In the company of old friends, these things should be in order. I was recovering from my night shifts and it was all I could do to stay awake myself. I barely managed to crawl upstairs.

Our thoughts have remained very much with the family as my own trip to RSA looms. I shall be with you sooner than you know. I work today & tomorrow - late shifts. Then I’ve got Tuesday to sort out my flats & my life & Wednesday I fly. It’s come in a rush. That’s the best way. I look forward to being with you.