THE PAST, REVISITED
This month Dave gets all nostalgic and romantic as he travels down memory lane – in his Discovery and Ninety, of course
As I write this it’s the last day of meteorological summer. By the time you read this, it will be autumn and then shortly after the greenlanes in my neck of the woods will be closed. That’s why I’m out greenlaning in the Northamptonshire countryside right now, exploring some of my favourite tracks in my faithful Discovery 1.
The Disco has served me well in the last month. A fortnight ago I joined my eldest daughter, Jeanine, her husband Stef, and my beautiful grandchildren, Chloe and Ethan, for a lovely day at the seaside. We all piled into the Disco and I took them to one of my favourite beaches on the North Norfolk coast, at Thornham. It was a glorious day and a great excuse to be a kid again, paddling in the waves as the children did their best surfing impressions.
It’s on trips like these that you appreciate the sheer roominess of a Disco. Three adults, two children, Billy the dog, two surfboards, bags of clothes and food and drink were all easily accommodated in the most versatile vehicle on the planet. Although Stef has a big BMW company car, it is tight on space for an active family, so Jeanine has invested in her first Land Rover – a 2004 Td4 Freelander, which she simply loves. She’s her dad’s girl, all right.
This year was Jeanine’s 40th birthday. It doesn’t seem possible. We celebrated it with a family meal at a pub close to the Althorp Estate, where Princess Diana was laid to rest. I’m very aware that today is the 20th anniversary of Diana’s passing. Where have all those years gone?
Last week would have been my late father’s 100th birthday. He passed away over five years ago, but my sister Wendy and I made a pilgrimage to the village of Minstead, in Hampshire’s New Forest, where he was born and grew up. I again pressed the ever-reliable Discovery into service for the long and rather dull 145 mile drive via the never-ending A34.
We stayed at the Trustee Servant inn on the village green, which Dad’s sister, my Aunt Bet, ran in the 1950s. It’s changed a lot over the years. There was no restaurant and fancy food when Aunt Bet ran it, nor during the dark days of World War II when Dad was on leave from the RAF and would join his father in this very pub for a welcome pint.
I was in the New Forest in July 1966, watching TV with my father and grandfather that unforgettable day when England won the World Cup. That same week, Dad took me for a walk into the forest behind a local manor house, where a great thicket of bamboo had spread out into the beech trees. “One of those would
make a good fishing rod,” he said, taking out the penknife he always carried in his pocket and cutting down a cane about 12 feet long. Later he used it to build my first primitive fishing rod, thus igniting my lifelong passion for angling.
On what would have been Dad’s birthday, I decided to see if I could find that same place. I parked up the Disco and set off on foot through the forest. I hadn’t been to this spot for 51 years, but I had a vague recollection of where it was. Remarkably, I found it – and that same bamboo thicket was still there, too.
The Hampshire trip was very poignant for me and my sister. It was lovely to meet up again with Dad’s three surviving sisters and our cousins (plus their children and grandchildren). It’s important to revisit your past sometimes. After all, it’s the past that makes us who we are today.
Like most people, I remember where I was 20 years ago today when I heard the news of Diana’s tragic death. She was born in my neck of the words near King’s Lynn and went to a private school half a mile from the grammar school I attended (although obviously I didn’t know it at the time). So I always felt a connection, however tenuous.
In 1997, once I’d got over the shock of Diana’s passing, my first job was to revise the text of a book I was writing about the history of my local Nene valley and people who had lived there, including the Spencers of Althorp House. It was while researching that book ( The River Nene
From Source To Sea) that I unearthed the little-known fact that Diana and the USA’S first president, George Washington, shared a common ancestor. Little did I know that that book would two decades later give me another very welcome American connection.
Let me explain. Back in the summer of 1983 I met and fell in love with a beautiful American girl, named Debbie. We eventually went our separate ways and lost touch, but earlier this month I received a letter from her. Debbie had searched my name on the internet, found the River Nene book, reckoned that I must be the author and managed to trace my address. It’s lovely to be back in touch and catching up on those missing 34 years.