THE HONKEYMOON CAFE

If, when the snow lays deep on the ground, a young woman calls to ask if you’ve seen her child, Mary, you would help her wouldn’t you? It would be natural.  Would it also be natural for the woman to disappear and for there to be no foot prints? We are fortunate in our village in being sheltered but not so low lying as to be threatened by rising rivers. The lane to our east is sometimes flooded just this side of Shipston, but after that the road climbs towards Shaftesbury where flooding is the least of their concerns. On many occasions during the depths of winter I have left a clear but chilly village to find approaching Shaftesbury a light dusting of snow and then more at the summit. During the January of 1985 Shaftesbury was not the only place to have a prolonged fall of snow, most of southern England was laden with a foot or more. It was in The Old Drum and Monkey, our local, that I met Sally Pemberton. She had moved from Shaftesbury and bought Dan Forder’s old place near the vil...

Davina Dawson, who only ever answers to ‘Dave’, is a party person but when a dinner party  gets out of hand and a bookcase is damaged there are consequences. Books are often a symbol of learning, or at least of an enquiring mind. A wall covered in books can give the impression of an intelligent, educated person, and sometimes that’s what it is intended to do, often the purpose of a backdrop to a political interview. Being unkind it would be when the interviewee needs to add value to his or her opinions, or being kinder, the only place in the house that’s free from noise or interruption. The Dawsons though are an exception. They have no need to proffer their academic credentials, and books have been their history for a century or more. I have visited their substantial Victorian pile on the edge of the village on several occasions invariably associated with books. The last occasion was in connection with a glass fronted Edwardian bookcase, the type that has small panes of glass suppo...

An unlucky tailor becomes a misanthropic recluse after being wrongly found guilty of arson. Only when some help is offered after a serious fall does he become reconciled to society and able to reclaim the respect and admiration as a master tailor that should have always been his. In a small village you might think ‘characters’ would be thin on the ground but a sparse population gives room for some to develop their eccentricities. Peter Sackville was typical. Occasionally he would venture into The Drum for half of bitter, take a seat in the far corner and use the newspaper he had brought in with him to preserve his isolation. Only when he would rearrange his reading material would the rustle remind us he was still there. The customers of that hostelry would seldom describe themselves as ‘sartorially elegant’ but it describes Peter to a tee. It was presumed he had spent a lifetime working in a prestigious gentleman’s outfitters and for all we knew he still did. One afternoon an ambulance...

What possible harm can there be in a dress? Especially a classic, and one that fits perfectly.  Could it be a little tight round the neck, a little too tight?  A charity shop purchase and you might buy more than you bargained for. I have mentioned Constance, my horticultural neighbour before, but what I haven’t told you is that her husband, Henry Wimshurst before he died had a small antique and bric-a-brac shop in Shaftesbury during the seventies. As you know I used to deal in antiques so it was something Constance and I would chat about.  Henry’s brother George ran a successful house clearance business which provided most of Henry’s stock. Brown furniture was getting hard to shift so Henry was on the lookout to diversify. George picked up good quality clothing that was seldom wanted by the relatives so he suggested to Henry it might be ‘a nice little earner’. Henry went ahead and constructed a clothes-rail in his shop window on which he would display the pick of what his...