Chapter 10 Lewes




I was posted to Lewes the county town of East Sussex on 18th February 1977 as DVO. The girls had left home by this time so it was only a question of Anthea and me locating. I was in digs for a few weeks at Rodmell. We looked at several locations. Brighton was very tempting. Lewes was not possible because of the steep climbs up to the top of the High Street from the flood plain. It would not have been good for Anthea. I never thought of Eastbourne but Anthea had gone to the midwifery unit at Brighton General Hospital and was appalled. She got on a bus to Eastbourne where she found the director of midwifery to be charming and she settled for a job there and then. So Eastbourne it had to be. I found a very nice house on the sea front with a lovely terrace overlooking the sea. It is true it was not a bungalow but I liked it very much and so did Anthea once she had seen it.

Our house at Eastbourne

The one on the left of the three

The house we bought in Eastbourne was owned by a Mr Bennett who was chairman of London Transport and very fond of himself. He insisted his wife be known as Mrs Bennett. The actual sale was done using the solicitor for London Transport and Bennett made Anthea go up to London to sign the papers at London Transport’s office and kept her waiting a long time. She was not offered even a cup of tea whilst she was waiting. We were also kept on tenterhooks during the removal. The arrangements were we had to pick up the keys at Bracketts the Estate Agents in Eastbourne (now defunct). Right until the last minute and after we had rolled up with the removal wagons we were not sure if we would be allowed in the house. But it was OK in the end and we moved in on July 7th 1977.

View of our house

Taken from the high rise flats next door

It is one of the three houses next to the sea

The Hydro Hotel is in the foreground

Bennett you will have gathered was never a firm favourite with me. I was telephoned by the press when Bennett was afterwards promoted to be Chairman of London Transport; he had previously been chief engineer. I had to tell the press I knew nothing about Bennett but had bought the house from him a few months back. I was very amused to read in the national press that Sir Horace Cutler who was at the time Chairman of the Greater London Council had kept Bennett waiting a long time whilst Cutler ate his lunch at the desk. Bennett was rotund and I guess fond of his food. I can imagine with pleasure how this pompous man must have suffered. In his turn Cutler was sacked and I guess was savaged by Margaret Thatcher for losing the battle with Labour. I am not fond of Thatcher either! She indirectly ensured my early retirement.

Anthea and me on our way to Glyndebourne

After Mr and Mrs Bennett vacated the premises I myself lived in the house until 2004 some 27 years. We were very happy there I like to think until Anthea died in 1994. She loved her job at Eastbourne District General Hospital. At that time we owned two Minis as well as my own Rover car. One of the Minis was nearly new and we gave that to Grant and Anne to keep in Leeds. The older decrepit Mini Anthea used to drive to work emitting a cloud of smoke. But it kept going until years later when I swapped it for a new Mini. The old Mini eventually refused to start and I told the garage this. Don’t worry they said, we’ll soon get it going but they didn’t and it was towed away.

The other Mini despite being new soon showed its age. Grant didn’t think it was a good enough car for a student of his calibre. Anne loyally said it was just that as it was so small Grant found it hard to work on and didn’t like working on it. She had a job at this time as a receptionist at the MAFF Veterinary Investigation Laboratory in Leeds where I had worked. She had not told anyone she was my daughter and was just known as Anne Partridge but shrewd Jimmy Shaw the DVO said ”You’re Bill Jackson’s daughter”. Whilst there she advertised the Mini for sale in the local press and gave the Lab telephone number. I said that if one of my Clerical Assistants did that to me I would have gone galactic! But Anne got away with it. She always does get away with it and she always does well at interviews. Her working career started off when she was sacked from her first job, that of sales assistant at Woolworths in Epsom. She was sacked for talking to boys. That figures.

I had sold the caravan but still had the Heron sailing dinghy. I joined the sailing club where launching was off the steeply shoaling beach. I eventually got fed up with this and bought a Topper which I still have even though it is out on permanent loan to Ray Binyon’s grandson Alix. The Topper was good for it could be sailed with one up or two up. Taking it up the beach was no problem for effectively it was in three parts. The three parts were mast and sail, the dagger board and rudder and the hull. It sailed well too and would plane on occasion. I just used it for cruising and once sailed right round Beachy Head Light. That trip caused a man on the beach to have kittens. I had timed it so that I came back on the flow so that what tide there was was taking me back to the club. The wind died as it does when night begins to fall and so I got out what is called the praddle. It works like a paddle. Using that I slowly made my way home but the man on the beach was convinced I was in trouble. I spoke to him later and tried to explain that it was all well thought out.

Me aboard the Topper

(on the open sea off Eastbourne)

Landsmen often read things seen out at sea quite wrongly. I once saw a French boat on the reef which was outside our house. A sailor was standing on the stern holding up a flare. I telephoned the coastguard and found as I expected so had other people. But you never know, he could have been standing there holding a flare and nobody telephone. It was obvious in fact that he would soon float off as the tide was making. I stood talking to a man. “It is obvious it won’t be long before he floats off as the tide is coming in” I said. To my amazement the man’s wife who was standing some way off announced loudly to the assembled crowd “It is obvious it won’t be long before he floats off as the tide is coming in” Then I said by way of conversation that “It is a French boat and perhaps they do not have an up to date chart of these waters.” Soon over the beach the lady loudly announced “It is a French boat and perhaps they do not have an up to date chart of these waters.” After that I thought perhaps it best not to exchange ideas with the man. I was after all not being paid any royalties for these broadcast announcements.

The seven houses of Ravens Croft which fronted on the sea had formed a limited company to run the communally owned garden. We all had a single share in it, one per household. It was a sensible idea. George Rowson was Chairman of the company and Freddie Williams a retired bank manager (Eastbourne was full of retired bank managers) was Company Secretary. Soon after we got there George Rowson died and I was elected as Chairman. It was no sinecure for everybody had their own ideas. Non-voting spouses were allowed to be present and sometimes even Anthea did not obey the instructions of the Chairman!

All sorts of problems arose. For example owners of a house wanted to fence off “their bit of garden”. I pointed out that it was not their bit of garden it was owned by the company. There were problems at the AGM every time when with people who had no standing wanted to have their say. That was OK provided that they all realised that only the shareholders had a vote. Each house had one shareholder. Freddie dear man was a dead loss. I had to keep the minutes for he could not or would not. One time the insurance company who insured our boundary wall wanted to raise the premium and to increase the cover. Freddie was all for that until I asked what could happen to the wall apart from it falling down. We kept the cover as it was.

People in Ravens Croft usually got on with each other but not always and I occasionally had to pour oil on troubled waters. I did not always succeed. My sometime immediate next door neighbours wanted to erect a wrought iron fence along the top of the wall of their patio so as to be able to keep their dog in. The houses were in echelon so three of us had patios adjacent to each other. I would not consent to an iron fence on our bit. I saw no need to go to that expense. So our patio remained intact. The people who initiated the wrought iron fence were not very nice and I think sensed that the other neighbours did not like them. When they were leaving they came to me and said “Well we thought you at least meant well!” That was a bit left-handed. Before many years had gone by the iron fences rusted in the sea air. People got fed up painting them and the fences were removed.

Lizzie Irving Cohen (from Brooklyn) Anthea and me on the Thames Embankment

Me and Anthea at Chartwell

A number of strange people lived at Ravens Croft from time to time. A Mr & Mrs Greenspan were said to be very odd, she especially, but I never actually met them face to face. One day two pantechnicons from the Isle of Man turned up quite unexpectedly. They loaded up the furniture of the Greenspans and left. I was outside standing by the garage when Mr Greenspan drove away in his car and gave me a very wintry smile. That was the sole extent of our social exchange during the many months we had lived together in Ravens Croft. Nobody knew beforehand that the Greenspans were leaving and nobody knew they were going to the Isle of Man. Evidently Mrs Greenspan used to say some outrageous things at the annual meetings of the Ravens Croft board. She asked the Websters once, “How do I know you are married?” Living together but not being married in those parts was a heinous crime.

Chartwell again

In the Websters’ case there was indeed some room for doubt. Vi Webster had made a lot of money after she started Simplicity Patterns. The very wealthy Vi Webster soon after she was widowed, married the deceased’s brother. So a Mrs Webster indeed married a Mr Webster. Vi’s first husband had been well to do and had moved easily in the best circles such as the Royal Yacht Squadron. Maurice his brother was very different. He could be rude and uncouth flaunting the wealth that Vi had settled on him after they married to give him some independence. At times he would say “What’s munny (sic)? I could buy up the lot of you!” to which I said “Maurice we are not for sale”. Maurice came from a line of charabanc owners in Oldham. He had had a motor cycle accident and had a plate in his skull that that may have affected him at times. When he upset people I used to tell them I would go and see Vi and she would sort it all out.

Whilst in Eastbourne I wrote a thesis on farm animal welfare for the University of Berne. I had been turned down by Glasgow because once again they said I was not a graduate. London would have accepted me but said they reserved all their doctoral places for London graduates which I thought was fair enough. But through the good offices of my friend in Sweden, Professor Ingvar Ekesbo I was accepted by Berne and my supervisor there Professor Andreas Nabholz became a great friend.

The work took me four years. It was intermittent for there were long gaps when I was waiting for answers to my numerous queries from the 21 member states of the Council of Europe. As Andrew Nabholz knew the Chief Veterinary Officers of each state I eventually got answers from most places. There was no answer at all from Spain even from the Spanish equivalent of the RSPCA. Portugal, Greece and Malta provided only a little information. Countries like Norway and Sweden sent masses of useful information and it was my task to distil all this into my Thesis. I came to love it dearly but eventually put it before the university and it was accepted. I may say it was written entirely in English. And so in 1980 I became Dr Jackson.

Mowing the lawn at Eastbourne and Paddy weeding the building is the garage

Maurice found staying in hotels was not to his liking. I suspect the truth was that he lacked the necessary social skills. The solution he found was to buy an enormous caravan the size of a Winnebago as seen in the USA. That meant a huge garage. All our garages were integral to the house. Vi had converted her existing garage to make a granny annex for her mother. But unfortunately the old lady died before she could use it. Maurice got permission to build a huge double garage to house his caravan and his Mercedes car. The building looked very like a power sub station and was really an eyesore. Permission had been granted by a planning officer rather than the planning committee. Everyone was up in arms about it they told me. This all happened before we got to Ravens Croft. “You don’t buy the view” Maurice evidently told one of the occupants of the flats opposite whose previous view of the sea had been lost. But thereafter planning permissions in our area were scrutinised very carefully.

The end of terrace house formerly owned by George Rowsell was bought by a couple who converted the garage into a swimming pool and said they were going to do without a garage. That conversion did not come about without a lot of controversy, especially from the owners of the flats behind us who overlooked all our houses. After that the house was bought by Ken and Heather Wagstaff and they wanted a garage. Eventually they got permission but only after Ken had kept a large and very battered old white van in the garden in full view of the flats because he said he needed it for somewhere to keep his garden tools. As he had thought, the alternative of a garage was better than the van and he got permission.

Our friends the Binyons at Chester made us work when we visited. I moved those heavy blocks from one end of the site to the other and then Ray insisted I move them all back again

Dr Jackson in wellies

Relaxing at Tatton Park after a hard day’s building

Freddie Williams had become even less effective over time and Heather Wagstaff was elected as Company Secretary and I found her a marvellous help. She was very skilled in business matters and had been running an hotel with Ken her husband. The Wagstaffs more or less lived down the acrimony caused by their battle for a garage to replace the one converted into a swimming pool Ken unfortunately died a lingering death from a mesothelioma caused by inhalation of asbestos years before.

Freddie Williams’ wife Mollie was a marvel. She was the sister of Sir Basil Smallpiece who had been chairman of Cunard. I met him only once. Smallpiece must have suffered at school with a surname like that. A very nice modest man I thought him. Mollie had been born in Brazil but left that country aged two. Despite this she afterwards found she could understand some Portuguese words. She had been a schoolteacher before she married. Freddie had been employed by Barclays for many years and had learned German when seconded to man the telephone at Barclays Hamburg branch. He was a sergeant early in WW2 and was a prisoner of war for years and found his knowledge of German a great advantage when he made his several unsuccessful escape attempts. They had four children two boys and two girls. One of the girls, Phoebe, was a brilliant pianist but unfortunately whilst at York University she became a drug addict and a schizophrenic. She spent all her welfare allowance on drugs. Freddie was authoritarian and went to Social Services and demanded they stop giving her money. I told him that as a parent he had no right to do that and of course the payments continued.

Mollie died. Anthea who had been called sent me round to sit with Freddie. I did not want to do this as I did not know what to do. “Just sit here,” said Anthea. I did this and exchanged no word with Freddie but I am perfectly sure Anthea was right; it is not good for a bereaved person to be left alone. I think Mollie perhaps had money to leave. It was all left to Freddie and the family. Phoebe looked after her father very well indeed and he said so frequently. Phoebe’s sister Mary was also very good, coming down from London very frequently. Freddie I thought despite being a bank manager, or even perhaps being a bank manager! was no good with money. He kept saying I’ve got plenty of monnay (that was how he pronounced it, Maurice pronounced it munny. Advisors from the bank evidently persuaded him to take out an annuity. This at the age of 92! So when Freddie died his money died with him. The house had to be sold and I think Phoebe might well have been left with no-where to live. Certainly the two boys seemed not to care. Mary was different. Phoebe was using the family solicitor. I told her to get her own and advised her how to do this through the legal aid scheme. There was what is called a conflict of interest between the family and Phoebe. Phoebe got a small house provided by the Williams estate.

Other notables who lived in Ravens Croft included my immediate neighbour, Alison Tagg the widow of a Bank Manager who had worked in Persia (Iran) during WW2. When Alison was taken to hospital at the age of 88 or so she was interviewed and asked what she did in the war. “I was a spy” she said. And of course that information was correct, as a regular attendee at cocktail parties she would have been privy to a lot of gossip which would be of great value to HM Government. Anthea and she were very good friends. After Anthea died Alison got the wanderlust and telephoned me out of courtesy to say she was just about to put her house on the market. I told her I knew of a man (Dr Kenneth Vickery) who was very keen to buy such a house and if she would permit me I would tell him about the house and they could argue about the price between themselves as it was not in any way my responsibility. The Vickerys did buy the house and were my neighbours for many years.

Ron Blackstock had earlier almost sold his house to Kenneth but had accepted another offer. Ron had an unfortunate accident after he was left alone when his wife died. He was sitting in the lounge asleep and on waking fell through a glass door. When the Ravens Croft houses were built toughened glass was not required. Ron sent for me. He was bleeding very badly from his right arm. I got Anthea round and she wrapped Ron’s arm up using a number of her teacloths. I suppose I ought to have telephoned for an ambulance but I thought we could get him into A&E quicker by car. At any rate that was what we did. It always looks as if a lot more blood has been lost than actually is the case. I also thought we had probably almost stopped the haemorrhage anyway. But Anthea was quite cross for she never got her teacloths back. Soaked in cold water they would of course have come up as good as new but perhaps the A&E staff did not realise that. Ron afterwards went into a home in fact several homes. I used to visit him until it was obvious he no longer recognised me.

Denys and Bridget Meyer was another lovely couple. Denys was a retired member of the Baltic Exchange which deals with shipping, not stocks and shares. He once gave a tip to another neighbour, Dr Ronald Green, Redwood Bricks I think it was. They did not do well. Denys was the son of Canon Meyer and he had a brother Jack Meyer. I never knew Jack but he was by all accounts a very colourful character. A test cricketer he went out to India to take up a post in business but was not very good at that. He was asked to teach the sons of a Maharajah how to play cricket. As he had played for England and had a very successful career at that he was an excellent coach. The Maharajah was very anglophile and wished his sons to be brought up as Englishmen. By this time several other boys had been added to the coaching. Jack suggested he take the lot back to the UK and hire a house big enough to run a school.

He found a house in Somerset and with the money from the Maharajah he started Millfield School. That is now a very large, very successful public boarding school. For many years they have done well both academically and in sports of all kinds. Jack got the boys to dig him a swimming pool! Judy Grinham a famous swimmer went to Millfield as did many other stars of sport. He was famous for his ducks. His habit was to feed them from a bucket. John Hooton whose boys went there was very irritated by Jack Meyer feeding ducks all the time he was talking to him. Jack was known as the Boss and would not only take brilliant pupils but also those who were good at sport. Jack was a bit of a crook I suspect but Denys was the soul of probity and correctness. Whenever he met Anthea he raised his hat. Sadly he died leaving Bridget whose children had left home. Alice married to a very nice solicitor and twin boys, who were in the James Bond Film “Octopussy” playing twin knife throwers in a gypsy camp. They said that in one scene they jumped over a fence but in actual fact they took off in one continent and landed thousands of miles away in another continent. Film editing showed it as seamless.

Doreen and Ron Green arrived long after we were established in Ravens Croft. Ron was a retired Chest Physician and an excellent violinist. Anthea and I had for years run a very successful Ravens Croft Christmas party which consisted of a few things like mince pies and a glass of wine. It was a very simple affair. People just talked and enjoyed themselves. Immediately she arrived Doreen asked me if she ought to continue to run the Christmas Parties she had had at their house in Alfriston. I said it was a free country and she went ahead. Her party included carols which were accompanied by a very good pianist and Ron and me on the violin. Afterwards Anthea said that it was the end of our own Christmas party. Although I said we could still have one I think she was right and we never had another Christmas party.

After Anthea died in 1994 things were never the same for me. Lizzie had brought a barbecue back for me from Canada. To break the ice with the neighbours and get them used to BBQ’s I invited them all to a Canadian BBQ Party. It coincided with a visit by the Binyons and Ray took over the cooking. I had been to a few BBQ’s including one run by my chambers in Lewes, Westgate Chambers and the food was often inedible. I pre-cooked it to make sure it was all edible. It went so well that we decided to repeat it every year on our front lawn which was communally owned but never used as under the rules no ball games were permitted. We charged £5 a head and any surplus went to St Wilfred’s Hospice. The BBQ went on for nearly ten years. The personnel changed over the years. Ray dropped out after a few years and in fact from then on avoided June visits to Eastbourne. Lots of people helped especially Heather who had for years run an hotel and scorned people who thought catering for 60 people or so was a hard task. John and Brenda Driver of St John’s Church refused to come after they paid one visit as they could not stand Doreen.

Continuing the Ravens Croft saga with the death of Ron Green there was nothing holding Doreen Green back. She ran a weekly bible study class. She was very cross when I would not attend this or agree to put the chairs out for her. The Christmas parties continued but in the absence of musicians a record player was used. Our vicar, Canon Geoffrey Daintree came and at a suitable point made a speech preceded by a playing of “O come, all ye faithful” and he followed that by a sermon lasting about half an hour. It was a far cry from the Jackson party of mince pies, glasses of vino and chatting. Richard Green was at it and administered the mulled wine which he told me was red wine and spices. Good to be in such erudite company.

Richard Green I had once thought was very professional. He was not only a solicitor but also a Commissioner for Oaths and when Anne was divorcing Grant she asked me for an affidavit which I drafted and took it to Richard to swear it. By this time I was practising at the bar and Richard’s fee was a nice bottle of wine. My opinion as to his professionalism took a severe knock when he was found guilty of misappropriation of clients’ funds. He administered a trust owned by two old ladies and “borrowed” money from it which he paid back. This was to fund a lavish lifestyle involving large dogs, a house with a swimming pool and flashy cars. His marriage was failing and perhaps that had something to do with it.

Richard was up before Judge John Gower in the Crown Court at Lewes. I knew John Gower well. Doreen said she thought Richard ought to get a top QC to defend him after a guilty plea. Sussex people prefer Sussex people and my pupil master Anthony Niblett I thought was an ideal counsel for Richard as he also knew John Gower well. Anthony got the brief but despite Anthony’s no doubt honeyed words on his behalf and Richard got three years in Ford Open Prison. That was about the tariff to be expected. To do her justice Doreen took all this very well and visited Richard regularly. She said the shame would have killed Ronald if he had still been alive. All the neighbours were supportive of Doreen at this difficult time for her.

Doreen was very like an Edwardian Lady. She was tall gracious and dressed in a very old-fashioned way. Everybody thought she was kind and indeed so she was, but she certainly liked to get her own way. I found her hard to live up to over the many years up to 2004 when I left Eastbourne. I think we all found her hard to live up to. If I didn’t go round after about six weeks she used to ring me up and upbraid me for neglecting her. Sadly after I left she had to go into a home but she seems to have settled even though it is in Nottinghamshire and airs and graces are not popular thereabouts.

Following Anthea’s death I had taken more part in St John’s Church. Peter Williams had been succeeded as vicar by Alan McCabe who was a wonderful man. By this time I had become a sidesman and the head sidesman was Douglas Riley a retired solicitor. He had been a Lt Colonel in the army. One day when I turned up at 7.30am for the 8.00am service he thrust a bundle of letters into my hand and said “Give a copy of this to everybody who comes but tell them to take it into the Church to read”. The letter was to say that Alan was ill and had been advised to take it very easily. The next week a similar letter was handed out to say Alan had had to retire on health grounds.

By this time I had become very friendly with John Driver and we use to sit together in Church. John had a slight cockney accent. Nobody spoke to him at first but John was the salt of the earth. He and his wife Brenda had fostered many children. He had been a keen member of Toc H in Orpington where they had lived before retirement. At one time Douglas was be-moaning the dearth of sidesmen. I suggested I ask John if he would act as one. “Ok,” said John “but I won’t wear a tie”. John was a wonderful sidesman and help in the church. He helped the treasurer, ran the car picking up service and was a great chap all round. He and his wife could not stand Doreen as I wrote above!

Alan was succeeded by Canon Geoffrey Daintree. Geoffrey was an evangelical which suited the Bishop of Lewes, an Ulsterman who had himself succeeded Bishop Peter who was found to be a homosexual and had to resign. In turn Geoffrey suited Doreen down to the ground. I could not bring myself to become an evangelical and although I did not like to think about homosexuals I have met many fine such men. I think they are all humans and God’s creatures. I think that tolerant view is common at Southwark Cathedral where the Dean will bless homosexual unions. One of the canons at Southwark, the Rev. Geoffrey John was due to become Bishop of Reading but was pressured into withdrawing when it became known he was a non-practising homosexual. Geoffrey Daintree announced this withdrawal from the pulpit saying he was sorry for Canon John personally but glad he had withdrawn.

About 1994 I took up golf again. There is a municipal course in Eastbourne but it is only nine holes and crisscrossed by ditches as it is very low lying. Green plants cover the surface of the ditches so if your ball goes in there it is lost for good. The course is patronised by people who cannot play very well (me) or youngsters who have little idea of golf etiquette or sympathy with a slower player. So when these young people get behind you you can expect balls to be whistling round your ears. I consulted John Driver who I knew played regularly at Royal Eastbourne. I played with him on the nine-hole course and soon joined as a full member.

For years John used to pick me up weekly at 8.30am and drive me to the course. It was great fun. I had a go also with what is called “The Ancients” a group of older golfers who used to meet every Wednesday. I did not get on so well with them but I continued to play with John and also often took myself off and played on the short course and often met someone who wanted to play with me. Twice I took part in the Church team and in fact played the winning stroke one day for my tee shot had landed on the last green and our opponents both failed to get on the green and gave up allowing St John’s Church to beat Our Lady of Ransom, the Catholic Church.

I got involved with Neighbourhood Watch a group of do-gooders whose job was to help the police. They spent much time drafting a constitution. The final version was four A4 closely typed pages long. I could have drafted one on the back of an envelope which would have done just as well. Not much was achieved at the Neighbourhood Watch meetings which were used by people too fond of their own voices to snipe at the police. Les Bruce in whose house it had all started and I continued to go to the meetings but got very fed up with all the ego trips.

My life in Eastbourne came to an end when I was aged 78 through my relative ill health. In 2000 I had a very bad attack of sciatica. I was on my way at the time to visit Ray and Elsie Binyon in Chester and was staying with Sue Donovan my niece through marriage and her husband Neil. In the middle of the night I was in bed at their house and wanted a pee but I was unable to move. I thumped on the floor (it was three am) with my walking stick and Neil came and got me something to pee into. At first he said there was nothing suitable but I had seen in the bathroom a jar of shells. I got him to empty the shells out and used that. It was a great relief.

An ambulance was summoned and I was taken to the Queen’s Medical Centre, Nottingham. They were very good there but they did not realise I was too deaf to hear my name called so I was there for a very long time. Getting back to Sue’s that evening they telephoned Lizzie who was at the BBC working in Glasgow. She flew back and eventually drove me back to London in the Mercedes. I stayed with her in her flat but had to visit St Thomas’ where they kitted me out with a Zimmer.

Home in Eastbourne I went to see my doctor who did not even examine me. He said “you know where the pain is”. He agreed it sounded very like sciatica. He referred me to a private specialist, a Mr Ross. There are four orthopaedic men in Eastbourne and none of them much good from what I heard. After six weeks waiting for a private appointment Mr Ross was quite cavalier and did not even refer me to a physiotherapist. That was in 2002. In 2004 I moved to London with the great help of both Anne and Lizzie. I love it here. Fortunately Lizzie had just bought a house in St Hilaire SW France and she was able to make good use of much of my surplus furniture.

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