Don Quixote and the Sick Bed

Today, 4th September, is the 45 th anniversary of the death of Larky. I should explain that my younger sister and I were what is generally called "Irish twins" having been born a little over a year apart. She was a sickly premature baby, born in 1965 when sickly babies did not always fare so well. I was bouncing, but my mother already had a four-year-old, so she was glad of a little help. The first person who looked after me apart from my mother was my aunt Jan. She loved me dearly, but emigrated to Glasgow(!) and then to Canada when I was still young, so I have clearer childhood memories of Larky, or Mrs Larkin, to give her her full name.

She was strict but loving, warm and yet fair. What I remember is mostly fragments: her voice over the baby monitor saying "Okey dokey" and her giving my little sister raw sausages to eat after Kate insisted that it was preferable to eat them that way! I recall her becoming ill, and having to wear her neck in a surgical collar; then the dreaded day when my mother called us and told us to pick flowers and be very nice to her husband....I was 5, she was 44. We went to her funeral at Greystones.

Today, however, was another, brighter day, and my only afternoon off this week, so we decided to visit one of our local historical houses, Chavenage House. I knew little of it, apart from its reputation for being haunted by a headless coachman who comes in a splendid coach to bear off the Head of Household at the time of his demise.

When we arrived, it seemed that a film was being made on location, and there was the usual mess, paraphernalia and anxious-looking film types in evidence. However, the elderly owner of the house, the splendid Colonel Loseley-Wiilliams had been instructed to lead a tour party around the house, and to 'keep them upstairs as long as possible'! Fortunately, he was a marvellous raconteur, and kept us entertained, both in the tapestried Cromwell room, where Oliver Cromwell may once have spent the night, and the room next door, which I have shown above.

This, the Ireton room is also walled with tapestries, apparently showing scenes from Cervantes' Don Quixote. I don't quite see them myself, but then again I only had to read the book to get my degree, but can't remember anything about it! What did impress me was the story of this small bed, which apparently was a sick bed. These were smaller than usual, and could have ropes attached, so that they could be suspended from the ceiling to rock the invalid to sleep! Behind the bed head is a door thathad been cut out and infilled. The tapestries that had hung over the door were found in the attic, being used as lagging for some old pipes! They were duly cleaned up and restored to their original site.

I was somewhat sorry to hear that the ghost-coachman had been exorcised, but when we were shown the later addition of a family chapel, we were told of another spirit, this one a monk by the name of Brother Charles. We shall return, for some more entertainment from the Colonel, and when the film crew is no longer present.