Chapter Twenty

     In 1959, after my success in the Hotel and Catering Institute Examination, we felt ready to start our own business and have a permanent home. We had sold the house in Ventnor and now had a small capital sum to invest. The publicity I received had had an immediate effect. We received offers from several breweries to grant us a tenancy agreement in one or other of their licensed houses, enabling us to run our own business. This was exactly what we were looking for and we welcomed the challenge. Our search took us around many areas of the West Country. From the various country inns we saw, we decided to apply for the tenancy of The Duke at Bratton, belonging to Ushers Brewery.           

     A tenancy agreement gives one the right to run one’s own business but with the proviso that all alcohol supplies are purchased from the owning brewery whilst paying them a yearly rent. Ushers, an old-established family brewery, based in Trowbridge, Wiltshire, was a delightful and helpful company and we subsequently had a happy ten-year relationship with them.

     However, prior to our taking over the premises, we had a delay of a couple of months whilst the existing tenants were moving out. We spent this time in Norfolk at Snettisham, helping Mr. and Mrs. Lowe run their hotel there. Mrs. Lowe was Peter’s second cousin and recently returned from South Africa. She was the person who had originally offered us our first entry into the hotel business by suggesting we took over the management of the West Country Inn in Devon, so we were delighted to give her a helping hand. Since the hotel was very near to Sandringham, there were a lot of Royal connections using the place but we never really enjoyed Norfolk. It was much colder as far as the weather was concerned but also the local residents were a little chilly! They all seemed to have delusions of grandeur, living within the aura of Royalty! So we were relieved to learn we could move into our own business in the spring of 1960.

     On May 6th, 1960 we finally took over the Duke at Bratton, near Westbury, Wiltshire. The Duke was an old established hostelry, named after the Iron Duke, The Duke of Wellington. It lay under the northern slopes of the Salisbury Plain and near the famous Westbury White Horse, carved into the chalk hills. The village of Bratton and nearby Edington were the scene of a famous battle in the 12th century, between Guthrum the Dane and King Alfred. Alfred won and this changed the history of England. After his defeat Guthrum was converted to Christianity and the separate regions of Wessex and Mercia were formed. The Battle of Edington took place on and around Picquets Hill, the name of which we later gave to our future home in Wales. This was the hill I would see daily from my bedroom window for the next nine years.

      Prior to our arrival, as well as two licensed bars, the Duke had provided bed and breakfast accommodation, a little bar food trade and ice cream sold to the locals from the back door! We had rather more ambitious plans. It was an attractive building dating back to the 17th century and had originally been a coffee house providing sustenance for the passengers of the stage coaches en route to Bath from Reading, whilst they changed the horses.

     There were eight bedrooms, several bathrooms, two bars, a visitor’s lounge and an attractive dining room, surrounded by a large and pleasant garden. The bars and other rooms all had attractive oak beams. A wooden pavilion in the back had for many years been the venue for Sunday School outings. No alcohol served there! Now it would serve as additional storage and an outside kennel for our black Labrador, Negra. Negra was Peter’s responsibility and he soon trained it to the gun. There were plenty of opportunities for a day’s shooting around us. I was not a doggy person as I had been pushed off a breakwater in Folkestone when only two years old. The beach on the other side was already filled with the incoming tide. I nearly drowned. I never feared water but I have a built in fear of dogs. I do have to say that I eventually managed to accept Negra who was placidity itself.   

     On that sunny day in May, the laburnum tree overlooking the bedrooms shone golden with cascades of blossom. The sun was high in the blue sky. The formalities of stocktaking and valuation of all furniture and equipment took several hours. Finally we handed over the cheque in settlement, shook hands with the outgoing tenants and we were in business for ourselves. Six o’clock promptly we opened the doors to the two bars, having stocked up and polished all the glasses and bottles afresh. There were fresh flowers on the counters and the one bar staff we had retained took up his position in the Public Bar. Peter took over the Lounge Bar and I stood by in the background.

       It seemed the whole village poured in that evening to take a look at the new Innkeepers. This was the beginning of a new adventure, long hours, some risks, new friendships and a great learning process, leading to ultimate success.

       We had enough experience in management to watch carefully all new staff initially, as the trade was renowned for fiddles. After the first night it was evident that the barman we had inherited thought we were new to the trade and had evolved his own form of private enterprise. We soon realised he and his wife who came in each night for a drink had a very clever trick going. He would give his wife the drink she asked for plus change from a pound, without her ever proffering any money! Our London experience had made us wise to these sorts of tricks so he lasted less than a week and was sent on his way. We decided not to get the police involved at this early stage in a new area. Our hunt for reliable staff began.

      We decided in the future only to use bar staff from the village, as there was less likelihood of dishonesty. It was then we found Mattie Parker, a Welsh lady, wife of Fred from Tonypandy who looked after the extensive gardens of a rich and eccentric widow in the area. Mattie knew everyone, was a wonderful worker and was a veritable treasure. She ran the Public Bar for us from then onwards until the day we left, nearly ten years later and as an added bonus, always kept us provided with delicious Welsh cakes!

       Very soon, we decided to open the restaurant for lunch and dinner and to provide all meals for the residents. This coincided with the building of the cement works at Westbury by APCM. Before long, all our rooms were filled throughout the week by their organising team. This consisted of the site’s new Resident Manager, the chemist, several engineers and technicians and the architects. It was a lifeline for us and gave us a great start. These cement bods stayed with us for over two years and became “almost family”.

.       I did most of the cooking and we gradually built up a reputation for good food, and reasonable prices but. I knew I would soon need additional help. I enrolled several young people from the village as chambermaids and to help in the kitchen. I must have taught at least a dozen young Bratton girls to cook.  I then found John, who had trained as a chef in the Navy and cooked for the Prince of Wales. He was young but enthusiastic and we soon had a great team.  

      Before long it became obvious we needed a well trained waiter to take over the restaurant as our menu went up market. We were attracting a lot of custom from many Army units in the area as well as local businesses. Press advertisements failed to produce any possible candidate. It was then we had the idea of contacting our friend Antonio Franco. Since 1958 we had been visiting his hotel, Las Mercedes, in the then unknown small Andalucian village of Torremolinos – long before it gained its future notoriety. With his growing British clientele, he quickly agreed when we suggested he should send his waiters over to us for a period of around six months. They would help us and we would teach them English and at the same time, they would get to know what British visitors were looking for on holiday. This arrangement continued throughout the whole of our time at the Duke and we trained both as waiters and chefs, over 20 of his “boys”. They in turn added a “cachet” to our growing reputation for good food and service and at the same time, were a great catch for the local girls!

     Antonio Barranco, the first arrival, came in November 1960. His English was good enough to be understood and very soon, he became fluent. He was a great help and a wonderful personality. He had left school aged 13, when his father who had fought against Franco in Malaga, had been imprisoned as a Communist and then executed. Antonio had to start earning a living to help provide food for his younger brothers and sisters. After training as a carpenter, he realised the growing tourist industry in Southern Spain was offering great opportunities and before long he had risen to Assistant Head Waiter at Las Mercedes. He was a fast learner, could cook, had a smattering of knowledge of several languages and in addition was an expert at the Japanese art of origami. At our first Christmas at the Duke, our bars were decorated with many of his creations and he became a great popular figure with the locals. They called him Norman Wisdom whom he resembled closely and had almost the same sense of humour! We owed him a great deal.

    Our trade was growing rapidly.  Once more this meant long hours for Peter and me. We engaged local staff for additional help in the kitchen and the bars. Antonio worked six days a week. With his ability and charm, he received a lot of tips which later helped him on his return to Spain to put a deposit down on his first home for his wife Madalena and little daughter Loli.

     After the School of Infantry, based in nearby Warminster, found us, we provided facilities for much of their entertaining. At that time, they were using the Salisbury Plain for their programme of training officers from many foreign countries of the Western Union. During their orienteering exercises, they would use our bars for their lunchtime break. They would arrive with their hay boxes, set them up outside the Duke and provide a hot curry lunch.  The officers would consume this in the bars and of course top it up with a pint of ale. We would meet many interesting and sometimes notorious people from countries far and wide. Idi Amin, then a major, was one of these. He was an enormous and very sullen man. On entering the bar, he had to duck his head down as he passed under the old beams. Like him, many of the African majors and colonels who attended, were later involved in military coups in their respective countries. They either succeeded and became President or they were executed.  We were told a Colonel’s rank was a particularly dangerous one!

      I often wondered why we trained so many officers of foreign armies. Finally, a colonel from the School of Infantry gave me the answer – an excellent one it was indeed. “Well,” he said, “If we train them, and there is any trouble later on in that part of the world, we will know how they will react. It doesn’t mean to say that our troops will be doing the same thing!”- An interesting strategy.

     After our first Spanish waiter, we went on to employ Emilio who after the warmth of Andalusia, had to experience the coldest winter for years in 1961/2. I bought him long johns and sweaters but he still was cold. It started to snow on Boxing Day and our then residents, all employees of the Cement Works had to walk to work. They found walking along the railway tracks the easiest way by far. We always left them satisfying casseroles in the Aga so they could eat when they returned back in the middle of the night. The snow turned to ice and didn’t disappear until March of the New Year.

     Each year we became better known and the trade increased. We gained both a mention in the Good Food Guide and a flattering write-up in the Egon Ronay Guide. Emilio was followed by Leonardo, a couple of Manolos and several Pepés. Peter and I continued to work long hours with few days off. I managed to get to London occasionally to judge the Junior Salon Culinaire entries for Hotel Olympia and Peter managed a few days fishing on the Wye but holidays were few and far between. Our increasing fame meant longer hours and greater stress. In 1961 I had an abdominal operation coupled with a termination but soon had to get back to work. In 1967, after the sudden death of his mother, Peter suffered a breakdown necessitating a spell in hospital and a recuperation period away from the hotel. I was worried.

      His absence coincided with the August Bank holiday and a full house of residents, attending the Edington Priory Church Musical Festival. This was a prestige occasion when many famous choirs attended and people worldwide attended the services. On the Bank Holiday Monday, the village was also holding their Pram Derby, beginning and ending at the Duke, the busiest day in our year.

     I awakened early that morning to prepare the early morning teas, served to the residents in their rooms. On entering the kitchen and going to the store room, I found the door blocked by a soft-feeling object. My initial thought was ‘It’s a body!’ On pushing open the door, I found a large bad of detergent, normally kept in the laundry was the cause of the blockage. Immediately I realised something was wrong. Then I noticed the back window had been smashed and I realised we had been robbed.

    All the bottles of wine and spirits had gone, together with the stock of cigarettes and tobacco. They had even taken several kegs of beer. What a disaster, no stock left and the busiest day of the year to cater for!

    But the show had to go on. The current Manolo took up the morning tea to the residents and he prepared their breakfasts whilst I contacted the police for help, the Brewery for urgent supplies and the insurance company. The response was immediate. The arrived and we found the thieves had doped Negra, our black Labrador. They had entered through the back window, blocking the kitchen door with the sack of detergent and made their getaway through the back of the garden. Apparently this same gang had been operating throughout Wiltshire for some time, always targeting licensed premises, with the same modus operandum. They were never caught.

      The Brewery sent immediate replacement of wines, spirits, beer and cigarettes. The police took fingerprints. By eleven o’clock when all the decorated prams arrived on the forecourt for the Pram Derby ad the bars were filling up, things were operating as normal. Most people were oblivious of what had happened in the early hours – except for Manolo and me. By then I was a quivering wreck but just about managing to carry on.

       Then Major General Christopher Man appeared. He was the current Head of the Army Commissions Board at Westbury and an ex-Japanese prisoner of war. He was a special friend of mine and on seeing the police; he asked them what had happened. Learning of the burglary, he came up to me, put his arm round my shoulders and said ‘And what about you?’ This was the first kind word I had received and much to my surprise, I burst into tears; not anything I do easily. Then I collapsed.

       My doctor was summoned. He took one look and gave me a morphine injection. He allowed me to stay to end of the Pram Derby and then he whisked me home to his house in the nearby village of Steeple Ashton, where I fell into a deep sleep.

       My wonderful team rallied round, fed the residents, looked after the bars and despite the calamitous beginning, the day was a rousing success. I woke late that evening to the sound of a heavenly choir! It was a group of King’s College choirboys, also staying at my doctor’s house. They were practising their contribution to the evening service at the church festival.

      Life was never boring at the Duke. There were always new experiences, new people to meet. One day it was Robert Morton, the actor, who arrived. Another day, the one-time members of the crew of the Dambusters walked through the door. On a further occasion, Lord Reith arrived unannounced. Peter Cook and Dudley Moore used us as the base for one of their comic routines in ‘That was the week that was’. They dressed as cave men and climbed on to the Westbury White Horse. We never knew who would be next to walk through the door. But almost ten years of hard work and long hours with little time to relax, coupled with Peter’s illness had taken its toll. We had to think seriously of changing direction.

     We had recently bought the Court Farm House in the village – a beautiful 15th century building, built two years before Columbus arrived in America. It was thatched, full of oak beams and with a lovely garden. We thought carefully and made our decision. We gave the Brewery notice of our wish to leave. The terms of our tenancy meant we might have to wait up to a year before new tenants could be found. In the meantime we were making plans. We realised we would get nothing for goodwill despite having built up a substantial and profitable business. That was how it was with a tenancy. On handover, you receive the value of the ingoings – furniture, fittings and stock. Sometimes an understanding stock taker, knowing the business was a very good deal for the incoming tenant, would place a higher value than normal on some of these items but this was not a guarantee.

     Thinking about our future, we decided we would set up a private catering service for weddings and other special events in the area. Our new house was large enough and offer