My sister as a teenager was on her hunter on the road between Grangebellew and Ballymakenny. She may have been going to the blacksmith whose forge was out that way. She was thrown off and lay unconscious on the road until a Good Samaritan, in the form of Frank Rowe, found her and brought her and the horse home.
Frank was a neighbour and a barrister by profession. He went on to become an Irish High Court judge. He was a hunting judge. He hunted with the Ward Union, a drag pack. On the days they met his court would rise early. It was fortunate that their meets were at 2.00 so at least a little justice could be dispensed in the morning.
After his appointment to the Bench my grandfather wrote to him but was unsure how to address the envelope. An elegant solution presented itself. He would take the letter down to the postmistress at Grangebellew to post and ask her if he had done it correctly. All Frank’s post passed through her hands so she would surely know.
He reckoned without Miss Holcroft’s code of honour, a code that would put Bertie Wooster to shame. Her innate good manners and her respect for my grandfather did not permit her to make any criticism. “He’ll be charmed, I’m sure” was her response, leading my grandfather to suppose he’d got it wrong. One of Miss Holcroft’s idiosyncrasies was to disregard decimalisation. You would have needed to be an experienced FX dealer to unravel the simplest transaction.
Another tricky thing on an envelope is the name of the island where I was born and spent my childhood. When you address a letter to the big bit, at the bottom, do you write The Republic of Ireland, Eire or Ireland? When you write to the small bit, at the top, do you write Northern Ireland, Ulster or The Province? I think the answer is that it depends to whom you are writing and tailor it to their prejudices.
As Dave Allen used to say “may your God go with you” and have a happy and healthy 2016.
If your grandfather addressed the letter to Frank Rowe he definitely got it wrong, as the surname was Roe! He was the judge in the Father Molloy case in the 1980s – worth reading about…
Margaret, as usual you are 100% correct. I could not find anything about Frank on google and after the post was published today it did pop into my head that I might have got the spelling wrong. I intended to check but no need now, thanks to you. I cannot say I knew him very well but whenever I went to his house there was always a tin of biscuits and I came to believe that it was his only source of nutrition. Now I’m going to take a look at the Father Molloy case. By the way, I remember that his appointment to the High Court was, supposedly, much delayed because of politics. Thank you for correcting me, not for the first time!
Christopher
Dear Christopher
Can you tell us when the Ward Union became a drag pack and ceased hunting the carted deer?
All the best for 2016.
Alan
Alan, I’ve only just thanked Margaret Tinsley for putting me right over Frank Roe and now I have to own up to another blunder. You are completely correct that the Ward Union hunt a carted deer and I had what is sometimes called a brain fade and thought this was the same as a drag. Silly me; I’ll have to wear drag next time we meet.
The neighbouring packs of foxhounds met at 11.00 – the Louth and the Meath – but it was considered very bad form to slink off if the sport wasn’t good to spend the afternoon with the Ward Union.
Christopher
A very happy & healthy new year, Christopher. I’m just home from a pal’s bash, and the intention is to spend the remainder of New Year’s Day recovering (!).
Tim, what a sensible way to pass the day. For my part, I walked across London to have a spot of luncheon with five friends. Our location is a secret because it will be the subject of a post soon. After Dry Martinis and the like we had a splash of the house white, then a dribble of the house red, then some Armagnac and, for me, Calvados. This will confirm all of JohnHB’s suspicions as I’m not sure we even looked at the menu.
Curiously, in view of my post about The Avengers, Diana Rigg’s daughter was sitting at the next table. My, I do live in the fast lane!
Christopher