The Tourney Story HTML version

Page 1
Preface: I remember as a baby just walking, being taken into the country
for a few weeks with my siblings during the war to visit our Grandfather. It
was 1944 and although Grandpa had rented the house, to me it seemed
quite large. Since then my eldest brother and I visited it many years later
only to discover it was a small double story brick cottage! So I let my
imagination rip and all this is, purely that, a story. I hope you enjoy!
The Tourney story. Copyright P.J.Audcent2007
My earliest recollections of the district, that ultimately became my childhood
home, was when I became two. It was my birthday, so my mother has since
told me. My parents had driven me up in the trap to visit my Grandpapa,
who resided at the Castle. I remember much of the trip as we passed
though the high green hedges that stood sentinel along the grey macadam
road. Though I was clasped securely in Mother's arms I could still see
those tall hedgerows slipping by as I listened to the clip clop of Daisy's
hooves. I remember turning my head to see her majestic stern wobbling
ahead of the trap, her long tail swishing left and right across her ample
buttocks. My father, sitting ramrod straight in the driving seat, clicking his
tongue to encourage her to a smooth trot. I'm sure we had a car at the time
in one of the old out-houses, at least Beth our eldest had told me so. It
appears Grandpapa did not approve of the clouds of exhaust smoke
smudging his driveway and cars were banned though he himself smoked
like a chimney.
We arrived at Longbury Castle with a sudden lurch and a sharp crunch of
gravel. A footman quickly arrived to hold the reins as my father gingerly
stepped down. Then calling for me, he lifted me aloft and we climbed the
long steps to the doors, with me about to cry out at losing my mothers
comforting arms. I remember distinctly welling up inside ready to give a full
blast at this state of affairs, until thankfully Grandma Tourney plucked me
from the air, and my fathers grip, to hold me tightly, snuggled against her
shoulder with velvet and lace to bury my already wet eyes in. A gentle pat
and a few soft words settled me down. There followed a swaying clipping
walk with echoing staccato on the marble floor as my parents followed
Grandma and I into Grandpapa's study.
The room seemed to me, through my baby eyes, as big as a house with a
distinctive smell. My grandfather was a keen smoker of Chuchillian sized