Burley Cross Postbox Theft. Nicola Barker

almost say dangerously – misdirected in this particular instance).

      I’ve often remarked on how wonderfully blue and piercing Tirza Parry’s eyes are; my dear wife, Shoshana, calls them ‘lavender eyes’, which I think describes them most excellently (although, as she has also remarked, and very tellingly, I think, a ‘blueing’ of the eyes can often signify the onset of Alzheimer’s, dementia and other sundry ailments related to the loss of memory/reason in old age. I mean nothing derogatory by this statement – none of us is getting any younger, after all!⁷).

      You will doubtless remember Shoshana (from the aforementioned meeting) as that fearless, flame-haired dominatrix (with the tightly bound arm – more of which, anon) who was acting as temporary secretary that day⁸, Wallace Simms, who usually fills this role⁹, having been bedridden by yet another severe bout of his recurrent sciatica.

      It briefly occurs to me – by the by – that it may prove helpful at this point (especially in light of some of the wild accusations being thrown around by TP¹⁰ herself in the course of said meeting) if I provide you with a short précis of some of the complex, logistical issues currently being employed by that cunning creature as a pathetic smokescreen to obfuscate the real – the critical – subject at the dark heart of this letter. If you – like Mandy Williamson, your charming predecessor¹¹ – are already fully convinced of my impartiality as a witness/ informant on this delicate – and rather distasteful – matter then feel free to skip the next section of this letter and rejoin the narrative in two pages’ time (I have taken the trouble to mark the exact spot with a tiny sticker of a Bolivian tree frog).

      The Retreat (please see first document enclosed, labelled Doc. 1) is a charming – although rather Lilliputian – residence situated just inside the extensive grounds of Saxonby Manor (I have circled the residence, and its small garden, on the map provided with a fluorescent yellow marker).

      My dear, late wife (Emily Baverstock, née Morrison) inherited said property over seventeen years ago from her great-aunt – the esteemed Lady Beatrix Morrison – who was then resident full-time at Saxonby (although she generally preferred to overwinter in the south of France, where she kept an immaculate, art deco-style penthouse flat in the heart of Biarritz).

      When The Retreat was initially built (in the late 1920s) the property’s principal use was as a summer house/changing room (situated, as it was, directly adjacent to a fabulous, heated, Olympic-sized swimming pool – now long gone, alas). It was constructed with all mod cons (i.e. toilet, shower etc.; see second document – Doc. 2 – a photocopy of the original architectural plans) and although undisputedly bijou, The Retreat was always intended to be more than a mere ‘adjunct’. As early as 1933 they added a small kitchen and a bedroom to allow guests to stay there overnight in greater luxury, and it was eventually inhabited – full-time – by a displaced family (the Pringles, I believe¹²) for the duration of WWII.

      After the war it became the home of Saxonby’s gardener, the infamous Samuel Tuggs (he sang and played the washboard with local folk sensations The Thrupenny Bits¹³), who was subsequently implicated in the mysterious disappearance of his wife’s fifteen-year-old niece, Moira (1974) and – rather sadly for Lady Morrison¹⁴ – while he was never formally tried for the crime¹⁵, an atmosphere of intense social pressure eventually obliged him to flee the area.

      The Retreat’s already fascinating history¹⁶ was consolidated further when it was rented out (1981–90) to a writer of books about the science of code-breaking (a fascinating old chap called John Hinty Crew – ‘Hinty’ to his pals – a promiscuous homosexual whose real claim to fame was his inflammatory adolescent correspondence with Anthony Blunt¹⁷).

      Up until this point the cottage possessed no formal/legal rights as an ‘independent dwelling’. Lady Morrison had – quite naturally – never felt the need to apply for any, and my late wife’s ownership of the property was only ever made explicit by dint of a short caveat in the old lady’s will which forbade the sale of the Manor at any future date without a prior agreement that The Retreat (and its tiny garden) were to remain exclusively in the hands of the Morrison family. Rights of access were, of course, a necessary part of this simple arrangement.

      It is, I’m afraid, this worryingly fluid and vague ‘rights of access’ issue that is the source of all our current heartache.

      As you will no doubt have already observed on the map provided, The Retreat was actually constructed within a short walking distance of an arched, medieval gate in the outer wall of the larger estate, and this gate has always been used as an entrance/exit (into the village of Burley Cross beyond) by the inhabitants of said dwelling (rather than the main entrance to the Manor, which lies approximately 500 yards – again, see Doc. 1 – to its right¹⁸).

      It goes without saying that many times over the years my wife(s) and I have applied for some kind of permanent, formal, legal right of way, if only to establish the property as an independent dwelling (so that we might pay rates, raise a mortgage, or even consider selling¹⁹ at some future date, perhaps).

      Unfortunately, the current owners of the Manor (the Jonty Weiss-Quinns²⁰) have never been keen to support this application. The chief plank in their Crusoe-esque-style raft of objections²¹ is that the land that lies between The Retreat and the gate was once the site of an old monastery (see Doc. 1 – I have used a pink pencil to shade in the area) which is considered by – among others – the National Trust²² and English Nature to be ‘an important heritage site’.²³

      Were you to come along – in person – and take a good look at what actually remains of this ‘Old Monastery’, I think you would be astonished (as, indeed, are we²⁴) that so much fuss could be generated by what basically amounts to a scruffy pile of broken stones (approx. three feet in diameter – aka the ‘Old Cloister’) and a slight dip or indentation in the ground (just to the left of the gate) which is apparently all that’s now left of the ‘Old Monk’s Latrine’(!).

      As I’m sure you can imagine, Shoshana and I have grown rather depressed and frustrated by this unsatisfactory legal situation, not least because our non-payment of council tax has allowed less sympathetic/imaginative members of the Burley Cross community²⁵ to accuse us of tight-fistedness and a lack of social/fiscal responsibility²⁶. Much of this unnecessary hostility (as you are probably no doubt already fully aware) centres around the disposal/collection of rubbish.

      The situation has recently developed to such a pitch of silliness and pettiness²⁷ that the local bin men have been persuaded²⁸ to ignore the black bin bags deposited outside our gate. This means that we are now obliged to skulk around like criminals at dawn on collection day, furtively distributing our bags among those piles belonging to other – marginally more sympathetic – properties in the local vicinity. Worse still, many of these sympathetic individuals – while perfectly happy to help us out – must live in