What a month...

As I slump into an arm chair and reach for a bottle of chilled water amidst the inferno that is the 40 degree city of Dubbo, I reflect on what a strained month it has been. A month of highs and lows, of days where I've felt energized and dynamic and days when I've felt worn down and tired.

Willoughby's death is still keenly painful, as the reality slowly sinks in. Thank you to all those who sent their kind condolences.

The building project, as almost all large builds do, is spiraling over time and over budget despite a sterling effort on the part of all involved with the project to keep things on track. Several containers of building materials, inc stone, cornicing, domes, and cupolas have taken months longer to arrive than anticipated, as have the windows and kitchen, which means that there has not been a lot that the builders could do without them on site. We are now looking at a shift in date of January/February, opening for business in April; and the chapel is in peril due to budget over-runs.

But it's not been all bad news. I received a promotion at work, to Deputy Director, which had me elated for several days, because it was sure recognition of all the effort I have put in over the last two years.

Tonight I flew back home to NZ, flying close to Willowbrook as we came in to land at Hamilton...

The green makes a nice change from the views out of the plane window leaving Dubbo...

Peter will be coming over to Dubbo this year for Christmas. So he shall get to enjoy the sweltering desert in the height of summer. I shall be back in NZ again for my birthday in January. Hopefully we will be able to celebrate it in the manor. I will share some more pictures of the progress when I get back to Dubbo.

Willoughby Lord Cowell 2004-2014

It is with much sadness and heavy hearts that today Peter and I said good bye to our little hound, Willoughby. He had been battling lung cancer for the past few months and finally breathed his last this afternoon, passing away peacefully in Peter's arms at home.

W.L.C. 22 March 2004 - 19 November 2014

We first knew he had cancer of the right lower lung a few months ago when he started to have coughing fits. Peter took him to the hospital where they did some imaging to confirm the diagnosis. We were told that he wouldn't see another Christmas. 

The Story of Willoughby

Willoughby, born Timbavati Krugerrand , was whelped on the 22nd of March 2004.

The runt of the litter, he was the only one left when we picked him up aged 5 months old. He was a neurotic little puppy, being scared of going up and down steps he could see through, hot air balloons, chandeliers, almost anything which floated. But we soon found that the answer to almost everything was ham. Yes, his motivation was his stomach and there was almost nothing he wouldn't do for a slice of ham. That is how we taught him to swim, and that is how we coaxed him out from under the house every year during the annual Hamilton International Hot Air Balloon Festival.

Above: Willoughby the day we brought him home. 

He used to howl for hours when I left the house, and always be waiting by the front door for me when I got home. I didn't believe Peter when he told me that Willoughby made such a racket upon my departure, until Peter took a video to prove it. But this runt slowly became rehabilitated in the lifestyle to which all hounds aspire to become accustomed.

Below: His first hike into the mountains.

Eventually he grew into a confident, handsome teenaged hound, not scared to cross even a wobbly hanging bridge...

 Above and Below: Willoughby sunning himself in the garden.

Being a beagle, he wouldn't always stay in the garden. Oh no, he discovered how to climb trees and jump fences. At least he used to follow my scent, and come to the hospital (a 15 minute walk away). Everyone there got to know him, and one kindly matron used to hide him in her office until I had finished my shift (let's not contemplate the infection control issues, just the smiles he brought to the children bed-bound in the paediatric orthopaedic ward).

Such handsome profiles!

When he was about '30' we got him a brother, Spencer...

You can tell which brother was the laid back one and which was trouble!

The two were inseparable most of the time, although Willoughby, being older, had grown out of exploring. He was happy to stay in the yard if Spencer escaped. Spencer's escapades were to be his ultimate downfall, and so it became just the three of us again.

 Willoughby was an inquisitive hound...

 always eager to make new friends...

Not high maintenance, just happy to relax under dads' hats...

Always around, a faithful friend, whether you were covering the citrus in frost cloth...

 ... or trimming the hedges... 

 or reading in the study... 

We were so looking forward to Willoughby padding around the manor, it seems cruel that he will never lie in his basket by the hearth in the new study, or bound down the stairs when the door bell rings. We won't know if the pasta's al dente without our chief pasta tester, and we will have to vacuum the floor if we drop cake on it. Life will just not be the same for our little family, now there are just two of us for the first time in over a decade. But you will never be far from our memory, our faithful companion...

I think that this is how I shall remember you. Happy and warm, waiting for your tummy to be rubbed...

 Goodbye my friend.

We'll gather lilacs...

I was listening recently to Kirsty Young interview Sir Roy Strong (previous director of the National Portrait Gallery and V&A Museum) on Desert Island Discs, and was interested in one of his choices being an excerpt from Ivor Novello's King's Rhapsody. He said he loved the smaltzy romantic style of the Novello operetta.

Above: Mr Ivor Novello

I can remember first discovering and being captivated by Ivor Novello's music when Gosford Park was released in 2002. I was in London and spending Christmas with Peter, having met him less than a month before. He suggested that we watch a recently released movie while dinner was cooking. We watched Gosford Park, and along with the amazing set, costumes, and outstanding cast, was Jeremy Northam's portrayal of the young Ivor Novello.

The sweeping melodies of "Land of might have been", "Waltz of my heart", "I can give you the starlight", and the more comical "And her mother came too" were my foray into this nostalgic world of my grandparent's time.

There was clearly more Novello out there to be had, I decided after Sir Roy's interview, so I went in search of it and I came across a BBC Proms concert from 2012 celebrating the life and works of Novello. The 90 minute affair was narrated by Simon Callow, who led One on a journey of Mr Novello's life - I was not aware (although hardly surprised) that the Welsh songsmith (originally David Ivor Davies) was gay and had a partner of some 35 years, the actor Bobbie Andrews. The orchestra, along with soprano Sophie Bevan and tenor Toby Spence, performed many opuses unknown to me, but very popular in their day. One I had heard of was "We'll gather lilacs (in the Spring)".

Having enjoyed the song I reflected - why haven't We lilacs to gather this Spring? So I decided to do something about it…

Lilacs (Syringa vulgaris) are a fragrant flowering member of the Olive family, which although a native of the Bulkan mountains, are thought of as being very English. They were introduced to the British Isles sometime in the 16th century. 

They come in an array of colours, from white and cream to pink, purple and blue...

We have decided to plant a thicket of them in Little Hollows, the name we have given to the southwest corner of the garden. We've chosen the cultivar Katherine Havemeyer, a lavender flower fading to pink:

When I pick them I shall think of the Ivor Novello song, We'll gather lilacs...

We'll gather lilacs in the Spring again,

And walk together down an English lane,

Until our hearts have learnt to sing again,

When you come home once more.

And in the evening by the firelight's glow

You'll hold me close and never let me go,

Your eyes will tell me all I long to know,

When you come home once more.

from Perchance to dream, by Ivor Novello.

Ivor's ashes are interred beneath a lilac bush at Golders Green Crematorium.