28 November 2007


Whilst looking through some papers, I found this old photograph of my ancestral home, Montherlant. From birth I occupied several rooms on the top floor. My nanny's quarters were downstairs. I recall playing tennis in the halls and keeping a family of ducks in a spare room. Amongst the fine paintings and threadbare Persian rugs, I enacted elaborate battles using a collection of toy soldiers. Built in 1702, the estate featured a spacious network of gardens and fish ponds, which, for me, were by far the principal attraction of the place. I have fond memories of exploring the stands of oak trees and flower beds with my pet Greek tortoise, Toby. But it was not to last. When I was still quite young, due to a set of adverse circumstances, as I have previously related here, I was sent away from Montherlant to live with my mother's relative. Montherlant, however, continues to play a significant role in my recollections of the past. In my reveries I imagine my toy soldiers are still in formation and Toby is still keeping watch amongst the oaks, awaiting my return.


Anonymous said...

that looks like Pemberley. are you sure your name is not Mr. Darcy?

Mark T said...

I'm new to your blog, thanks to your drole comments on The Sartorialist, and I must say I greatly appreciate your sense of humour. In fact your posts put me in mind of the BBC TV series Ripping Yarns (best episode: Across The Andes by Frog). With a bit of Evelyn Waugh thrown in, of course. I will be back. In the meantime, I have a port to decant. Enjoy the festive season at your stately pile.

biglakestyle said...

It is 8 degrees and another blizzard here in a deserted Lake Michigan beach town so stumbled upon you in The Sartorialist; you are the last person I'd expect to find in Laguna Beach; I thought all LA area traditionalists were banished to Pasadena