It all
started with a phone call to my husband, Brian, from the world-famous author,
Catherine Cookson. Brian, at that time, was the curator of Sir Peter Scott’s
charity, the Washington Wildfowl Park [north-east England – where the ancestors
of the American president hailed from]. We lived on site with 1200 rare
wildfowl – ducks, geese, swans and many more beautiful, endangered birds.
Catherine
said she had a problem and asked Brian if he could help her. She had two ducks
on her pond that she was very fond of, but they couldn’t seem to produce any
young, although they were a loving pair. Brian and his manager arranged to go
up to Catherine’s home to see if they could sort things out for her. This was
an opportunity I couldn’t miss, having been a fan of Catherine’s books from an
early age. I took a day off work and went with Brian and Ken, thinking that I
would, at the very least, get to meet this grand lady. It all turned out very
much more than any of us were expecting.
The Cookson’s
mansion house in Northumberland was surrounded by beautiful countryside and
there was a large lake that was home to the afore-mentioned ducks. Catherine and her husband, Tom, a lovely,
gentle man, welcomed us warmly – no sign of a servant anywhere, despite their
millionaire status. I expected to accompany Brian and Ken to the lake, but
no…Brian mentioned that I was a aspiring writer and would love to spend a
little time with Catherine. She was not only gracious enough to let me stay
with her in her cosy sitting room, where we talked non-stop for two hours and
found we had a lot in common. We had been born only a few miles apart, neither
of us knew our fathers, neither of us had children, and we were both artists as
well as writers. She took me to her studio to show me her paintings, which were
big, beautiful floral studies. Then she asked me if I would like to see her
office. As the men had returned by then,
they were also invited to join us up a winding iron staircase to her office – a
huge room filled with her books and as yet unpublished manuscripts.
But the news
about the ducks wasn’t good. They turned out to be two females, which made
Catherine laugh heartily. “Trust me to have two lesbian ducks!” she said. Brian
later provided the ducks with fertile eggs and a brood was happily hatched.
Job done, we
expected no more than a thank-you, but instead were invited to take afternoon
tea with Tom and Catherine – both tea and cake made by Tom himself. It was
obvious throughout our meeting that Tom adored his famous wife. It was an
unforgettable meeting and I left, totally inspired, with Catherine’s parting
advice: “You don’t always have to have a happy ending as long as you leave your
heroine with hope.”
As we left,
my husband stopped to admire a large painting on the hall wall. “Is that a real
Canaletto?” he asked and Catherine smiled and told him: “If it isn’t, I paid an
awful lot of money for it!”
As a thank-you
for Catherine’s hospitality on this occasion I painted a small portrait of a
fluffy duckling and she sent me a lovely letter of thanks, which I treasure to
this day. I later found out that my little duckling was hanging in her hall
next to the Canaletto.
Catherine
later donated rather a lot of money to the Washington Wildfowl Park which
allowed them to build a flamingo house and I suggested that we name the
flamingos after characters in Catherine’s books. She was delighted to hear
this.
Coincidentally,
some time later she phoned the Human Genetics Department in the hospital where
I worked as a medical PA and donated even more money to the research that was
going on there.
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