Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale
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| Waltergarth. |
Wet. A long drive from Winchester to Horton-in-Ribblesdale consumed the whole of the day. Samuel was remarkably good and sat in the car without so much as a murmur for the whole journey. Up the wet M1 to Leeds, through Guiseley, Skipton, and finally dear old Waltergarth was reached. We ate cheese and bread. Samuel slept soundly after his long journey. We sat tonight and helped Dad write letters in response to the many messages of sympathy he has received from family and friends. I sat and read them all. A tearful experience. Messages from Gerald Werrett, Martin O'Neill , Uncle Arnold, Dorothy, &c. All touching. A letter from Uncle Bert too. He became the grandfather of twin girls recently. I did the writing, dictated by Dad, sat next to a blazing fire. Dad couldn't bring himself to write anything and was appreciative of my efforts. We were working until after 12. You can almost see and hear Mum about the place. How the old china cabinet used to rattle as she thundered past in that busy, happy manner. Happy ghosts everywhere.
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