Wednesday 1st July 2015

I’ve been in Vienna as well as Sales Shopping. But I was worked so hard in Vienna by Rufus Pitman and Reggie Cresswell I never got near my blog machine. Anthony Mottram, who has been with me since 1970, with considerable estrangements, came down from Prague, or rather up from Budapest where he had been bicycling. What times we had! Such discoveries! Such roccoco. Such Expressionism, such Baroque, such Klimt. Such memories! What cakes and coffee confections! As well as an incredibly rare dinner. And Sisi – who I’d never heard of before. How I longed for her. She was the last but one Empress. We were there for Harry Rollo’s perf. He’s conquered Vienna now which nobody has done for years. Oh, I’ve so much to tell…

But first, yesterday Mrs Nevil, Robert Nevil’s Gay Mother, was laid to rest, now gone from this Earth. Her funeral was yesterday. I drove in the Official Car with Xenon driving lights. Joshua Baring was my suite. He wore round sunglasses by Cutler and Gross and looked incredibly young with the most perfect skin. Mrs Nevil’s funeral was at 12 noon. The church bells tolled and 150 plus attended. You cannot imagine a more right funeral, both modern and traditional. The coffin was festooned with meadow flowers spilling over. Mrs Nevil was a countrywoman. She lived for almost 60 years in wide, low country between hills with huge skies and big views in England’s mid-west. In life she was rolled round with the seasons, yet indomitably present, winning prizes for extraordinary horse expertise, founding a stud, having an excellent seat on a horse, planting hedges, roaring along the roads in the Jaguar. In death the same. The tribute was composed by her son and daughter, carefully cataloguing her activities and achievements in a solid way not normally seen and so important to do. Yes, she was someone. Her seat was admired by international champions in her field. Then the hymn was announced. ‘We Plough the Fields and Scatter.’  I could hardly get through it. So simple and touching and humble. The words maybe are naive but the spirit of them is the vastness of Nature and one thought of all the generations working the land and living on it and finally disappearing into it and Mrs Nevil herself, although with children and husband, but in that big, open place with the huge sky all around. The second hymn was ‘For the beauty of the earth’ – again I could hardly get through it. The service was concluded by the Canon in the traditional manner, thundering the solemnity of death. Then the triumphant floral coffin was borne forth from the Church, followed by the family. Later, at the wake, I learned that Mrs Nevil, only moments before her death as it turned out, had been seen by her son-in-law standing in her garden, surveying the scene.