Stories from Southlands Hotel, by Iris Ansell: 5. Mr Punyverse
Iris Ansell, who as a volunteer at Fairlynch Museum looked after
the Costume Department, recalls more memorable moments from her
time as proprietor of Southlands Hotel in Budleigh Salterton. This is one of a series of her recollections, and ends on a sad note.
Usually I write about guests at the Hotel; this time it is about a member of staff.
Henry – not
his real name – was brought by his wife to enquire if we had any jobs going in
the garden. As it happened, our gardener had retired and so we had a vacancy.
Southlands Hotel in its heyday on Marine Parade, Budleigh
Henry was 62 years old, could neither read nor write, never spoke – although he could – but smiled and laughed all day. He had lived with his elderly parents all his life, never had a job, just worked in his beloved garden.
When his parents died, he found himself not only on his own but homeless as well. A widowed neighbour took him under her wing, and before Henry realised what was happening, he found himself a married man with a family to support, very bewildered and terrified of the three-times widowed ‘wife’.
As indeed we all were, when on a Friday morning she came to collect Henry’s wages. Her voice could be heard booming across the garden, heard by most of Marine Parade too. But Henry was nowhere to be found; he had jumped over the wall and was hiding in Madeira Walk, waiting for the coast to be clear.
Henry had
green fingers. He transformed our terraced garden in a few short months into a
flourishing vegetable patch, supplying the kitchen every morning with a selection
of beautiful fresh vegetables. He did the harvesting of them, not liking anyone
else to touch his garden.
All the shrubs took on a new lease of life. His sweet peas, which he grew alongside his runner beans, staked in the same way, had the longest stems, the largest flowers, and would scent a room for a week. He also planted a swathe of daffodils in the front garden, which earned us a 1st prize in ‘Britain in Bloom’.
All the shrubs took on a new lease of life. His sweet peas, which he grew alongside his runner beans, staked in the same way, had the longest stems, the largest flowers, and would scent a room for a week. He also planted a swathe of daffodils in the front garden, which earned us a 1st prize in ‘Britain in Bloom’.
His summer
attire, whatever the temperature, was a white vest several sizes too large,
tucked into baggy navy blue shorts. He was of slight build, about 5’ 4” with
stick-thin arms and legs with size 12 boots. The boys in the kitchen called him
‘Mr Punyverse’, which Henry found hilarious. His winter garb was also bizarre:
over large trousers, held up by garden twine, naval jumpers topped by a
buttonless army greatcoat and a balaclava.
A sketch of Henry by Iris Ansell, who is a member of Budleigh Salterton Art Club
When it was too cold or wet to work in the garden the chef would find him some work to do in the kitchen, usually pot washing, and in a few days we had rows of gleaming pots looking like new. Henry worked a five-day week, and spent the weekends working on his garden at home, and trying to keep out of his wife’s way.
When it was too cold or wet to work in the garden the chef would find him some work to do in the kitchen, usually pot washing, and in a few days we had rows of gleaming pots looking like new. Henry worked a five-day week, and spent the weekends working on his garden at home, and trying to keep out of his wife’s way.
One Monday,
he didn’t arrive for work, which was strange, as he usually came very early,
and had to be made to go home when it was dark; he just didn’t want to go home.
By the
afternoon, I was worried, but at almost 4.00 pm, Henry’s wife came and told us
that he had suffered a heart attack on the Saturday and sadly died. ‘And was he entitled to any holiday money?’
she asked.
We were all
very shocked and sad, but knew that Henry had enjoyed his two years with us and
that we had given him sanctuary away from ‘the wife’.
The previous
Southlands Hotel story was told at
The next story by Iris is 6. 'The Wrong Emmanuel' and can be read at
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