Frances Holme Scarlett, compared to Mrs Tiggywinkle, a twinkle in her eye, always good for a
humorous reminiscence; self-deprecating, but canny; was used to managing on very little money, of
which she, rather than her husband, seemed to be steward – possibly because he hadn't managed too
successfully in past times. Yorke was 18 monhs or so younger than Frances, who tended to mother
him, as he himself had been mothered by his own apparently rather ghastly mother.
Frances had good practical common sense, and also – rather improbably, one might say at first meeting
– a keen aesthetic sense. She spoke of loving the opera; and she clearly treasured old books, pictures
and particularly pieces of china and furniture. Not surprisingly, she had run an antique shop at
Fossebridge.
Frances appreciated pieces with a family connection, perhaps because she never knew either parents or
grandparents. She could be severe, fixing her beady eye on one and threatening a child whose
behaviour she disapproved of with her "hawny paw". But all friends and many relations she indulged
with affectionate smiles and a giggle. At her 80th birthday supper party at Sevenhampton Manor, many
nieces, nephews and their children gather round her, as if she was some Pied Piper.
Frances lived surrounded by memorabilia, which is another way of saying that er room was a terrific
muddle. Getting from one side to another was an arduous task. At her death, she left countless
unfinished letters, written in tiny illegible writing.
It would have been easy to write Frances off as a person of little significance. She was after all small
in stature, unattractively fat, intellectually pretty feeble on the face of it, seemingly feckless, clearly
pig-headed and slow. But there was an aspect of greatness about her – the warmth of her relationship
with Leo; her family feeling generally; the extent to which she was honoured by friends and family
during her lifetime and on her death; and her loyalty to old lodgers and friends of all backgrounds and
ages.
Frances never gave up in spite of many adversities, particularly physical ones. She expected to be able
to go on driving even when clearly past ever doing so again, when she could hardly move around
without her zimmer frame.
On the last morning of her life, Saturday 18th August 1990, she seemed to suffer a stroke, but refused to
allow the doctor to be called. I visited her room, where she lay in bed with the sweetest expression on
her face and said the kindest and most gentle things to me – in marked contrast to her normal behaviour
towards me (which was probably deservedly censorious). Later in the afternoon I was alone in the
house with the carer when I heard her trying to get out of bed to use her commode. She went to lean on
the table, which was one of those that reached over the bed, not designed for leaning on. She fell to the
floor, and died almost instantaneously. I left the carer in charge and drove up to the Andoversford
Flower Show, to fetch Caroline.
MMD
17/10/05