The Nibbler
How “The Nibbler” got its name
Lisette Keeble was in her 80’s when she died in 1996. A professional interior designer, she was a great friend and was responsible for the furnishing and decor of my office In New Street, Petworth, steering me away from all kinds of “unsuitable” notions in a kindly manner, “suggesting” an alternative then congratulating me on my wonderful idea, which of course was hers all along. She unwittingly coined the title The Nibbler. When I had tried to describe to her the proposed content of a monthly property list with snippets of news about our activities she said “oh, you mean a little nibbler”. The name was born. The monthly publication was well received at the time and even people who had bought property or moved away still asked to be kept on the mailing list, their card marked “Nibbler only”. Many years have passed but the memories linger on and I make no apology for reproducing some of the genuine incidents which have occurred over the years – and to which I shall add as time goes by. I hope you enjoy my memories.
The disadvantage of “position”
“With grounds bordering a spring-fed lake” is a description which conjurs up lazy days by the waterside enjoying the myriad of birds, fowl and dragon flies, not to mention water plants and surrounding trees. This lake had ducks. The ducks were friendly and enjoyed the attention given by the owner’s bread board. They would frequently trek up to the house to spare the occupants the trouble of the walk down to them. In the summer, with the doors open, in they came, waddling through the house to the main bedroom on the ground floor. Mrs X discovered on her white shag pile upwards of 20 ducks – in her words “those at the front were doing unmentionable things in brown and those behind were treading it in”
Mistaken identity
Removal day can be a fraught and terrifying experience and sometimes there is a delay but we felt really upset for Mrs H. She had moved out of her rented property that day. Her furniture was in store. The furniture van arrived, late. When they opened up and started taking out the furniture Mrs H exclaimed “that’s not mine!” The furniture belonged to another Mrs H. An urgent telephone call brought the promise of another lorry (loaded with her own furniture). It broke down. Mrs H did as well, and spent the night in an hotel courtesy of the removal firm.
Who’s a pretty boy then?
Imagine being shown round a monument to the Victorian era by three elderly sisters. Upstairs – “this is the main bedroom” – in the high bed with its brass head and foot rails, propped on pillows was a very elderly, frail gentleman asleep, with his mouth open. At first I thought he was dead. Then a shrill “who are you” made my blood curdle. The request was from the caged parrot in the corner.
Frozen in Time
A bulldog in a client's house stood motionless under the grand piano, one of the cats beside it. They get on well, I thought. It wasn't until the cat moved away that I realised the bulldog was stuffed. Apparently it had been discovered by the owner when he was converting the house and had been secreted away in the eaves area. As he stripped away the panelling he came face to face with the beast. It seems it took him a long time to recover.
Rain fails to stop play
A potentially splendid period house had been surveyed and the purchasers arrived for a further inspection, survey in hand. It was pouring with rain. "Yes" said the husband realistically, "we expected this" as he examined reported defects. As I pushed open the door of the main bedroom my heart sank. There on the wide window sill were ten ice cream cartons, each of which was being filled by water pouring in small torrents through the ceiling above. I reached for the smelling salts for the purchaser's wife. "Yes, we expected that" said the husband. I wasn't sure whether he referred to her reaction or the water curtain. They went ahead and purchased nonetheless.
Feeling the Heat
It was a baking hot summer's day when I proudly took one of the partners in the firm to meet a client who needed advice on planning. Her country house overlooked a substantial lawn and a lake. Large south facing picture windows took advantage of its prime position. Introductions made, we were shown in to the drawing room and our hostess/client closed the door behind her as she went off to make tea. The room was stiflingly hot, the picture windows and doors firmly closed and adding to our discomfort was a large number of Burmese cats who had clearly made this room their own - the smell was overpowering. I did my best to avoid my colleague's eye as he struggled in vain to open a window. Shortly our client returned with the tea tray. "No milk" she announced as she poured the tea, "but I've found some cream." Before we could resist, a generous spoonful was plopped into each cup - the greasy globules rising to form a skin. We explained that, sadly, we could not stay long on this occasion and after discussion her essential requirements we beat a hasty retreat, promising to put our recommendations in writing. "NEVER do that to me again" snapped my superior as soon as we got in the car.
Snow Sues
The previous owner of the mansion I was to sell, got her money from linoleum - out of it, not under it. Part of her garden was laid out in the design of the most popular pattern. In the 1930s it is said that she would sue the council when the road to the estate was blocked by snow if guests to her winter house parties had to be put up after their formal invitation had expired. Among the architectural features was a double cantilever staircase (we were told there are only two in the country) just perfect for making a grand entrance.