In My Own Time

by Jeremy Thorpe

  The operation takes a minimum of three hours and is carried out under a local anaesthetic with the patient fully conscious. A hole is drilled in the skull and a dye is injected for the purpose of taking X-rays of the brain, and individual cells are electrically stimulated to ensure that the right cells are destroyed. However, the operation carries certain dangers. If the wrong cells are attacked, this could involve bleeding, possibly leading to a stroke. It could also possibly cause blindness.

  The Swedish neurosurgeon Lauri Laitinen has carried out more than 400 pallidotomies and claims definite benefits, lasting for years. British reaction is more cautious. The Institute of Neurology in London is carrying out a long-term trial involving six patients a year, whilst Mr Carl Meyer is carrying out a number of pallidotomies at Smethwick. He also claims a good measure of success.

  Another line of research is the pacemaker, involving the fitting of an electrode into the globus pallidus of the brain through the neck. This is controlled by a ‘power pack’, i.e. a pulse generator containing a battery. This is fitted inside the chest. A computer unit is placed on the skin next to the power pack to control the electrical impulses which stimulate and control the diseased area of the brain. The battery needs replacing every five years. The operation is long and can take up to eight hours for one side of the brain; it is expensive and probably involves bilateral devices to act on both sides of the body. This procedure still needs further research.

  Much dedicated research is going on, particularly in Sweden, America and the UK. I am confident that a cure will be found, and I hope that it will be sooner rather than later!

  North Devon

  North Devon is one of the most beautiful and varied areas in the world. It includes part of Exmoor; the rugged coastline of Lynton and Hartland; the golden beaches of Saunton and Woolacombe; the seaside resort of Ilfracombe and the market town of South Molton; the unspoilt inland villages and the dramatic meeting point of the Taw and Torridge rivers.

  It continues to be a great joy to find friends in every town, village and hamlet whom I have known and worked with over the years. The forty-five years in which I have been associated with North Devon are a large part of my life. Certainly I should never wish to leave North Devon for anywhere else. It is home.

  Landkey Stores and Sub-Post Office

  At a Liberal ‘do’ in Landkey, North Devon, in the autumn of 1966, the question of who had been where and when for their annual holidays came up. I asked my friend Leslie Farrell, the Landkey sub-postmaster, whether he was going on vacation. ‘I am not, I can’t’, was the uncompromising reply. It turned out that he felt there was a security problem involved and that it was almost impossible to find anyone who would take on the responsibility of running the post office and store while he was away. On almost every occasion that sub-postmasters had attended a national conference there was on average at least one sub-post office burgled. He said to me by way of a challenge: ‘Will you take over and run the store?’ I rashly and immediately said: ‘Yes, provided you and your wife go away together for a holiday’. The deal was agreed.

  In the course of the next few days I happened by chance to see Tony Benn, then Postmaster-General, in the Members’ Lobby, and thought he would be interested to hear my proposal. Indeed he was, and an hour later telephoned me to say that there were problems if I took on the responsibility of acting as a sub-postmaster. I would be holding an office of profit under the Crown and as such could be unseated, thereby plunging my constituency into a by-election! The only solution would be for me to run the shop with the assistance of a retired sub-postmaster – if a willing candidate could be found – one of whose main functions every morning would be to change the date stamp. I learnt that if the date stamp was stolen it would enable unscrupulous people to validate a vast number of stolen but undated postal orders. The stamp might also be used to pre-date football pools coupons, arguing that the date marked was proof of their posting dates. Otherwise there were no objections about running the shop. Fortunately, a willing retired sub-postmaster was found, and we were back in business.

  Our day started at 5.40 a.m. when the post arrived for sorting and collection by the postman for delivery. We opened to the public at 9 a.m. The village store is a wonderful meeting place, although It is now under threat from competition from the supermarkets. I found it most instructive to learn about people’s shopping habits. I also discovered that one or two people postponed withdrawing their old age pensions until after I had left, out of a sense of embarrassment lest I should learn that they were of pensionable age!

  The takings were roughly the same as average, which I thought was a good sign and showed that it was business as usual. I was also of course a sitting duck, as Jehovah’s Witnesses discovered who came to convert me!

  It was a highly enjoyable week and a valuable experience. The Farrells returned with their batteries recharged to resume administration of my Landkey emporium.

  Lundy

  In the spring of 1969, the Harman family announced that with great regret they had to sell Lundy, the remote island off the north coast of Devon in the Bristol Channel. From that moment, differing rumours spread like wildfire. First, it was suggested that it might turn into a Butlins-type holiday camp; next, that a local syndicate was to be formed to run a casino, and last but not least, that the scientologists would make it their headquarters.

  Lundy is renowned for being totally unspoilt and I took the view that it must be rescued. Accordingly, I approached the late Peter Mills, then MP for Torrington, in whose constituency it fell. I also approached David Owen, then MP for Devonport. I suggested that we form a three-man all-party team to launch an appeal to raise the necessary funds to purchase Lundy for the nation. They both readily agreed. The first step was to approach the National Trust and ask whether they would launch an appeal. They said, quite fairly, that there was limit to the number of appeals they could launch but if we three MPs launched the appeal and were successful, they would accept ownership of the island and all that that implied.

  Shortly after the news of the intended sale of Lundy broke, John Smith, then MP for City of London & Westminster and founder of the Landmark Trust, made contact and asked whether we would be interested in having the Landmark Trust take a full repairing lease of the island. Needless to say, we were delighted.

  John Smith, shortly afterwards, took Mills, Owen and myself over by helicopter. His wife confided in me that what had finally hooked John was the Georgian fog cannon on the west side of the island!

  On the strength of this development we launched the appeal to the nation, and received helpful coverage in the press. A few days later Jack Hayward, a philanthropist living in the Bahamas, rang my flat in London at about midnight while I was still at the House of Commons. He said he would ring back in half an hour and Caroline passed on the message.

  The call duly came through and Hayward asked what our intentions about ownership were. I told him that we wanted to buy Lundy and vest the ownership in the National Trust, and prior to this John Smith MP of the Landmark Trust was interested in taking a full repairing lease of the island. Hayward mentioned that he was a neighbour of Smith’s in Sussex and this was welcome news. ‘How much is being asked? £100,000?’ asked Hayward, ‘£150,000’, I replied. ‘I’ll buy it’, said Hayward. ‘Where shall I send the cheque?’ I promptly rang John Smith to tell him the news; he said: ‘A promise from Jack Hayward is as safe as the Bank of England’. The cheque came through two days later.

  The National Trust were anxious to give a press release. I was opposed to this since I felt that the announcement of the purchase of Lundy for the nation should be the launching pad for a new appeal for £75,000, which was needed for immediate repairs. Over and above this, the Landmark Trust would meet the cost of other repairs, and on the expiry of their lease would help to raise an endowment fund, to spare the National Trust further calls on their resources. We moved very fast: Major-General Fergus Ling was appointed to run the appeal and did a
superb job. Rio Tinto Zinc gave us free office space and we were off.

  There was a slight hiccup before completion. The National Trust indicated that the cost of the livestock had not been included in the total. This amounted to £12,000. Would Hayward meet the increased amount? I replied that I was sure that he would, but that it would be wholly wrong to make a further approach to him; nor would it be popular to launch an additional appeal, since we were launching an appeal, in any event, for immediate repairs. The Trust must meet the sum involved out of their own reserves – and this they did.

  To mark the transfer of ownership to the National Trust, a thanksgiving service took place at St Helena’s Church on the island. Campbell Steamers had to work overtime bringing literally hundreds of well-wishers from the mainland. The church was not large enough for them all and so the Bishop of Crediton (Wilfred Westall) decided to give the blessing from the steps of the church. The weather was magical and one could see the coastlines of South Wales, North Somerset, North Devon and North Cornwall.

  Recently, £40,000 was donated to repair and re-hang the church bells at St Helena’s, which for decades had remained silent. They now ring out over the Bristol Channel, after a dedication service by the Bishop of Crediton in October 1994.

  From the mainland, Lundy is eleven miles from Hartland, twenty-three from Ilfracombe and twenty-five from Bideford. The island is a quarter of a mile wide and three and a half miles in length. It has a magic of its own, which is enhanced by the hazards of reaching it by often very rough seas. The granite rocks (which were used to build the Embankment in London) have taken their poundings from the Atlantic Ocean. The sea in fine weather can be a translucent blue, and the waters around the island are now a marine park. The countryside is totally unspoilt. At the time of the handover, the population consisted of ten permanent residents and six lighthouse keepers in the two lighthouses.

  I remember on one visit seeing a head and shoulders appear as if from nowhere. The intrepid climber looked familiar, and suddenly the penny dropped – it was Lord Hunt of Everest doing some practise climbs!

  The island has had a long and fascinating history. First references date back to the twelfth century, when Jordan de Marisco and his family inhabited the island and built Marisco Castle. Lundy was one of the last places to surrender in the Civil War to the Parliamentarians. Much involved during this period was Thomas Bushell, who had been in the household of the Lord Chancellor, Sir Francis Bacon. Bushell mined silver in Combe Martin and South Wales and minted money to pay the King’s army. Lord Saye and Sele claimed the island, backed by the Parliamentarians. Bushell agreed to surrender, provided he obtain the written authority of King Charles II in exile, and provided also that he was given an immunity for the garrison under his command, of approximately twenty-two in number. He also asked for the right to carry on mining his silver mines. A package was agreed.

  Another character was Thomas Benson, a Bideford merchant. In 1746 he became Sheriff of Devon and in 1747 was elected MP for the Borough of Barnstaple. He leased Lundy from Lord Gower around 1750. He obtained the contract to transport convicts to the American colonies. In fact he landed them on Lundy and put them to work as slave labour, building many of the walls that still stand. A boatload of convicts escaped and landed at Clovelly. Benson was sued for breach of contract and successfully ran the defence that his obligation was to take the convicts overseas and that by landing them on Lundy he had fulfilled his contract, thereby winning the day.

  A less successful activity of Benson was to load a ship, the Nightingale, bound for Virginia with a valuable cargo of linen and pewter. He landed the cargo on Lundy, gave orders for the ship to be burnt and then proceeded to claim the insurance. This time he faced prosecution for fraud but before the High Sheriff arrived to arrest him, Benson took a ship at Plymouth bound for Portugal, where he stayed. The captain and first mate of the Nightingale were hanged and others were imprisoned or transported.

  The island was bought in 1834 by William Hudson Heaven. He built Millcombe House and the road leading up the cliff from the landing beach. His son, the Reverend Hudson Grosett Heaven, built the church of St Helena in 1896. Not surprisingly, the island was dubbed I the Kingdom of Heaven! A centenary service was held in the church in 1997, at which the Bishop of Exeter preached.

  Martin Coles Harman bought the island in 1925. In 1929 he produced his own coinage – one puffin and a half-puffin, which appeared on one side of the coin, with his head on the other. Fifty thousand coins of each of the two denominations were minted by the Birmingham Mint. He was tried at Bideford Petty Sessions for unlawfully issuing a piece of metal as a token of money under Section 5 of the Coinage Act of 1870. His defence was that Lundy was outside the jurisdiction of the mainland, although it was a dominion territory of George V. He was found guilty and fined £5 plus costs. He appealed to the King’s Bench Division, where the decision of the magistrates was upheld. Puffinage can be bought as tokens but not as legal tender.

  Lundy stamps are still lawfully issued and since the Royal Mail does not deliver mail to the island the stamps serve as a receipt for the cost of transporting the mail to and from the mainland. The proviso is that the stamps are on the back of the envelope or the left-hand corner of the postcard so as not to compete with the Queen. This compromise on stamps may be an indicator of how best to play the issue on the European currency!

  Codden Hill

  The west side of Codden Hill adjoins the village of Bishops Tawton. It climbs eastwards to the highest point, which is known as Codden Beacon. It was probably one of a string of beacons crossing the country to be lit as a warning of a Napoleonic invasion. It is generally thought that the mound itself at the top of the hill was a Bronze Age burial ground. The mound is 629 ft above sea level and one gets an uninterrupted view of a full 360 degrees. On a clear day one can see Exmoor, Dartmoor and, forty-four miles away, Bodmin Moor in Cornwall; also the island of Lundy, twenty-two miles out in the Bristol Channel – the lighthouses and church are clearly visible.

  Prior to 1970 the beacon was in an appalling state: rusty, with broken-down wire fencing, an abandoned lookout post, an unsightly concrete plinth which served as a trig point and a variety of dumped rubbish. After one visit to the site, Caroline and I decided that one day we would try to buy the site and tidy it up, so that it could be enjoyed by the public. She died in a road accident in June 1970 when we had been married for twenty-five months. I determined that I would create a permanent memorial to her on Codden.

  There was one man who I knew would design something worthy of Caroline and worthy of the Hill: Clough Williams-Ellis, of Port Meirion fame. He had designed Lloyd George’s grave at Llanystumdwy, and the Lloyd George stone in Westminster Abbey Clough readily agreed. Negotiations began with ministries, councils, Royal Ordnance Survey people and surrounding farmers – the latter being unusually complicated, since the tenure on which Codden Hill was held was a pre-1925 settlement, and therefore three different parties jointly and severally enjoyed title. However, the owners could not have been more helpful, although one of them, Bert Verney, had, I thought, some reservation. Fortunately he raised it: his brother used to ride his horse over Codden Hill. He had been killed in the RAF during the war. The family had always wanted to erect some memorial to him, and still hoped that they might be able to do so. I suggested that they should incorporate their tribute with mine, and I would ask Williams-Ellis, one of the leading landscape artists alive, to design something which would blend with our plans. Additionally, Michael Ramsey, then Archbishop of Canterbury, had agreed to conduct the dedication service, and again, we could join forces. Bert was delighted. Clough designed a handsome stone seat on the far side of the monument.

  What I find moving is that these two young people, who had both died in their prime, should now share pride of place on Codden Hill.

  The monument has taken the form of a column, which grows out of a circular stone seat and is crowned by a sculptured flame, all in Portland stone. The
seat of the column was to rest on a base of cobblestones from the shore at Clovelly, appropriately by courtesy of Asquith’s granddaughter. The site is completed by a circle of stone slabs, indicating in which direction one is looking and the places involved. The Portland stone is glistening white, and came from the same quarries from which the stone to build St Paul’s Cathedral was supplied.

  Round the column is a collar in stone, recording the names of the craftsmen who had been involved in building the project.

  The day of the dedication in December 1971 was misty, and one did not get the full view. But one had the feeling of being up in the clouds, on top of the world. The service itself was taken by the Archbishop, assisted by the Bishop of Crediton, Wilfred Westall, both of whom had married us in the chapel at Lambeth Palace. Also present was my old friend Subdean Andrews of Chittlehampton.

  I was lent an aeroplane which flew Michael and Joan Ramsey from Canterbury via North Wales to North Devon, picking up in Wales Lady Olwen Carey-Evans (Lloyd George’s surviving daughter) and Clough and Annabel Williams-Ellis. The return journey was in reverse order. I noticed that Michael and Clough arrived with identical suitcases. I didn’t give it another thought – but disaster! Clough opened his suitcase when he got home, to find that he had the Archbishop’s vestments, bible, prayer book, notes for a sermon and several letters. When he reached Canterbury, Michael found Clough’s yellow stockings and breeches, his famous hat and plans and drawings. Secretaries, chaplains, wives, all made the telephone red-hot, and in due course an appropriate exchange was made. I apologised to Michael when I next saw him, and indeed to Clough. Michael’s eyebrows started to twitch in their inimitable way, and he said: ‘Don’t bother, don’t apologise. I could use all Clough’s things walking around Canterbury, but I had very great difficulty in visualising Clough scaling Snowdon in my vestments!’