Leaving The Crown, we drove to the vicarage to pick up the keys to Holy
Trinity church from the Rev. Mike Bisset. At the time, it was clear that I had
much to learn, and the significance of what I was about to see was frankly lost
to me, only becoming more meaningful as I later unpicked the story of the Le
Rossignols in Penn. But here in this church, which had stood for almost
1000 years, were the echoes of controversial and quarrelsome vicars, of
contentious interments, of dubious family connections, of the lives of those of
high birth together with the baptisms, weddings and burials of ordinary
mortals long forgotten. The church too was the place where the Rev.
Muspratt practiced his art of extravagant celebrations for more than forty
years and looking around, somewhere amongst these pews, on occasions,
Robert Le Rossignol would have sat, seeing precisely what I saw that day.
Christopher was particularly keen to show me the graveyard—in which two
plots were reserved for himself and his wife(!)—and using the graveyard ‘map’
inside the church together with knowledge of Robert’s wish to be cremated,
4
we were able to discount Holy Trinity as the resting place for his ashes. But at
the time exactly ‘where’ these were, remained a mystery.
From the church we crossed the road to the flatlets, and walking down the
same path that Robert did on that opening day forty-five years ago, they still
looked as fresh, ‘smart’ and as ‘right for Penn’ as the day they were built.
Reaching the main entrance Christopher navigated the security system—a
feature of the original design—and we passed into the main entrance hall with
its long viewing gallery looking out over the Buckinghamshire hills
(Plate 19.2).
Unexpectedly, I found the hallway dominated by a portrait of the Rev.
Muspratt in full ecclesiastical ‘garb’, instantly imposing—for me at least—a
dimension of Anglican faith to the place and which I later discovered was
maybe not in keeping with the non-denominational spirit of the Le Rossignol
gift.
5 Learning too of the flamboyance of the Reverend, I later came to regard
the portrait as another exercise in self aggrandizement, but nothing could be
further from the truth as Christopher once again enlightened me. After the
death of his wife Margaret, local resident Vera Allen kept house for him at the
Vicarage. They later married and in a curious twist, the couple moved into
Penn Mead flatlets together, later moving again to Morgannwg House in
Brecon (mid Wales) to be closer to Vera’s family. Oscar died there on 08
March 2000 being interred at Holy Trinity alongside Margaret, but later (in
2002), Vera suggested that a portrait of Oscar be hung at Penn Mead in
recognition of his inspiration and as a founder. The portrait was therefore
Vera’s choice, and for me a classic example of ‘give a dog a bad name…’!
504
D. Sheppard
Trinity church from the Rev. Mike Bisset. At the time, it was clear that I had
much to learn, and the significance of what I was about to see was frankly lost
to me, only becoming more meaningful as I later unpicked the story of the Le
Rossignols in Penn. But here in this church, which had stood for almost
1000 years, were the echoes of controversial and quarrelsome vicars, of
contentious interments, of dubious family connections, of the lives of those of
high birth together with the baptisms, weddings and burials of ordinary
mortals long forgotten. The church too was the place where the Rev.
Muspratt practiced his art of extravagant celebrations for more than forty
years and looking around, somewhere amongst these pews, on occasions,
Robert Le Rossignol would have sat, seeing precisely what I saw that day.
Christopher was particularly keen to show me the graveyard—in which two
plots were reserved for himself and his wife(!)—and using the graveyard ‘map’
inside the church together with knowledge of Robert’s wish to be cremated,
4
we were able to discount Holy Trinity as the resting place for his ashes. But at
the time exactly ‘where’ these were, remained a mystery.
From the church we crossed the road to the flatlets, and walking down the
same path that Robert did on that opening day forty-five years ago, they still
looked as fresh, ‘smart’ and as ‘right for Penn’ as the day they were built.
Reaching the main entrance Christopher navigated the security system—a
feature of the original design—and we passed into the main entrance hall with
its long viewing gallery looking out over the Buckinghamshire hills
(Plate 19.2).
Unexpectedly, I found the hallway dominated by a portrait of the Rev.
Muspratt in full ecclesiastical ‘garb’, instantly imposing—for me at least—a
dimension of Anglican faith to the place and which I later discovered was
maybe not in keeping with the non-denominational spirit of the Le Rossignol
gift.
5 Learning too of the flamboyance of the Reverend, I later came to regard
the portrait as another exercise in self aggrandizement, but nothing could be
further from the truth as Christopher once again enlightened me. After the
death of his wife Margaret, local resident Vera Allen kept house for him at the
Vicarage. They later married and in a curious twist, the couple moved into
Penn Mead flatlets together, later moving again to Morgannwg House in
Brecon (mid Wales) to be closer to Vera’s family. Oscar died there on 08
March 2000 being interred at Holy Trinity alongside Margaret, but later (in
2002), Vera suggested that a portrait of Oscar be hung at Penn Mead in
recognition of his inspiration and as a founder. The portrait was therefore
Vera’s choice, and for me a classic example of ‘give a dog a bad name…’!
504
D. Sheppard