It was my intention to maintain a dignified silence in the face of the salacious speculation regarding the true domicile of Mr Asquith. However yesterday I received a phone call which has changed matters somewhat.
It was from the head gardener Smykes, now this dear old man has never in eight decades mastered the use of telephonic apparatus. However he had walked the twelve miles to the local post office where the post mistress assisted him to contact me.
"Sur, I've 'eard the Young Master baint be liven at the Towers no more. They say it ain't really 'is. What shall 'appen to the missus and I? It's awful hard to lose our cottage at our age, and me as served the family, man and boy these many years."
the estate cottages
Well I must confess a manly tear rose to my eye. It was with shaking voice that I was able to reassure the dear old man.
"Well, bless my soul," he sighed when finally I explained the ways of the modern world to him. " Thank the lord that old Mr Asquith baint be ere to see it. E'd larn they buggers." he added with touch of asperity.
Old Mr Asquith, the family likeness is remarkable.
As a result I have resolved not to use any more of my private photo collection of Asquith Towers. Little did I think when I attempted to raise the tone of this blog of the tragic consequences so narrowly averted. Nevertheless I have added some final photos to this post that should put the issue beyond any shade of doubt!
The family church where Asquiths have found their final resting place since the 14C. The curious may find Mr Asquith reading the lesson the first Sunday of each month.
And to those doubters out there, (some of whom should know well the lavish lifestyle that attends editing a wargames magazine!) I say, please pause to consider the feelings of those whose lives are led within the shadows of Asquith Towers.