In 1971 Andrew and Mary, my stepmother, took Caroline and me on a fishing holiday in Austria. We stayed at the ancient Schloss Ernegg. The Schloss was sufficiently grandiose for Andrew and he quickly established a rapport with the chatelaine, the Countess.
Mary’s main concern was the speed at which the staff could deliver a gin and tonic along a labyrinth of galleries, corridors and rooms when required, and she wasn’t disappointed.
We were directed to a river which ran close to the Schloss. There were beautiful stretches of water and many deep pools. We spent many happy hours there. The trout were abundant and seemed keen to be caught!
Andrew borrowed a long galvanized tray to display the fish. We were photographed proudly with our catch beneath an array of antlers.
Then the Countess descended upon us. ‘You have exceeded our quota of six fish per day,’ she said angrily. ‘Colonel, I had made it perfectly clear to you from the start!’
Andrew, whose great weapon was charm, apologised profusely. But our fishing the Schloss river had come to an end.
There was another another river nearby with fast flowing water below overhanging rocks and trees – a challenge to even the most skilled fly fisherman. Andrew was delighted and spent most of day waist-deep-without waders in the icy waters.
The light was fading and we started to head towards the Schloss but where was Andrew? We retraced our steps along the bank and repeatedly shouted for him. But there was no sign of him. Had he been swept down the river? This could so easily have happened.
Mary was beside herself with worry. Caroline and I had more confidence in his ability to survive a scrape. We were directed to the police station and were received with amused courtesy.
‘Have you lost someone?’ ‘Yes,’ we said with embarrassment. ‘But he is here!’ And there was Andrew smiling broadly from ear to ear and holding a cup of tea. No apologies but thanks to the police.
A great day for him – but not for poor Mary whose nerves had been badly shaken.