card.
'Do you think they've made a mistake?' I said.
'No. They can't have. It says "Sheila Hocken" plain enough.'
I was not really convinced, so I wrote back and accepted
immediately just in case they changed their minds. I also put
a note in to make sure the invitation was to Emma as well as
myself.
'What will you do if they won't have Emma?' Don asked
after I had posted my reply.
'I wouldn't go.'
'Really? Do you mean that? Would you really turn down an
invitation as important as that if you can't go with Emma?'
'Well, I'm certainly not going without her.'
I was delighted, therefore, when a further letter arrived to
say that Emma, naturally, was included in the invitation, and
would I speak about loyalty? Well, that was a nice easy subject,
because I felt that loyalty was something both Emma and I
knew all about.
I didn't really want to go down to London on my own, but
since it was an all-woman affair (which included Emma!) they
would certainly not allow Don in. But he said he would go down
with me and arranged to have lunch with our friend jack
~'aterman, who had given me a lot of good advice when
writing the book.
On the morning of the luncheon, a crisp October day, I had
my usual attack of nerves before we set off for the station.
'Do you think I look all right? Do you think these really are
the right shoes?'
'You look marvellous,' said Don. 'There's no need to flap,
petal. Pretend it's an everyday thing and that they're going to
be everyday women there.'
'But they're not!' I said. 'They're going to be Ladies, and
Duchesses, and Dames, and all the top women . .
99
5
'Well, don't worry,' he said. 'They'll all be looking at Emma,
anyway.'
At least he was right there.
We sat on the train going down, and I re-did my hair about
three times until Don threatened to confiscate my comb.
'You look marvellous,' he said again, 'you really do. You
must stop panicking.'
But I didn't stop panicking for a minute.
We arrived in London, took a taxi to the Savoy, and Don
went off to meet jack. 'Well, I hope you'll have as good a lunch
as we do,' he said. 'We're having oysters!
seriously, 'The best of luck, petal.'
' Then he added more
It was not until Emma and I were go ng through the foyer,
through the bustle of well-dressed women, with photographers'
flash-bulbs going off every second, that, oddly, I somehow
gained confidence. We're both a part of all this, I thought.
Isn't it unbelievable!
A photographer came forward and took our picture, and we
both stood trying to look elegant: I think Emma achieved it
better than I did. We went into the reception and were introduced
to a bewildering array of important women, and everyone
seemed so pleased to see us, and made us so welcome. Then
we took our seats in the enormous dining-room, with about
six hundred women, and the noise from six hundred women,
all talking, is indescribable. There were five speakers, and I
was to speak after lunch. I very much wished I could have got
it over beforehand.
During the tour promoting the book I had become used to
TV cameras, but I began to think that TV cameras were far
more friendly than six hundred women. I was absolutely terrified
of making the speech, even though it was going to last only
four minutes. Also, I had no idea what I was actually going to
say-I never have until I get to my feet, and out it all comesor
at least it always had so far.
The sad thing is that, to this day, I cannot remember what
we had for lunch. I knew that when we got back everyone
would want to know what it was like having lunch at the Savoy,
and I simply never remembered what we had to cat because I
was so nervous. By contrast, Emma, ~vhom I could feel down
ioo
by my feet, was quite comfortable, head between her paws, and
quite oblivious to the importance of everybody and everything.
At last came my turn to speak. I knew this because the toastmaster
came and placed an enormous double microphone in
froiit of me. I stood up and hoped no one noticed that I was
shaking. I glanced round six hundred expectant faces, and I
started:
I'm so delighted that I've been asked to come and speak to
you about loyalty. I feel more equipped than most people to
be able to talk about that subject because Emma, of course,
has been so loyal to me over so many years and now it's my
opportunity to show loyalty to her by only going to places
where she's welcome as well. I look back and think of the
times she took me to work or to do the shopping. It didn't
matter where I wanted to go, or when, or what mood she was
in, she'd always take me. Well, unless it was raining . .
They all laughed. Thank goodness, I thought, at least I've got
them laughing. I felt Emma get up at my feet, turn round and
flop down again with the long-suffering groan which always
meant: 'Well, this isn't very comfortable, you know. I hope
you5re not going to be long.' She was lying across both my feet,
and I was standing trying to balance and keep my mind on the
speech at the same time. It was very awkward. I continued:
She got to know my home town, Nottingham, like the back
of her paw. She'd always find the shops that we went to regu.
Iarly, just by the name of them. And unfailingly, regardless
of what I told Emma to do, she somehow did the right thing.
We had a new shopping centre in Nottingham. They put
the bus station in there as well so it meant that Emma and
I had to go through it to catch our bus at night. The first
time that we went in I was absolutely lost because, being a
big shopping centre, it had no kerbs or roads to cross so I
just couldn't tell where I m,as going. I just had to rely on
Emma's judgement. I knew that we had to find steps to go
upstairs. One of the girls at work had told me that. 'You
walk quite a long way down,' she said, 'and there's a flight
ioi
of steps to go into the new bus station.' We seemed to be
going for a long time so I told Emma to wait and I stopped
one of the passers-by I'd heard. 'Can you tell me where the
steps up to the bus station are?' I asked. 'Oh yes, just a few
yards along there.' 'Come on Emma, find the steps,' I said.
She took me a bit further along and stopped. Then she
backed off a few paces. I put one foot forward and felt a step
in front of me. 'Good girl,' I told her, 'you've found the
steps. Come on then, off we go.' Emma backed off again.
'Come on Emma, up the steps. We've got to go into the new
bus station.' She just wouldn't move. I tried to persuade her.
'Come on, Emma, we'll be late.' I started to get a little bit
annoyed with her. But she wouldn't have it. She turned left
instead and swung me round with h
er and trotted along.
She just wouldn't listen to my pleas about going up steps.
Then she stopped again and I heard a familiar sound: a lift
coming down. I gave up. I knew Emma's preference was
always for lifts rather than steps, but it seemed unusual for
for her to sidetrack my instructions.
We got into the lift, and got out at the next floor up. We
were in the bus station and I heard the driver of our bus
who always said 'Good evening-and how's Emma?' He
was never interested in how I was. I told him that she had
brought me up in the lift and wouldn't go up the steps that
someone had told me were the quickest way. 'I'm not surprised,'
he said. 'They've only done the bottom three. The
rest of it's a big hole. Good job she didn't take you up therethat
dog's got more sense than most people.'
They all applauded and I felt so pleased as I sat down and felt
Emma's nose come and touch my hand and heard her tail
swishing under the table. Afterwards I was astonished at the
number of guests who came up and said, 'Oh you did so well'.
And Emma had her fans as well. Scores of women came up
specially to meet Emma, to pat her and say hello, and stroke
her. She was the guest among the Women of the Year.
But the best tribute to her came from a man. During luncheon,
a waiter had very kindly come up and asked me if Emma
would like anything to cat. I thanked him and said that she
I02
would not have anything to cat, but she would very much like
a drink. So he brought some A,ater for her-in a silver champagne
bucket!
Afterwards he said: 'Madam, you know I've served all sorts
of celebrities, from royalty to film stars, but I don't think I've
ever before had the pleasure of serving a dog-and, if I may
say, every inch a celebrity, and a lovely one at that.'
Enima at the Savoy had certainly become a V.I.P. and, as
time xs-ent on. it became evident that this was not to be her only
big occasion.
I03
CHAPTER NINE
TOURING WITH THE book gave me some insight into the life
of a celebrity. It was worthwhile but wearing: we piled into the
car for Newcastle one day, Harrogate the next, and finished
the week in the West Country perhaps; Don organized everything
down to the last scrap of Emma's food; Emma herself,
conserving her energy, slept in her place on the back scat, and
was always ready-like the star she had become-to make her
appearance on cue and never to disappoint her public. I signed
copies of the book in endless bookshops, but I think most of the
readers who brought it open ready at the title page, particularly
the children as they unfailingly bent down to stroke
Emma's brown head, secretly wished that she herself could
have put her pawprint on the book; they would, I am sure,
have preferred that to my signature.
Hotel rooms, late nights, broadcasting and television studios,
snatched meals, interviews, the miles rolling by: the year went
along in a whirl, and always accompanied by the anxiety that
it should not be too much for little Emma, who, after all, was
entitled to enjoy her retirement and not to have it made a
penance. There was also, of course, Kerensa to look after and,
when at home, the cats and my small private cattery. I was
thankful, then, that I had not expanded it to the ultimate limit
of my ambitions.
The eccentricities of some of the visitors were quite enough to
cope with; but, as if that were not enough, my own cats provided
extra zest to a life the pattern of which I considered quite
rich enough to be going on with. Particularly Ming.
Ming was and still is the leader of the felines in the family,
and she holds a special council every morning in the cat roomthe
special room off the kitchen I designed and had built for
the Siamese to sleep and have their meals in. I think the most
infuriating thing is that I know when Ming is holding her
I04
council. In the most calculating way she teaches any newcomers
to the family how to do essential things, like taking pieces of steak
off the kitchen table or walking on window ledges; how to get on
to the pelmets without being noticed; or the easiest way to cause
a disturbance in the hall when dinner time is near and thereby
hasten the food along. However, she has never yet managed to
transmit to another cat her unrivalled cunning in helping to
augment Emma's diet. She keeps that trick strictly for herselœ
She sneaks on to the stove or the kitchen surfaces out of Emma's
reach to commandeer a tasty morsel and bat it down with her
paw to her eager and ever-greedy chocolate-brown accomplice
below.
One night when we had all returned fairly exhausted from
one of our book-signing expeditions, Ming decided to try out
her escape routine. She must be extremely intelligent because
she plans her escapes and seizes the vital moment. She would
have been a tremendous asset in Colditz. She waits until she
on the floor and Emma is trying to cat them, the potatoes
are boiling over, the telephone is ringing and Don is late. That
is the ideal situation for a Ming Escape. On this occasion I
think Kerensa had opened the back door, Don had gone to put
the car away, and I was trying to get together a scratch meal.
When I turned round, no Ming. It was pitch black outsideanother
requisite Ming chooses very carefully. She never
escapes in daylight. And she knows I can't see in the dark.
I grabbed the torch out of the kitchen cupboard and dashed
outside. The torch wouldn't work. Why? Kerensa had taken
the batteries out. Luckily (and a chink in the cleverness perhaps)
Ming gives a Geronimo shriek of delight when she gets
outside, and I located her by car somewhere near the dustbins.
Now our dustbin area was not at that moment a pretty sight.
The dustbin men were due the next day, and the rubbish was
piled up; in addition there were some wooden boxes-something
Don had had delivered for the surgery-lying about
waiting to be taken away. Ming had scooted over the boxes and
down the fence at the other side. I scooted after her and immediately
put my foot into one of the wooden boxes because I
couldn't see the piled-up rubbish. Then I couldn't get my foot
I05
A
out. I tried, and, as I did so, heard Ming shrieking off down the
garden so I had to gallop after her with a wooden box on one
foot. I made a grab for her and missed, and not until later could
I see anything funny in the scene, with boxes crashing and cats
screaming and me stamping about. I had to give in, retired to
the kitchen to admit defeat until the morning and set about
getting the wooden box off my foot. As I did so I am sure I
heard the distant equivalent of a Siamese cat laugh.
As a result of this sort of misbehaviour I find I constantly
have to T
hink Ming. When I open a svindow I judge the space
to see if it is Ming-sized. If it is, I close it down a bit. The same
with doors. Whenever doors are opened or closed I have to
Think Ming. It doesn't matter where there is a hole or gap,
Ming will find it. In the bungalow where we used to live, the
bathroom and the kitchen backed on to each other so that all
the water system and pipes and drainage were together. So,
from the bathroom (if you were a cat, that is) you could proceed
through the linen cupboard, underneath the bath panelling,
underneath the sink cupboard, and would emerge by the fridge
in the kitchen. This was quite an accomplishment, and Ming
used it to great advantage. If I shut her out of the living-room
or the kitchen, she could always try the bathroom for size. This
Houdini trick always worked. She appeared from nowhere in
the kitchen to steal whatever food had foolishly been left outor,
if she was not particularly hungry, pass it on to Emma.
Ming just cannot understand human beings not liking cats.
She will not accept the fact at all. She believes that everyone is
an ardent worshipper of the Siamese breed. Not everyone is, of
course, but at least she has one important unwavering ally to
keep up her morale, and that is Emma.
So it can be seen that even if I only had Ming there would be
quite enough to keep me occupied, in addition to touring ss,ith
the book and other activities. Among the other activities I tried
to keep going (voluntarily, that is) was showing my Siamese.
This had all started with Ohpas, my Red Point, who died some
years ago. When a friend came round and said how beautiful
he was, I just could not resist showing him to see if we were not
all biased. But apparently we were not. He won a lot of prizes,
and that got me hooked on to cat shows like a drug.
io6
The extra bonus to this was, for me, making good friends.
When I started showing cats (and Don helped with a great deal
of the preparation and grooming) I could not see, and I found
I had never before met such a set of people who would take
me as I was and treat me like another human being. But I must