‘Well that’s obviously an azalea. Give me a harder one.’ I’m on one of my daily rehab walks around our garden on Bodmin Moor with my father, Robin Hanbury-Tenison. He’s not actually with me, he’s over 20 miles away at Derriford Hospital where he has been battling coronavirus for the last six weeks, but since he was moved out of intensive care and into a rehabilitation ward he’s been given his telephone back and we can speak every day by video call.
It’s truly heart-warming to be able to speak to him at all and there were many moments over the last few weeks when I feared I might never be able to again. He’s still suffering from severe sedation delirium and the best way to ‘anchor’ him to the present has been through nature and beauty. He planted every tree, bush and flower in this garden and it’s the perfect way to remind him of who he is and what’s important.
When we spoke yesterday he thought that he was back at the headwaters of the Amazon, paddling upstream in a canoe with the Villas Boas brothers, while twelve burrowing owls kept the three of them company from the prow.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in