Is Anyone out There?: Comments on 100 Letters to Key People in My Life Not Answered

By The Major

Entrepreneur and Adventurer

Ranulf Rayner has kept detailed scrapbooks for most of his life, including letters and photographs from when he was first at school.

His life has been an extraordinary one, starting with escaping from his pram. Subsequently expelled from five schools, he later managed to win his spurs as a regular officer in the British cavalry—managing, soon after joining his regiment, to write off a fifty-ton tank. In the army, he also earned to fly helicopters, which while serving, he put to good use by directing the winter sports scenes for the James Bond film OHMSS.

After leaving the army, he travelled 75,000 miles around the globe selling helicopters, which took him from an unexplored region of New Guinea—where they had never seen a white man before—to the swamps of Pantanal in Brazil’s Mato Grosso, looking for an Englishman with the same name as an explorer known to have been killed earlier by Indians in the rain forests of Amazon.

Readers will find his further exploits equally astonishing for he refers back to some of his more desperate moments while flying light aircraft, climbing mountains, riding the Cresta toboggan run, and surviving a disastrous shipwreck, followed by starting up thirteen unique and entirely different businesses.

Most of these moments are recorded in one hundred of Ranulf’s letters to key people, including two prime ministers and the archbishop of Canterbury, which have not been replied to, except with the odd acknowledgment. He wrote his hundredth letter to Donald Trump.

He adds some intriguing images and an interesting commentary, but the reason why his letters were not answered is often left for the reader to decide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543493719

The Major

Ranulf Rayner has kept detailed scrap books for most of his life, including letters and photographs from when he was first at school. His life has been an extraordinary one starting with escaping from his pram. Subsequently expelled from five schools he later man-aged to win his spurs as a regular officer in the British cavalry, managing, soon after joining his regiment, to write off a fifty ton tank. In the army he also earned to fly helicopters, which, while serving, he put to good use directing the winter sports scenes for the James Bond film OHMSS. After leaving the army he travelled 75,000 miles around the globe selling helicopters, which took him from an unexplored region of New Guinea, where they had never seen a white man before, to the swamps of the Pantanal in Brazil’s Matto Grosso, looking for an Englishman with the same name as an explorer known to have been killed earlier by Indians in the rain forests of the Amazon. Readers will find his further exploits equally astonishing for he re-fers back to some of his more desperate moments, while flying light aircraft, climbing mountains, riding the Cresta toboggan run and surviving a disastrous shipwreck, followed by starting up thir-teen unique and entirely different businesses. Most of these moments are recorded in 100 of Ranulf’s letters to key people, including two Prime Ministers and the Archbishop of Canterbury, which have not been replied to, except with the odd acknowledgement. He wrote his hundredth letter to Donald Trump. He adds, some intriguing images and an interesting commentary, but the reason why his letters were not answered is often left for the reader to decide.

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Copyright © 2019 by The Major.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2019902795

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5434-9373-3

             Softcover     978-1-5434-9372-6

             eBook          978-1-5434-9371-9

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Rev. date: 10/11/2019

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Contents

Introduction

1.   Brigadier R. 21 Army Gp

2.   The Town Council. Windsor

3.   Maj Gen R Hobbs. RMAS

4.   The War Graves Commission

5.   Forstmeister Keimer. Sennelager

6.   MD. Underwater Products

7.   Director. Swiss Alpine Club, Bern

8.   Secretary. Alpine Club, UK

9.   Maj Gen Gordon-Lennox. RMAS

10.   Chief of Staff Aviation. Rome

11.   Brig Mead. Army Flying School

12.   Stn Comd. RNAS, Yeovileton

13.   A Badrutt. Palace Hotel, St Moritz

14.   Chief of Police. St Moritz

15.   Miss Henrietta Law. London

16.   Sec State. War Office, London

17.   Count de Chandon. Epernay

18.   CEO. Lenkz bank, London

19.   MD. Dart Valley Steam Railway

20.   Harry Saltzman. Eon Studios

21.   Minister. Dept of Trade & Industry

22.   Gov General. Isfahan, Persia

23.   Tikka Sahib of Faridkot. Punjab

24.   Minister of Ecology. Kashmir

25.   British Ambassador. Kathmandu

26.   Earl of Suffolk. Kathmandu

27.   Chief of Staff, BLF Singapore

28.   Governor. Western Australia

29.   MD. Lae Helicopters, New Guinea

30.   Skipper. Yacht ‘Joshua’, Tahiti

31.   Brigadier Pinochet. Santiago, Chile

32.   T d’Almeida. Sau Paulo, Brazil

33.   Chief of Police. Nairobi, Kenya

34.   El Ingles. Salford, Lancashire

35.   Richard Mason, Cuiaba, Brazil

36.   J Thorpe MP. H of C. London

37.   MD. Barclays bank, London

38.   D Kimber. Neale Fruit. Kent

39.   Ted Turner. CNN. Atlanta, USA

40.   Mlle de Spirlet. Paris, France

41.   Patrick Lindsay. Christies, London

42.   G Walker. RTYC. London

43.   Sandro Petinelli. Rome, Italy

44.   D Conner. Fremantle, Australia

45.   S Hemmel. Cadogan Sq, London

46.   D Rosow. Stratton Mt, USA

47.   Planning SW Gas. Bath, Somerset

48.   David & Charles. S. Devon

49.   Autorital de Balears. Spain

50.   Tracy Edwards. Yacht ‘Maiden’

51.   America’s Cup Attorney. San Diego

52.   M Gucci. Palma. Majorca

53.   Chief Constable Devon & Cornwall

54.   H Green. Keepers Cottage

55.   Chief Constable Devon & Cornwall

56.   A Gaunt. Gauntlet Syndicate

57.   Duke of Roxburghe. Floors Castle

58.   E Rice. Lloyds Bank, Exeter

59.   MD. Stardust Marine. Paris

60.   Brig Templer. Woodbury.

61.   Mrs Simon. Crystal Palace, Blackpool

62.   Hester Insurance. London

63.   Lt Galway. HMCC Vigilant, Plymouth

64.   The Prime Minister. London

65.   Baron J Winterhalder. Buenos Aires

66.   P. Corder. Grabouw, S Africa

67.   D. Rattray. Rorkes Drift, Zululand

68.   Barclays Bank. Canary Wharf

69.   Mrs E Scandrett. Somerset

70.   Harbour Master. Dartmouth

71.   Hotel Michaelangelo. Patagonia

72.   Capt C Perry. Cavalry Club

73.   The Daily Telegraph. London

74.   Restaurant Miniskar. Croatia

75.   Haldon Racecourse. Devon

76.   Lord Coe. British Olympics

77.   Nature Conservancy. Nassau

78.   Revd Thorn. Exeter Cathedral

79.   Giles. Gloucestershire

80.   J Paice MP. H of C. London

81.   Sir D Hoare. Hoares Bank, London

82.   Mystere Boats. Saint Maxime

83.   Civil Aviation Authority. Gatwick

84.   Town Council. Dawlish, Devon

85.   Col J Blashford-Snell. Stockbridge

86.   Herr Luggen. Tourism Zermatt

87.   Larry Ellison. San Francisco

88.   Ted Turner. CNN. Atlanta.

89.   The Archbishop of Canterbury

90.   RHS Chelsea Flower Show

91.   Museum of Telephony, Maryland

92.   Curator. Dachau Museum

93.   Theresa May MP. H of C. London

94.   Brenton Engineering. Essex

95.   Patrizio Bertelli. Prada, Milan

96.   HRH The Prince of Wales

97.   CEO South West Water

98.   Hamilton Hotel. Bermuda

99.   The Daily Telegraph. London

100.   President of the United States

Pen To Paper

Letters shown in italics were answered by someone else, or months later.

My book is

dedicated to my long suffering wife Annette

INTRODUCTION

My mother had written a letter to my father, who was both a Member of the British Parliament and a major in the British Army, from a mountain chalet high above Garmish Partenkirchen in Germany, just before the outbreak of WWII, saying:

We have been ordered to leave immediately before we are interned by Adolf Hitler.

In fact it was too early to expect our irascible son to learn to ski or skate and a big mistake to bring him back to Bavaria at all, for, unlike his sister, he is far too difficult to control. This afternoon he covered me with shame and confusion when he biffed an Austrian grand duchess in the bosom. He is so fearfully wilful and determined that I feel quite worn out. Worse still he has a truly terrifying temper! I shall be glad to get home.

On my return I only remember my father hugging my poor mother.

This letter, obviously, did not require a reply even if there had been time to receive one. But those that deserve a response but don’t even get an acknowledgement infuriate me.

I may be getting old and bloody minded; but just as my mother preferred to write to my father rather than telephone him during those dangerous times, I have continued to write letters whatever the circumstances rather than resort to the insecurity of the social media, such as Facebook, texts and emails. Since the advent of word processors and their continuing threat to letter writing, I have always remained determined to put pen to paper while keeping photographs in a scrap book, thus recording for posterity most of the major milestones in my life.

Computers have ruined everything. Everyone now knows everybody and nobody is anybody or anybody nobody any more. I have always been a nobody but like everybody, I have never liked being anybody so letter writing, rather than electronic readouts will continue to come first.

We have all known people who have either transmitted or received messages sent through the ether to the wrong address. I have done so on many occasions and regretted doing so afterwards. On one of them I remember sending an email on behalf of my wife, asking some friends to dinner. Entirely the wrong couple, who my wife could not stand, turned up. A letter would have been better.

But letters are not as easy to delete as electronics and may also be dangerous and held against you later, particularly if you wish to live your life to the full and take a bite out of every chocolate in the box. It is natural, therefore, that all my chocolates are not sweet. Some were intended to leave a bitter taste in the mouths of those less likely to reply to them, so their names and addresses and others who may try and take me to the cleaners for scurrilous or revealing statements - are not always as stated.

My life has been an extraordinary one. As the eldest son of a well-to-do family, born on a beautiful agricultural estate in Devon I was never to own, my silver spoon became quickly tarnished.

After tipping over and escaping from my pram, I had been determined to try every venture and adventure I could dream up, good or bad, all of them at the least possible expense. This resulted in being expelled from five schools until, somehow, I reached public school, where I managed to cling on by my fingernails. Since then readers will notice that my life of adventure has not continued to be that much better.

‘Join the army and see the world’ was not just a slogan, it was irresistible to many young men after the war and on leaving school I was soon in it hook, line and sinker. The line was fine for a time, but the sinker was not. Since the war the military had remained ‘sunk’ in a rut of indecision and officer’s personal initiatives were often frowned upon. Later, however, as I rose in rank, soon to become an instructor at Sandhurst and then to fly helicopters and command a squadron of armoured cars, ‘towing the line’ became often unbearable and every attempt I made to deviate from it landed me in trouble. As for seeing the world, if you joined the Royal Armoured Corps like me, forget it. The world was Europe.

So when I resigned, civvy street seemed to present me with more options than Her Majesty had given me although I was totally unemployable which would mean putting my hand in my pocket for a time, at least it enabled me to discover a clear path through the world and to enjoy far more adventures than I had been looking for.

The challenges that have followed, both in business and in pleasure, have been as varied as the chocolates in my box, only having one precious thing in common: the ability to make my own decisions. Since leaving the military I have started no less than thirteen totally different businesses, and written four books, some more successful than others but none making the return I was hoping for. All, however, were accomplished, as I intended, with minimal investment in both time and money. Some of that time, long before I left the army, has been spent writing letters but none of those I have chosen for this book, some to important people and others more important to myself, have ever received a direct answer. However, all of them would be meaningless if I did not include an explanation of why I had written them.

Unlike Henry Root - who in 1980, described in his book of letters, how he sent money to prompt certain people to reply - I have always preferred to use a question mark. In a very few cases my unanswered letters have been acknowledged by someone else, more recently by email, in which case, they are included. But rather than believing in today’s world it is only letters that are always read, a few of them being kept for posterity, I have sadly come to the conclusion that most of our young are so immersed in the plethora of electronic perversions now available that they remain glued to their computers, iPhones or tablets for too many hours a day, no longer appreciating what they may see out of the window, or what the postman brings unless it is a refill of computer ink or a brown paper parcel. It is during such moments of deep depression that I feel like shouting to the rooftops is anyone out there?

You are and I hope you will enjoy my letters and my comments concerning them. Why none were answered is for you to decide.

Letter

1

Second in command of communications

HQ 21st Army Group

Germany

May 1945

Dear Papa

Thank you very much for the biscuits. A soldier took me on to the road and we saw an English carrier. We threw stones at it and it had to surrender.

Love from

Foxy

Are you coming home soon?

Comment: Why I was ever allowed by my mother to write this letter and that she then posted it to the British Army Headquarters in Germany is a mystery. On the back I had said I am longing to see your trophies.

69609.png

If it had been opened by the censors it would have got my father into serious trouble. The souvenirs were so sensational, as described later in the book, that no wonder my father did not reply.

Three years previously I had built a tree house by the road at the end of our garden, which had a magnificent view far out over the English Channel, where I knew there were Huns lurking on the other side. One day I was sitting there when a German Heinkel flew past so close that I could see the pilot looking at me. So I ran back into the house as fast as I could to watch the flames light up the sky over Exeter like a firework display, probably unconcerned by all the people being killed there. It was from there that I had bombed the British Bren Gun Carrier with stones, which for me was as good as stopping any armoured vehicle German - or not, and I was proud of it. As a young boy I was fascinated by the war for in June 1940 my father had taken part in the evacuation from Dunkirk. He told us that two boats had been sunk from under him, although he had never told us very much else except sleeping on a manure heap to keep warm at night. He was lucky to return alive.

After D-Day in June 1944, my father was promoted to become second in command of Field Marshall Montgomery’s communications in 21st Army Group as they fought their way through France and Germany finally to reach Luneburg Heath, near Berlin, where Monty took the German surrender.

My father, who died in 1977, had previously enjoyed a remarkable military career, joining the Royal Flying Corps at the age of 16 to serve in WWI. Afterwards, and prior to fighting in the Spanish Civil War, he had then fought on the North West Frontier in India. Yet apart from the letters he sent to his mother, we have no other records of his early wartime experiences. Letters can mean everything and fortunately, we found two others, one sent while he was serving as-aide-de-camp to the governor general of Canada, and the other when he, the Earl of Willingdon, became viceroy of India. Initially, for my father, a life of bears and broncos, then one of maharajas, elephants and tigers, times that no one will ever experience again.

On 6 May 1945, unknown to my father at the time, Monty had issued a directive stating ‘Looting by individuals is strictly forbidden. Whatever their rank those found contravening this order will be tried by court marshal’. My father’s reputation as a serving member of the Houses of Parliament was paramount, and the fact that I had mentioned bringing back souvenirs from Germany placed him in great danger. Luckily, however, he received my letter unopened and returned from Berlin later that month with his souvenirs in a suitcase without being asked questions.

Letter

Letter

2

The Town Council

Windsor

Berks

July 1952

Dear Sirs

I am alarmed by the number of hooligans on the Windsor stretch of the River Thames.

I was rowing my single skuller, referred to by my school as a rigger, when two boys swam out towards me and wrapped their legs around my boat, trying to capsize it. Although they failed it was suggested that I write to you in order to lodge a formal complaint. Can you do something about this?

Yours faithfully

RR.

Comment: I was unsure what a ‘formal complaint’ actually meant other than writing an angry letter. However it was presented it would, no doubt, have been thought frivolous by the council who, I was sure, did not like Etonians.

2a.jpg

House Bumping four

2b.jpg

Stroking the second Eton eight at Henley Royal Regatta

It was all part of a young man’s learning curve. I recognised that I was spoilt and had led far too sheltered a life but hopefully, I was not being arrogant. Perhaps a better solution would have been to knock the two pirates off my boat with an oar, thus inviting them to take a sip themselves from Father Thames. But it was more likely that I would have taken the sip! The river had been an important part of my upbringing, and it was probably due to my love of sport that I had been granted a place in the school at all. Education had always come second and I continued to hate the discipline of school life.

My first school, in the nearby town of Dawlish, had been for girls, where I had been sent to accompany my elder sister. I was the only boy there but not being old enough to appreciate it, I began to hate the silly girls so much that I ran away and was driven home by the local butcher.

My second school had been evacuated to a nearby castle to avoid the bombs being dropped on London. The cook thought she could avoid all the constraints of rationing by feeding us on leeks, which, when their smell became overpowering, I felt so unwell that I walked back home to my mother, who, for some reason, did not send me back again.

My father, in desperation, then escorted me to a school run by a far stricter headmaster in the seaside town of Teignmouth. There happened to be an old fox’s ‘earth’ in the garden; and while the gardener was on holiday, I managed to pinch his spade and with five other boys dig the ‘earth’ out as our secret lair. We had been experimenting by smoking different varieties of leaves inside it, when, one day while I was out foraging for them, it caved in and four of the boys were buried. Although they were all dug out alive, I was expelled and sent home immediately.

It was therefore not surprising that for my next school I would be banished to Berkshire. It had a lake in the grounds surrounded by bushes where some boys had discovered an old rusty scythe hooked over a laurel branch. They had no idea how to use it, so I took a swing myself and almost severed the leg off a boy standing too close behind me. The boy later became an important minister; but although we managed to staunch his blood, I made it no further than to the headmaster’s study.

So finally my exasperated parents sent me to a crammer in Hampshire, where my nose would be kept to the grindstone, until I had passed my exams into Eton. But before long I fell in love with the headmaster’s 16 year old daughter. Although she was spirited away to London as soon as we were found together, on completing my exams my father was summoned, who, in a towering rage, drove me back fast to Devon.

At Eton, my life changed again dramatically but not always for the best. Old traditions died hard at the school, and my indoctrination as a ‘fag’, or as a new boy looking after an old boy in the house ‘library’, soon came unstuck when I failed to answer his cry of ‘Boy’! The result was a flogging by the captain of fives, a game that encouraged players with strong wrists. It was not the only game with a difference at Eton because there was also the field game and the wall game, neither having much to do with my passion for water.

The smell of fresh varnish in an Eton Boathouse and the sight of hundreds of shiny brown needles, all built there by craftsmen, stacked high up on shelves, will never leave anyone who became a ‘wet bob’. I tried out all of them during my time there, graduating quickly to a ‘rigger’, which I rowed through ‘Locks’ on summer days to drink a pint of shandy at Queen’s Eyot, an island that had a bar serving drinks, hopefully not diluted with Thames water. But my best fun was rowing in the house bumping four. On the bows I had attached a black and white swordfish with a moustache, representing our house master and our house colours, which terrorised the opposition. Finally, before leaving, I was invited to stroke the Eton second eight at the Henley Royal Regatta.

3

Major General Reginald Hobbs

Royal Military Academy Sandhurst

Camberley

June 1954

Dear General Hobbs

During my time at Sandhurst I have been trying my hand at most things including a fuels and explosive course, which I joined because I felt it would be an important addition to my military training. But I have now been taken off it. It was perhaps unfortunate that when I lit a bunsen burner in the lab, I had no idea that the asbestos surrounding it would explode if soaked, inadvertently, in TNT.

It was an accident and, although it broke a window, it was not a major catastrophe, so please may I now be reinstated on the course?

Yours sincerely

RR

Comment: Some officer cadets had previously placed notices on the road through Camberley, which was then a main route to the West Country, and diverted all the traffic through the Sandhurst grounds.

3a.jpg

Testing stamina!

3b.jpg

On parade (Author in the rear rank)

The finger had been pointed in my direction but on that occasion, although I was already regarded to be a loose cannon, I was innocent.

So, although in my letter to the Commandant I had thought of mentioning the idea of soaking cigarette papers in TNT and sending them to the enemy, luckily I had refrained from doing so.

After first driving to Sandhurst in an old 1934 two seater Wolseley Hornet, I had hidden it away in a Camberley garage as it greatly facilitated taking the girls out in London when I was not polishing my boots. But as it had no floorboards, all male passengers had to wear bicycle clips around their trouser legs while girls in skirts found the experience far more challenging. The Duke of Kent, who was a fellow cadet, also enjoyed the odd outing, but once, having invited him to join me in a car rally, he landed up pushing the Hornet for over a mile.

Sandhurst was an extraordinary-enough experience, meeting young men of my age from all over the world, many of whom were to return to command their national armies in due course or sometimes to run their countries. One of these was to become the King of Jordan. Years later, I was crossing from Le Havre to Southampton on a channel ferry when, over the Tannoy, I was instructed to report to a cabin on the upper deck. The king had noticed me on the boat and had invited me to tea with him.

While I was at Sandhurst one of my favourite extramural activities as they were called, was learning to fly a glider. Lasham Airfield was not far away and had a magnificent perimeter track. So when I became bored waiting for others to take their turn, I would set off in the Hornet to break the track record. Then, one afternoon, I lost two wheels, landing upside down in a hay stack. ‘Bloody fool’ swore my flying instructor.

For most officer cadets memories of Sandhurst were about being drilled to exhaustion on the square by a regimental sergeant major. ‘Now work like black.., oriental gentlemen’ yelled RSM Jackie Lord on a day to remember. He was still there five years later marching straight towards me with his pace stick, when I returned, to everyone’s surprise, as an instructor. I flew to get my hat from my car in order to return his salute and to hide my hair as he hammered down his mirror like boots beside me. ‘Good morning Captain’ he said, and when I asked him how he remembered me, he simply replied, ‘Long hair, sir.’

RSM Lord had been captured by the Germans at Arnhem, subsequently keeping up prisoners’ morale in his POW camp by parading them with wooden rifles. Such men, I soon discovered, were the salt of the earth.

Letter

4

The War Graves Commission

Maidenhead, Berks

December 1955

Dear Sirs

Last month, after I had first joined my regiment on an exercise at the Hohne training area in North Germany, I was given the day off. Before returning to Detmold, however, I visited the Belsen concentration camp with two other officers.

We were particularly shocked by the mass graves but were surprised that