My Wife’s Canary: and other anecdotes

By Miles Maskell and Jaione Sanchez

Miles Maskell has lived a varied and adventurous life, and has travelled widely as amply demonstrated in his anecdotes. He has been a City of London wine merchant, owned two restaurants and a champagne bar, and eventually created a company letting top-of-the-range properties in southern France on behalf of their owners.

He has climbed mountains, shot wild boar in Poland, piloted a 4-seater aircraft of which he was a part-owner, parachuted in New Zealand, and ridden the Cresta Run in St Moritz. He is also a sculptor.

Written as a lighthearted and easy-to-read series of anecdotes, this is his autobiography and recounts some of the more entertaining experiences of his life to date, as well as a number of amusing incidents encountered by his relations and closest friends.

He was born in London where he continues to live, having been at school in Cape Town and then at Cambridge University.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398443037

Miles Maskell

Miles Maskell was born in London, where he has lived for most of his adult life. He moved to Cape Town with his family at an early age, only returning to London upon leaving school. After Cambridge University, he purchased a firm of wine merchants in the City of London, opened a champagne bar and two restaurants. He then created a business letting houses in France on behalf of their owners. He retired in 2018, and has spent part of his time since then writing this, his first book.

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Copyright Information ©

Miles Maskell 2023

Illustrated by Jaione Sanchez and Orazio Lucia

The right of Miles Maskell to be identified as author and Jaione Sanchez and Orazio Lucia to be identified as illustrators of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398443020 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398449879 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398443037 (ePub e-book)

ISBN 9781398449886 (Audiobook)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Foreword

I’ve known Miles for a number of years and, together with other friends, I’ve accompanied him on several bridge and sightseeing trips to various locations in Italy as well as to Barcelona.

I’m absolutely delighted that he’s included ‘An Unusually Large Explosion’ amongst his collection of most entertaining anecdotes. This story is absolutely true, and appears in Kelburn Castle’s guidebook.

The Earl of Glasgow, Kelburn Castle, Scotland

Dedication

To my family and friends, to all of whom I owe so much.

1961 Chateau Petrus

In terms of quality, 1961 was a truly outstanding year for Bordeaux’s red wines, ranking it amongst the very best of the 20th century vintages.

Most unfortunately, in that year one of its most important regions, Pomerol, was hit by a severe spring frost, killing the majority of the tiny berries which would later become grapes. Chateau Petrus, arguably the world’s finest red wine, and certainly one of the most expensive, if not the most expensive, was particularly badly hit, and consequently produced a greatly reduced quantity in this year-of-years.

Owing to its exceptional quality and scarcity, the opening prices of the 1961 vintage were very high, and have climbed steeply ever since as fewer and fewer bottles remain undrunk.

Enter Charles Dugan-Chapman who, some years after he fled to England from Poland in 1940 (following the German invasion of his country at the start of World War II), changed his name from Ignacy Czajka.

He became a fighter and fighter-bomber pilot with the RAF, and after the war, he set up a plastics manufacturing business in Croydon which he sold in 1986 for over £30 million. He retired, turning his attention to golf (he was ’scratch` at Sunningdale Golf Club in Berkshire), and to bridge at London’s high-stake Portland Club. He was also an avid collector of fine wine.

Possibly my greatest friend, Peter Marrian, was then living in Kenya, and every year he came to stay with me for a month or so in my house in Smith Terrace, Chelsea. On his annual visit, and to repay my hospitality, he insisted on taking me to a guest night at the Portland Club of which he was a member.

Charles always seemed to be there, and knowing that I was a wine merchant, he’d insist that I sit next to him at dinner, buying a bottle of exceptional wine for us to share, and reluctantly offering Peter a glass.

On one such occasion (in the early 1980s), he asked me if I knew anything about 1961 Chateau Petrus. I replied that whilst of course I did, it was remarkably hard to find, and I’d never tasted it.

The reason I ask, he said, is that in the air-conditioned, temperature-controlled cellar of my house in Sunningdale, I’ve arranged chronologically an unopened case of every single vintage of Chateau Petrus since 1900. I’ve built up this collection over many years, and the only case I’m missing is 1961.

He then told me that whilst over the course of time he’d asked many wine merchants and other friends and acquaintances if they could find a case for him, so far no-one had managed to do so.

Can you help me? he queried, rather desperately.

What would you pay for a case if I could find one? I asked tentatively. Anything, he replied.

Do you really mean anything?

Yes, I do – I’m a rich man, and it would complete my collection, and I could then turn my attention to other things.

Over the next few months I tried to find a case for Charles, telephoning, amongst many others, Michael Broadbent, the doyen of the British wine trade, and a director of Christie’s wine department.

I’m looking for a case of 1961 Petrus.

Join the queue, he replied. However, I have to tell you that I’ve already got a list of more than thirty people wanting one, so it’s most unlikely I’ll ever locate one for you.

My final throw of the dice was to telephone Jean-Francois Moueix who, with his brother, owned Petrus.

Could you sell me a case of the 1961? I asked. Absolutely not, he replied, as we have so little left. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you ever come to lunch with us at the Chateau, I’ll open a bottle for you.

Sadly, I failed to taken him up on his invitation!

I eventually had to tell Charles that, like everyone else, I couldn’t help him, and the matter was left at that.

Time moved on, until a miracle occurred.

We were wont, about once a week, to give a lunch in my office at Green’s, the table (which seated eight) serving at all other times as my desk.

In addition to potential and present customers and friends, I tried over the years to invite longstanding clients whom I hadn’t met since we purchased the company from the Green family in 1974.

On one such occasion, I placed one such loyal customer on my right, and towards the end of lunch, he said to me: May I ask you a question?

Of course, I replied.

When 1961 Petrus first appeared on the market, I bought two cases, both of which I have in the small cellar of my flat in Grosvenor Square here in London. I feel that if I sold one of them – I believe they’re rather expensive! – I could then happily drink the other twelve bottles.

Would you possibly be interested in buying a case, and if so, what would you pay for it?

Well… I said, pretending to be only mildly interested. Whilst we obviously couldn’t include just one case in our price list, if you’d like me to do so, I’d be happy to try to find a buyer for your case, and if I’m successful, I’d then let you know what he or she would be willing to stump up for it.

Absolutely fine, he replied.

I immediately telephoned Michael Broadbent, asking him what he’d pay me for a case.

Have you got one? he asked excitedly.

I’m not saying I have, I responded. But if I can find one, how much would you offer me for it?

£20,000, he replied immediately, subject to Christie’s buyer’s commission, of course.

I then rang Charles, saying I believe I’d found a case for him – he was astounded.

I reminded him that he’d said that he’d pay anything for it, and asked if he still meant it.

Yes, he said very firmly, and taking a deep breath, I told him that the price would be £50,000. Done, he almost shouted, and I felt that I could well have asked a lot more!

I then spoke to the owner of the two cases, saying that I thought I’d found a buyer for one of them. I also told him that I’d spoken to Michael Broadbent (whose great reputation he knew), who’d said that he’d pay £20,000 for it, less Christie’s commission.

But, I said, in order that you don’t place the case with Christie’s, I’ll pay you the gross sum of £20,000, i.e. without deducting Christie’s charge.

My seller was thrilled – he hadn’t thought his case was worth anything like as much – and Charles therefore completed his collection.

Sadly, he died two or three years later, although hopefully a contented man. I never heard, though, what happened to his Petrus collection. Was it sold in its entirety or case by case, and if the latter, who bought the case of 1961?

Incidentally, as at December 2021 (and as shown on the internet), the price of a bottle of 1961 Chateau Petrus ranges between £8,000 and £14,000.

A Considerable Surprise

When, in the early 1970s, I first knew my greatest of friends, Johnnie and Joannie Milne, they asked me to stay in their newly-built villa on the Ibizan coast.

The land on which it stood was at the foot of a hill, on the summit of which was a large house belonging to the Spanish owner of all the surrounding countryside, very much including the Milnes’ acreage.

This aristocrat was a friend of theirs, and as it happened, on the evening of my arrival, we were invited to dinner by him and his family. It was a lovely mid-summer night, and we dined on a terrace in front of the villa, being served by an imposing butler wearing white gloves.

The very next day my hosts hired a motor-yacht-and-driver, and we set off for a nearby beach, which – completely unknown to us – was set aside for the local nudist colony.

We anchored in shallow water in a line of other vessels, and it was hinted that we wouldn’t be encouraged to swim ashore unless we, as with those on the beach and in the sea, were completely naked. Instead, and like all our neighbours, we trained our binoculars on the nudists, but quickly growing bored of this, we began our picnic lunch.

While we were eating, a wind-surfer appeared, tacking neatly between the boats. The surfer couldn’t be seen at first as he or she was standing on the other side of the sail. Eventually, however, we could detect through its plastic window that he was a – naked! – male.

When he came alongside, this time in full view, and having recognised who we were, he gave us a cheery wave. Surprise, surprise, he was last night’s butler – although he wasn’t wearing even his white gloves!

A Disaster

Tim Elwes was what was then known as a ‘Debs’ Delight’, and in his early twenties was invited to numerous debutante dances both in London and the Home Counties.

When attending a weekend dance in the country, it was usual for the young men and women to be invited to stay in a neighbouring house for both the Friday and Saturday nights – even though they weren’t necessarily known to their hosts.

On the Friday afternoon preceding a particular ball outside London, Tim was only able to leave his office at 5 pm. He got lost driving to the house in which he was to stay, and on ringing the doorbell, was informed by the butler that he had just fifteen minutes to change before dinner into his white bow tie and tail coat.

He was shown to a distant bedroom, and in his haste to get ready, he cut himself while shaving. A stiff white shirt is difficult to put on at the best of times,