Tribute to a ‘true Romantic’ and member of a leading Sussex family

Stephen Carroll remembers his friend Richard Barttelot, former owner of Sussex Books in Pulborough, who died on June 21 aged 88.
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Richard Barttelot was immensely proud of his family, although being born into it brought its problems.

There was a lot to live up to. Memorials of distinguished ancestors, many of whom were explorers and warriors, line the walls of the church in the small Sussex village of Stopham where the Barttelots have been the principal family for hundreds of years.

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In 1984 I moved into a flat in Stopham House where he shared a rather grander apartment with his elderly parents. On Christmas Day of that year he caught me up as we walked home from church. ‘What do you think of Sir Edward Elgar’s second symphony?’ was the first thing he ever said to me. Soon we were the best of friends although it was made clear that there were lines I could not cross. For instance, if we arrived for church at the same time he would always say, as we entered ‘Now I sit there’ (pointing towards the family pew at the front) ‘and you sit there’ (pointing towards the back).

Richard Barttelot SUS-200630-081053001Richard Barttelot SUS-200630-081053001
Richard Barttelot SUS-200630-081053001

Not long after we met he set up a little shop in Pulborough called Sussex Books where he installed his piano. Passing shoppers were sometimes able to hear him play Chopin or a piece of his own composition as they went about their business. Generally, he only stocked books he approved of. Poetry, local books and books on steam railways were always available, but fiction was in short supply. He was not a car driver and was occasionally to be seen at dusk on a summer evening struggling along on his bicycle at an impossibly slow speed, burdened with carrier bags full of newly acquired stock.

Over the years we took many walks together through the local countryside. We often walked through the woods to Brinkwells, the cottage on the Stopham estate where Elgar had lived. Burpham was a favourite spot for a longer walk, and Amberley another. At Duncton we would drink ale at the Cricketers after which we would sometimes climb Duncton Hill and look down over Petworth. Once we walked as far as Halnaker Mill. He would always take a book of verse on these expeditions and would astonish drinkers and walkers alike by his vigorous recitations of Hilaire Belloc’s Sussex poems, sometimes breaking into song.

Richard never had a mobile phone, nor did he use a computer. The compact disc was regarded with suspicion and perhaps even thought to be slightly immoral, seeking to poach, as it did, on the preserves of the gramophone record. He was the only true Romantic I have ever known. He never lost his illusions or wavered in his beliefs.

A few days before he went to join the great majority, two bottles of wine from the Stopham vineyard were delivered to my door. They were from Richard. It was his way of saying goodbye.

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