Anthony Day and his Venus

The quaint letter which arrived on my door mat this morning stood out. It had been typed, the envelope too, something almost unseen today. It had been sent by my artist friend Anthony Day, who is well in his 80s and refuses to embrace new technology, even as an author of local history books. He prefers to sit and type away in his picturesque cottage with its pebble path and pantile roof overlooking a traditional English village green and its pond rich with many species of birdlife; I even saw a heron sitting there a couple of weeks ago.

Anthony is a successful landscape artist who always rode on a motor bike to search out locations which were off the beaten track. Sadly, and bureacratically, he is now unable to do so as no insurance company will give him cover because of his age – despite his clean licence.

However, one day he broke the mould by painting a beautiful nude figure as an art student which he lent to a theatrical friend to use as a prop in a play in Cambridge, but it was never returned. Then 55 years later, Anthony was reunited with the painting and I bought it on a whim, saddened to think it had been locked away in an attic for its entirely by its unappreciative owner.

The Cambridge Evening News ran a story to trace the model, a woman called Margaret, who would also be in her 80s now, but there was no response, unfortunately. I am proud to hang the painting at home.

Anthony’s Christmas cards and invitations are always hand typed and always make me smile, it is a reminder of days gone by. I well remember those days, bashing away at my typewriter in newsrooms, writing my stories, making carbon copies, the spike which stood close by, another old relic long since abandoned for health and safety reasons.

His latest letter is an invitation to a private viewing of his exhibition called Homage To The Lion Mills and features paintings that are reminiscent of his childhood. We often enjoy country walks together and he tells me stories of those golden days.