I first met Heather whilst working in construction at Trago Mills. Clearing sites for ponds and car parks – we were removing a lot of trees. I see a young lady talking to one of my men who directed her to me. She asked me whether she could have some of the wood. My reply was “you can have as much as you like – a lorry load or two or more”. She said she would have a truck load and I asked where she lived. “Just along this road and if you go past the turning for Seale Hayne you’ve gone too far”. “No problem I’ll deliver a load this afternoon”. “How will you know” she asked, “which is my place?”. “There’s not many on this road it won’t take long”.
Later that afternoon me and a truck took a load of wood which we delivered, and my colleague went back to the site. I went in to have cup of tea and at that point my life changed. Walking into Heather’s house-come-studio, the smell of oil, paint, canvasses on the wall and floor, had taken me back to my school days and my love of art. I ended up staying most of the afternoon, which I got well ragged about. A little while later Heather asked me if we did small jobs. She wanted some earth moved at the back of her house to which I replied, “We’ll look at anything”. Obviously, my price was too high because Heather got the local farmer in with his digger who made an absolute mess. So once again Heather asked me to give her a price to put it right and I said the same as before to which she replied, “But hasn’t he done half of it”? “Before he started, I didn’t have a mess to clean up!” I did the job. After she saw what a digger could do, she decided we would take a big piece out behind the house, and I brought a much bigger bulldozer. When Heather needed things moved, she called me.
The latter job enabled me to own a piece of art which I could never otherwise have afforded.
And so our friendship began.
Many funny stories with Heather.
One that has been talked about at many a dinner party. A trip with me and Heather to an exhibition of Sandy Brown’s at the Barbican in London. We borrowed a car and loaded it with pieces of Heather’s art. We set off for Salisbury to Courcoux & Courcoux . As usual we were late, Heather thinks the speed limit is 85 and 95 is acceptable. Then we went to London. Getting stuck in traffic taking a few wrong turnings because Heather says she knows where she is going, we are now well late. Going down Oxford Street, Heather decides she is going to get changed in the car much to the shock of a passing taxi driver. Meanwhile shouting at me about directions, so up over the pavement, round behind the safety barrier for pedestrians on the corner and back onto the road. We finally arrive at the Barbican where I just have time to change my shirt, put on a tie and dinner jacket and remain in my jeans and boots.
Much later we left the exhibition by a different door and went off to get something to eat. Sometime later we went to find the car and we couldn’t. That started one of our arguments. It was quarter to one in the morning. She thought the car was green and I thought it was blue. Neither of us was sure what sort of car it was, no idea of the registration, or the name of the street we parked in. So how could we phone the police and report a car missing! After some time, we went back to the Barbican and tried the door, and it was open, so we went back through the building and came out the original door we had entered much earlier. Lo and behold we found the car 50 yards away.
We had a true brother and sister relationship, one that will never be replaced and thank you for bringing me back into the world of art.
My friend Heather.
by Jedd Smith