John gets up at 5 o’clock and invariably I wake up too. We’ll have a little chat, but then I might drift back to sleep until 6.30. I’ll then shower, dress, do my hair and make-up and go downstairs. In winter we have at least one of the open fires going, usually in the sitting room, so I’ll prepare it for lighting. Then I’ll walk the dogs, and take the milk churn to our neighbour to collect milk. We live in a detached house, perched on the side of a hill with beautiful views overlooking the Derbyshire countryside. There are fields and livestock all around, and in the distance are the woods of Chatsworth.
A focal point of the house in the morning is the huge oak table in the middle of our kitchen — it fits about 10. Breakfast is always at 8.30 and John and I are often joined by people who work on the farm. Neither of our children wants to carry it on and they’re training to do other things, so they may already be up and out. We only have a cooked breakfast on a Sunday, so most days I’ll have juice, half a grapefruit, porridge and tea.
My bureau opens at 9.30, three days a week. It’s in an old farm building we’ve converted, and is filled with photos clients have sent of their weddings and babies. The bureau’s aim is to introduce farming and country people in the hope they form long-term relationships that may lead to marriage. I’ve over 500 people from all over the country on my register and two secretaries who help out with admin. If someone is interested, we send them a brochure and a registration form. If I take them on, I arrange an interview — it’s important I get to know them. I only ask for a fee after the first introduction, which is £300 and includes six more.
We get all ages. Most have never been married, and the majority are in their thirties. The oldest is 84. Once you get to the mid- to late forties, the majority are divorced or widowed, but I get quite a few older people who have remained single. It’s not unusual to get farmers who’ve devoted their lives to work and looking after their parents. By the time the parents pass away, they’re in their fifties or sixties. Only then do they think about a companion to share their life with.
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Lunch is at 12.30. It’s usually cold meats, bread and salad. We have half an acre for growing vegetables and fruit, so everything on the table is seasonal. We also have 12 chickens. If there’s a group of us for lunch, I’ll go into the pantry and get out what I call my haymaking teapot. In the olden days, I used to take it up to the fields and fill 20 cups with it. Once that’s over, I may go down to the village for groceries or have an interview lined up. I’m also writing a follow-up to a book I’ve written about my life in the country, so I try and put aside time for that too.
At 4, I like nothing more than getting out my mother’s china with the blue cornflowers on and making myself some tea. Being a female, I sometimes get the urge to do a bit of baking, but I’m hopeless at cakes. If I say to John I’m making a cake, he’ll say: “Oh, Pat, do you have to?” I’ve been married to John for 27 years — we met at a farm auction. We wanted to start a family, but nothing was happening, so my doctor advised me to focus on something else for a bit. That’s when I started the agency.
I’d always wanted to match people up, particularly country folk, because I understand their way of life and how isolated they can be. Men are often shy and find it hard to approach women. At the time, two local farmers’ daughters who were friends of mine were staying with me. They spent the whole time moaning about how difficult it was to find a man. Seeing both sides of the coin spurred me on. I never did get pregnant, but we were very fortunate to be able to adopt two children.
The agency’s been going for 24 years now, and I’ve definitely noticed changes. The other day, I had a letter from a lady asking me why I was unable to find anyone for her. I had to tell her that every time I sent her profile to a man, they were frightened off because of her qualifications. It’s such a shame, isn’t it?
I remember when I was 21, I was worried that if I wasn’t married by the age of 23, I’d be an old maid! Nowadays, women who’ve dedicated maybe 20 years to a career come to me in their late thirties, early forties, with bells ringing, saying: “Gosh, I need to settle down and have a family.” I have to say they’ve often left it too late. I’m afraid I find many men are just not interested in them. They’d much rather have a younger woman.
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Dinner is at 6. With our own livestock, quite a few of our dishes are with beef. We might have shepherd’s pie or a roast. John’s then usually finished for the day and he’ll often fall asleep on the sofa. Two nights a week my office is open from 7 till 9. This is often when clients ring me up for advice. “Should I let him kiss me the next time?” “What should I wear to impress her on our first date?” Contrary to popular belief, farmers make a big effort when it comes to dressing up. It’s very rare for me to have to remind a man not to go out smelling like one of his pigs.
At about 9 I like to unwind with a glass of red wine; by 9.30 I’m usually in bed. Just before I nod off, I like to reflect on the day. Maybe a client has sent a photo of their baby and a message: “If it wasn’t for you, our baby wouldn’t be here!” What can I say? It’s like I’ve been given this special role — and how wonderful is that?
Tales from the Country Matchmaker is published by Hodder