David Moffat Drummond Blakely,
17th June 1929 – Easter Sunday, 10th April 1955,
Holy Trinity, Penn, New Churchyard, Plot 48.

David Blakely received unwanted notoriety when he was murdered by Ruth Ellis in 1955, and from the newspaper coverage that followed. David was born in Ecclesall, Sheffield, his father was a Scottish born doctor and his mother was Irish and came from Ballynahinch. His parents later divorced, and David’s mother Anne remarried Humphrey Wyndham Cook in 1941.

Highland Light Infantry

Anne Cook with David

David was educated at Shrewsbury, and after his National Service in the Highland Light Infantry, whose insignia appears on his tombstone, he looked at a career in hotel management, but left that and concentrated on his real interest which was racing cars.  Initally in his beloved HRG racing car, HLO 168,  replaced by the ‘Emperor’ in 1954, in which he took 2nd place at Brands Hatch on Boxing Day, 1954. Both cars were serviced and race prepared by Len Gibbs at Slade’s Garage, in Penn, just a few yards from his and Humphrey and Anne Cook’ home, The Orchard on Beacon Hill. David was an up and coming motor racing driver, encouraged and financed by his step-father Humphrey Wyndham Cook, who was a motor racing driver in the 1930’s. From 1933 to 1939, Humphrey Cook financed the development of the ERA (English Racing Autombile) with Raymond Mays and Peter Berthon, with the objective of devloping a world beating racing car and in 1934 Humphrey Cook won a handicap race at Brooklands with an 1,100cc ERA.

David’s racing results 1951 to 1953 show 1st, 3rd, 4th and 6th place results at National race meetings at Silverstone and Goodwood driving the HRG lightweight HLO 168.

David Blakely with HLO 168 and Silverstone trophies.

Then, 1953 – 1954, driving the Leonard/MG with some 3rd and 5th placings. From October 1954, David was driving the ‘Emperor’ a HRG Twincam, and 26th December 1954 he achieved 2nd place at Brands Hatch. He was booked to race at the Goodwood Easter meeting 12th April 1955, two days after his tragic death. He had also been hired by Bristol Motor to drive one of the two factory Bristol 450 sportscars, (based on the ERA G-type Formula Two car of 1952), entered in the 24 Hours of Le Mans, scheduled to be contested in June of that same year.   A promising motor racing career cut short on Easter day 1955.

‘Emperor’ HRG Twin-cam (with HLO 168 number plate).

David Blakely lived with his mother Anne and her husband, Humphrey Wyndham Cook, (who she married in 1941), at ‘The Old Park’, Hammersley Lane, Tylers Green, which had been the WW2 retreat of Walter Delamare and his wife Elfrida.  The original ‘Old Park’ house was pulled down in 2008 and replaced by a very contemporary house.

The Old Park, Hammersley Lane.

Humphrey, Anne and David later moved to The Orchard on Beacon Hill, just a few yards from Slade’s Garage where Len Gibbs prepared David’s racing cars.

The Orchard ca. 1956

Humphrey Cook made a generous donation to the New Churchyard appeal marked on the 1978 completion plaque inside the New Churchyard wall.  Humphrey and Anne Cook are buried together in the New Churchyard, Plot 30, forward of David’s grave,  David’s elder brother John Brien Blakely (1920-1963)  was a Royal Naval pilot in WW2, flying Torpedo bombers (probably Fairey Swordfish).  He was a prisoner of war for several years and died from encephalitis aged only 43, he lies next to David in plot 49.

David in his 1946 MG-TC and his brother John Blakely.

Their eldest brother Derek, was a WW2 RAF pilot, awarded the DFC, and joined BOAC after the war, rising to Senior Captain.  Their sister Maureen, was a Wren, working at Bletchley Park during WW2 and married a US Naval Lt. Commander John Fahey in July of 1945 and emigrated to America.  The ashes of the children’s nannie, Beatrice Holman, who originally joined the family in Sheffield, are next to David, John, Anne and Humphrey, in Ashes plot 151.

Many thanks to David’s American nephew Derek, who provided family history and photographs ©.

See Also: Racing Drivers of Penn: David Blakely

Holy Trinity, Penn, New Churchyard, plot 69

Alison Uttley (17 December 1884 – 7 May 1976), née Alice Jane Taylor, wrote over 100 books, though best known for a children’s series about Little Grey Rabbit and Sam Pig. She is also remembered for a pioneering time slip novel for children, A Traveller in Time, about a plot to free Mary, Queen of Scots from Wingfield Manor, a setting close to where she was born in Cromford Derbyshire.

She grew up in rural Derbyshire, and was educated at the Lena School in Holloway and the Lady Manners School in Bakewell, where she developed a love for science which led to a scholarship to Manchester University to read physics. In 1906 she became the second woman honours graduate of the university and she made a lifetime friendship with the charismatic Professor Samuel Alexander.

After leaving university, she trained as a teacher at Hughes Hall, Cambridge and in 1908 took up a post as a physics teacher at Fulham Secondary School for Girls in West London.  In 1911 she married James Arthur Uttley, and in 1914 they had her only child, John Corin Taylor. James Uttley was prone to depression and drowned himself in the River Mersey in 1930.  From 1924 to 1938 the Uttleys lived at Downs House, Bowdon, Cheshire,  In 1938 she moved to Ellwood Road in Beaconsfield, to a house she renamed ‘Thackers’ after the house in her book ‘A Traveller in Time’.

Writing career

Alison Uttley, ‘A spinner of Tales’

In later life Uttley said that she began writing to support herself and her son financially after she was widowed, but in fact her first book was published in 1929, before her husband’s death. Uttley recorded that one inspiration was a meeting in 1927 with Professor Alexander at a painting exhibition in Altrincham, at which he confused her with another ex-student and asked if she was still writing. Her first books were a series of tales about animals, including Little Grey Rabbit, the Little Red Fox, Sam Pig and Hare. She later wrote for older children and adults, particularly focusing on rural topics, notably in The Country Child (1931), a fictionalized account of her childhood experiences at her family farm home, Castle Top Farm, near Cromford.

In her book Buckinghamshire, (1950), a collection of reminicensces and recollections, rather than a guide-book, she recalls walking up the lane from Knotty Green towards Penn church, with a young school-girl, Joy Allen, who walked from Brindle Lane in Knotty Green, to Penn School.  Together observing the flowers, birds and the beauty around them (pages 8-11 reproduced below).  Joy Allen became Joy Feast when she married, and contributed to the articles on Penn Church school on this website.

In 1970 the University of Manchester awarded Alison Uttley an honorary degree of Doctor of Letters in recognition of her literary work.

In 2009 her private diaries were published, and she has been the subject of two biographies

(Adapted from Wikipedia)

Extract from BUCKINGHAMSHIRE published 1950.

“Sometimes I walk to Penn by the narrow lane among the cherry trees, instead of branching off at Forty Green to the wood­land path. Except for the hamlet cottages, the lane seems empty, but there are many invisible denizens, as I found out one day when I walked with a village schoolgirl. The lane is said to be the old pack road from Penn to High Wycombe. It was the road taken by the children who went to Penn school. No motor-bus carried them; they had the inestimable boon of walking and observing and getting to know a country lane in all the seasons of the year, and the memory of it will stay with them for life. Now, unfortunately, the school is closed, like many village schools. (Penn School closed 1949).

I walked with little Joy Allen along the narrow lane with its deep high banks on the sides, and red apples hanging tempt­ingly over the well-plashed fence. It is a celandine, wild violet, cherry blossom lane in spring, a wild rose and wild strawberry lane in summer, a lane for traveller’s-joy and bryony, for dog­wood and spindleberries, for blackberries and hazel nuts in autumn, and in winter, when snow is deep, rich red and amber ivy on the sandy banks.

From these banks we could see bright eyes watching us from behind the leaves, peering from screens of feathery grasses or from under the ivy, or behind yellow deadnettle and shining stitchwort. Shirt-buttons the country children call the white flowers of the greater stitchwort, and each little flower head resembles a highly ornamented pearl button on a fine linen shirt. So we found nests of robins, of thrushes, of tits, and the child told me of the secret life she shares with these birds, looking out for them each morning and evening, enjoying their friendship. She is an observer of rare quality, and has the quiet, listening attitude, the retentive memory and experimental zest that make up a naturalist.

The village of Penn runs along the crest of the hill, 540 feet up, and there is a climb till the old village is reached. On the side of the road opposite the ancient church are two tiny cottages which give me more pleasure than many a famous house in a great park. Their enchanting names are Robin and Wren. These two little rosy-bricked timbered cottages are comfortable and happy places. They have great fireplaces, now bricked up, where little modern grates are fitted, and the outside chimneys remain, ivy-covered and strong, against the walls.

I first noticed these cottages when the Madonna lilies were in bloom, for a snow-white company stood close to the walls, growing in abundance under the kitchen windows.

Opposite the cottages is a field gate, where every climber “lops and stands and stares, for there is a magnificent view across the country, and Windsor Castle can be seen on fine days. Perhaps every village has its own gate where there is a special view, I have come across many in Bucks, and there is usually a countryman leaning there, admiring, dreaming, ready to point out the features which seem invisible at first.

The house on the hill-top, The Knoll, was the home for a time of Princess Anne, who was sent there while Mary reigned with William of Orange. A delicate little belvedere is called Princess Anne’s window. From it the Princess must have seen Windsor and the vast panorama below. This is now the home of Viscount Curzon of Penn.

The early fourteenth-century church stands in a commanding position, From the summit of its tower one can see fifteen counties, I am told, but I prefer to think of that view of the sky the watchers had recently. The Observer Corps have gazed out during the war years, scanning the starry sky for enemy planes, watching day and night against invaders. The church tower of Penn is a great look-out place, like a lighthouse in the green sea of Buckinghamshire.

There are fine yews in the churchyard, and some wooden grave heads on which I always see robins perched. They seem to prefer the warmth of the wood to the cold tombstones.

The church at Penn is beautiful in its simplicity, with its whitewashed walls, its painted hatchments, its stone porch. The pews have doors with latches, so that one feels secure, kneeling there.

I remember the first sermon I heard at Penn, It was a lovely spring day, the sky azure as a harebell, the air sweet as honey, scented with flowers, Butterflies and bees were about, a yellow brimstone fluttered by the church door, and arabis and daffodils bloomed in Wren and Robin cottages, and in the churchyard.

“As I came across to church this morning, I looked up at the sky and thought to myself, ‘This is a day to thank God for,'” began the aged clergyman, and his sermon was a simple talk about eternal country things.

Again, I think of Christmas in this old church, and the wreaths of holly berries and fir, and the beautiful crib with its roof of straw at the west end under the tower, and the Holy Child in the manger, with ox and ass, and little village children staring amazed at the miracle. It seems an integral part of the country church with its whitewashed walls.

At Easter the church is decorated by the children with flowers they have picked. There is a bed of white violets in the deep moss-lined window of the porch, and wild cherry blossom from the woods hangs in tumultuous foam by the altar. Daffodils fill the leaden font, one of the few lead fonts in the country.

– The roof is fifteenth-century and has six traceried queen-post trusses which stand on stone corbels, with shields and heads of bearded men and angels. The tower has a ring of five bells with some interesting inscriptions.

“The treble, dated 1702, is inscribed:
I as trebell do beegin, and the second says:
Feare God, honour the king.
The fourth has
In Penn tour for too sing,
nd the tenor says:
Unto the church I doo you call
Deth to the grave will summans all.”

Over the woods and down the valleys chime these bells, the sound carried by the wind, sweeping from the high tower on the hill.

“The Doom,” the famous wall painting, was discovered in I 938. Some oak boards covered with plaster were moved from the wall above the chancel arch, and colour was noticed upon them. A medieval picture of the Last Judgment was found there, painted in bright colours. The original work was done in the fifteenth century, and it was repainted in the same rich colours, during the same century, with different scenes. There is Our Lord on a rainbow, with red-winged angels around him, blowing trumpets and carrying symbols of the Passion. Twelve apostles below, with the Virgin Mary, are standing on a green hill, with souls rising from their graves. It is a picture which was made for the enjoyment and instruction of those people of medieval days who had a lively and imaginative church to satisfy their needs. Now it hangs on the south wall, with a curtain to preserve it from the light.

There is a stone coffin in Penn Church, called the Saracen’s tomb, a thirteenth-century coffin with a raised cross on the lid.

The church living was granted by Edward VI to Sybil Hampden, who had been his governess, on her marriage to David Penn, the barber-surgeon to Henry VIII.

Sometimes one arrives hot and weary with climbing the long hill to Penn. In the window of the porch there is always a jug of clean water and a couple of glasses “for thirsty wayfarers,” and we drink and are thankful.” (Buckinghamshire: Pages 8-10)

Holy Trinity, Penn, Old Churchyard, Plot F.16.

Donald Duart Maclean (25 May 1913 – 6 March 1983) was a British diplomat and member of the Cambridge Five spy ring, along with Guy Burgess, Kim Philby, Anthony Blunt and John Cairncross, which conveyed government secrets to the Soviet Union.

He was the third son of Sir Donald Charles Hugh Maclean and Lady Gwendolen Maclean, who owned Elm Cottage in Beacon Hill as a weekend retreat from their London apartment.  Sir Donald was a Liberal politician, who served as leader of the Opposition between 1918 and 1920 and in Ramsay MacDonald’s National Government as President of the Board of Education from 1931 until his death in June 1932

As an undergraduate, the young Donald Duart Maclean openly proclaimed his left-wing views, and was recruited into the Soviet intelligence service, then known as the NKVD. However, he gained entry to the Civil Service by claiming to have foresworn Marxism. In 1938, he was made Third Secretary at the Paris embassy, where he kept the Soviets informed about Anglo-German diplomacy. He then served in Washington, D.C. from 1944 to 1948, achieving promotion to First Secretary. Here he became Moscow’s main source of information about US thermonuclear policy, greatly helping the Soviets to evaluate the relative strength of their own nuclear arsenal.

By the time he was appointed head of the American Department in the Foreign Office, he was widely suspected of being a spy. The Soviets ordered Maclean to defect in 1951. In much later declassified reports, British Intelligence denied to the heads of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) any knowledge of his activities or whereabouts. In Moscow, he worked as a specialist on British policy and relations between the Soviet Union and NATO. He was reported to have died there on 6 March 1983.  His ashes were brought back to England by his son Fergus, and buried by his parents’ grave. The burial by the Revd. Oscar Muspratt was conducted in comparative secrecy, to avoid publicity, with a few family members present.  Donald’s older brother Alan was delayed leaving London and by the time he arrived at Penn, it was getting dark, and the service was conducted by torchlight.

Donald and his his eldest brother, Ian are remembered on the base of the family memorial in Penn churchyard.  Ian Maclean died September 14th/15th 1943, aged 34, when the aircraft in which he was Navigator crashed over Denmark, he is buried at Esbjerg, and is commemorated on the Penn WW2 War Memorial.

MACLEAN:THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD

THE VICAR of Penn . who held a torchlight burial service last week at his churchyard for traitor Donald Mac­lean expects to be criticised for his action.
But the Rev Oscar Mus­pratt told the Examiner this week that he stood by his decision to provide the final resting place for the noto­rious spy who defected and died in Russia.
He said: “No priest in the country can just bury the goodies and leave the baddies'” adding that he had taken into account the wishes of the family.
Maclean’s son, Fergus, deliberately gave the Press” the slip to avoid publicity when he brought his father’s ashes into Britain from Moscow last Tuesday.
Rapid arrangements were made for a small, simple funeral to begin at 6 pm on the following evening at the family grave with its moss ­covered Celtic cross next to the 13th century flint church, but heavy traffic had delayed the arrival of Maclean’s brother, Alan, a director of the Macmillan publishing firm, and his wife.
By the time they arrived — ­Fergus was already present — ­darkness had begun to fail and Mr Muspratt had to use a battery torch for the service. The verger was also present.
Mr Muspratt denied that anyone had deliberately chosen to hold the funeral in the dark: “We were forced to do so because of the brother and his wife arriving late.”
The Vicar said he was aware of bad feelings arising from Maclean’s burial in the country he betrayed. After passing on unknown quantities of top secret information to the Russians, he defected to the USSR in 1951.
Mr Muspratt told the Examiner that he had heard that one local resident had said the burial of Maclean was a desecration of the churchyard, and that the casket containing his ashes should be thrown in a pond.
In a prepared statement. Mr Muspratt contended: “Some would argue that discrimination should be shown in some circum­stances, but my reply is only that even on a battlefield, a chaplain buries the fallen, whether friend or foe, with the simple dignity that any death demands.
‘AII alike, great and small, have to stand before the judgement seat of Christ. We should not presume to usurp the role of the Almighty, but rather commend each and everyone to the mercv of God,
“On the merely human level, Donald Maclean certainly paid extremely dearly for his actions. which cost him the loss or all that we treasure most in life.”
Mr Muspratt continued: “One vital point: before I consented to take the burial service, I checked to make sure that no hammer and sickle emblem was emblazoned on the casket: I would have insisted on its removal.”
“I shall always prize the letter of gratitude from his son Fergus in which he expresses his gratitude so movingly and sincerely.”
“My lasting impression is that the Christian faith did indeed have the final say, for in fact it was the message of Christ’s Cross, and not that of the hammer and sickle, which had the last word.”
“This is the heart of the Easter message. not just for the select few, but for all faltering, failing mankind.”
Mr Muspratt returned from duty overseas in the last war as an army chaplain to become the Vicar of Penn 1n 1944.
Although the Vicar cannot re­call having met Maclean, he did know the family. Whenever they could, the Macleans would stay at Elm Cottage at Beacon Hill. near to his church, he said.
Mr Muspratt recalls introducing the famous wartime reporter, Chester Wilmot, to the Macleans, who allowed the journalist to write his book, ‘The Struggle for Europe’, at the cottage.
Thirty years ago. the Vicar was asked to conduct a marriage ser­vice between Maclean’s sister, Nancy, and a divorcee, but the Bishop of Oxford instructed that only a simplified service could be held at the parish church, The family declined to hold the wedding there.
Mr. Muspratt felt that by burying Maclean at the churchyard. he was helping to “redress the balance”. The family grave is also the resting place of his distinguished father, Sir Donald Maclean, a Liberal MP and Minister in the 1931 National Government: his mother, and brother Ian.
Ian Maclean was a pilot during the last war, he was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross after being shot down over Denmark in 1942.
Mr. Muspratt remembers that during the funeral of Donald’s mother in 1962 plain clothes police’ officers were in waiting in case the spy should put in a daring secret appearance to pay his last re­spects.
“When I heard that Maclean had died, my first thought was this is going to put me in a bit of a spot if the ashes were returned for burial at the church, I knew it was highly unlikely that the body would he brought back” the Vicar said.
He said that Fergus wanted the burial service carried out quickly after the ashes were brought into the country to keep it as private as possible. But Alan, said Mr Mus­pratt, wanted to wait a year “until the dust had settled”.
“I agreed with Fergus, and Alan agreed” Mr Muspratt said. “I was dealing as a Vicar with a family in trouble.”
During his Examiner interview, Mr Muspratt made it clear that in no way did he condone Maclean’s treachery.

Bucks Examiner, March 26 1983, by Ian Paterson..