ABOUT FIFTEEN YEARS ago, some friends visiting England from from Calcutta wanted us to meet their friend, Peter Chan, with whom they were staying at his home near Lingfield in Surrey. One weekend, we drove down from London to meet them. What we did not know before we reached the Chan’s home was that Peter runs one of the best – if not the very best – Bonsai nurseries in this country. He showed us around his remarkable collection of Bonsai trees, which he sells, and what we saw made a great impression on us. Winner of 21 Chelsea Flower Show gold medals, Peter named his business Herons Bonsai.
About a year later, we were invited to a golden anniversary luncheon in a pub near Lingfield. Having arrived too early, we decided to revisit Peter’s bonsai nursery and to say hello to the Chans. We parked our Saab car in the nursery’s car park, and returned to it after greeting the Chans and having a quick look at the bonsai plants. I turned the ignition key. The car made a strange noise and smoke wafted out from the engine’s bonnet. I tried again – the car had died. We called the Automobile Association (‘AA’), and after about twenty minutes, an AA rescue man arrived. He quickly diagnosed the problem. I asked him to estimate the cost of repairing it. He said it would cost at least £300.
I had just had the car serviced, and while it was at the Saab garage I asked the sales staff to tell me how much I should expect to get if I part exchanged our car with a newer vehicle. I was told that I would get no more than £400 because of our car’s age. In addition, I was informed that several serious faults would soon need rectifying by the time I came for the next annual service. These repairs would have been costly. Knowing these things, it was easy to decide that our Saab had reached the end of its life – it was not worth repairing. We left the car at the bonsai nursery, having explained to the Chans that I would arrange for it to be collected by scrap dealers within a few days. The AA man drove us to Gatwick Airport, where we hired a car, and managed to arrive at the anniversary lunch by the time that the main course was being served. Our Saab was taken away two days later.
This June (2024), my wife’s cousins met us for lunch at a pub, which they had chosen and booked. We knew nothing about the place. They drove us from Redhill station to the Wiremill pub near Lingfield. As we neared the place, I began recognising the countryside, notably a modernistic church built in 1958 by the Mormons. We turned off the main road into Wiremill Lane, and to our great surprise we passed Peter Chan’s bonsai nursery.
After a leisurely lunch, we visited Herons Bonsai. Before we arrived, I warned our cousins about the fate of our Saab, but they were not worried about parking at Herons. After admiring some of the wonderful plants, we met Peter Chan, who vaguely recalled our last visit and the demise of our car. He introduced us to one of his regular customers, an Anglo-Indian, who had been brought up in Calcutta. He was at the nursery, showing it to his cousin who was visiting from Canada. Peter invited them and our party (my wife, her cousin and her husband, and me) to join him for tea in the nursery’s meeting hall that overlooks the Japanese style garden that Peter has created. We drank tea, exchanged gossip, and listened to Peter telling us about some of the fascinating things he has done in his life.
We left Herons without any automobile-related mishaps. Was it pure chance that we had been booked to eat at the Wiremill pub, or did the hidden hand of fate cause my wife’s cousin to choose the pub so near to the bonsai nursery?
