Evelyn Uarda Rogers (1923-2022): An Obituary

Evelyn Rogers in her beloved Wood Garden, C.1940’s

As some of you may know, Mrs Rogers, Ed’s Grandmother, died recently, she passed away peacefully at the age of 98. Her funeral was held at St George’s Church, in Weald, on the 30th of August.

Evelyn first came to Riverhill in 1945 with her husband David and their 10 month son, John Morrison Rogers (Ed's late Father). They were returning from the war in North Africa but sadly David's father died the night before they arrived.

On their return they found Riverhill to be a changed place. When David had left there had been eight gardeners, seven men on the farm , a dairy maid and twelve living in servants. As a result of the war, the number of servants had fallen and the impetus to keep up maintenance began to wane at a time where funds were short.

Evelyn was a passionate and knowledgeable gardener and spent much of her time striving to restore and improve the gardens. In the late 1970’s she took the bold and brave decision of opening the Gardens to the public. Visitor numbers rose steadily through the 1980’s, allowing progress with the restoration. Many would have felt overwhelmed by the enormous task of maintaining such a huge and historic garden with so many crumbling structures, but she remained committed to ensuring the survival of our beautiful gardens.

Sadly a combination of family tragedy and the Great Storm of 1987 derailed this progress but she remained optimistic. She was eventually thrilled that in the aftermath of the family participating in Country House Rescue, Ed and Sarah were able to build on what she had begun, and undertake a significant restoration programme.

Evelyn continued to enjoy the Gardens, and never shied away from giving her opinion about any new planting or sculptures! She particularly adored the Rose Walk, Wood Garden and the views across the Weald of Kent, in many ways unchanged from when she had arrived in 1945. We endeavour to continue her fine work. 

Below is the Eulogy for Evelyn Uarda Rogers, given at her funeral by her son, Charles Rogers…..

That rather sombre poem (* Up-Hill by Christina Rossetti) you have just heard was one of my mother, Eve’s, favourites, which she frequently quoted in times of adversity - and she certainly had more than her fair share of adversity. My father, David, died of lung cancer in 1987, so by the time of her death she had been a widow for thirty-five years. After he died she never looked for anyone else.

Then in 1995 her eldest son, Johnnie, died suddenly of a brain tumour a few weeks after his 51st birthday.
This tragedy was compounded in 2003 when Peter, her middle (and some would say favourite) son, was drowned while swimming alone on the Atlantic coast of Morocco.

She was remarkably stoical about these terrible losses but there was no doubt she felt them deeply. One only had to be in her presence for half an hour before the conversation would turn to the subject of Peter. They shared many interests including a love of reading - particularly poetry. Peter was a soldier, and she loved the pomp and circumstance of his life and was immensely proud when he became ‘Silver Stick’ as the Colonel in command of the Household Cavalry. Being unmarried, Peter was able to include her in place of a wife, on several occasions. He once arranged a coveted seat for her in St George’s Chapel, Windsor, for the annual Garter Service.

Despite these tragedies, Eve always remained positive. She adored Johnnie’s children Ed and Dan and was lucky that they lived so close. When they both married she thoroughly approved of Sarah and Kinvara and as their families began to grow she was thrilled and reinvigorated by the new generation. She also had great respect and admiration for Johnnie’s widow Jane and the way she had shouldered the responsibility of running Riverhill and keeping the flame alight until Ed came of age. They all, in turn, formed a close attachment and great love for Eve, popping in regularly and informally to visit her at the Lodge and even more so once she was bedridden towards the end.

So where did it all begin?

Evelyn Uarda Bewsher was born in Jerusalem in 1923. Palestine (as it then was) was a British Mandate following the First World War, during which her father, Frederick Bewsher, had won a DSO and an MC. Now a Lt. Colonel who spoke Arabic, he had recently been tasked with raising The Palestine Gendarmerie - a local mounted peace-keeping force. Later, he was to form the Trans-Jordan Frontier Force to patrol on camels the wild desert country along the border with Syria.

Living conditions in the desert may have been very basic for the Bewsher family but dinner guests included the likes of T E Lawrence and the Emir Abdullah (Prince Faisal’s brother) who had been the guest of honour at their wedding.

In 1928 the family were posted to India where Fred took up command of the 1st Battalion The Royal Fusiliers. Eve adored her childhood in India. She was an only child but was perfectly content making her own entertainment. The sun shone, there were picnics with her teddies, ponies to ride and swimming in the creek. Eventually though this rather Kiplingesque existence came to an end and she had to sail to England to begin her formal education. For the next few years, because of the distances, she hardly saw her parents at all. She would spend the holidays from boarding school with her father’s sister in Hammersmith where the Bewsher family had traditionally run Colet Court, the prep school to St Paul’s.

When war with Germany was declared in 1939 Eve was sixteen and attending Queen Anne’s School, Caversham. Her parents were by now stationed in Egypt and they took the decision that whatever dangers lay ahead they were better faced with the family all together. She left school early and travelled out to join them in Egypt where Fred (now a Brigadier General) had been made Area Commander of Alexandria.

This was without doubt the most exciting period in her life. She met, or knew well, many of the glamorous figures of the day like David Stirling who founded the SAS, Geoffrey Keyes with whom she dined before he left for his ill fated commando raid to try to kill Rommel. He died in the attempt and was awarded a posthumous VC.

She partied at the house shared by Patrick Leigh Fermor and remembered seeing on the chimneypiece the pennant taken from the bonnet of the German staff car of General Heinrich Kreipe - a souvenir from when Paddy and Billy Moss had kidnapped the general on the island of Crete. At another party she described seeing at the foot of the stairs, casually slung over the bannister, leather saddle bags containing several gold bars, due to be parachuted next day into Albania.

She met and had a brief affair with a much older admiral. When the time came for him to go back to escorting convoys to Malta he looked in at the HQ, where she worked as a military telephone operator, to say a fond farewell. Her father’s office was upstairs in the same building and the two men passed each other in the corridor. “ What was that Admiral doing here?” asked her father. “He was saying goodbye to Miss Evelyn,” said one of the girls. “Really?” Said her father, perplexed and in total ignorance of the situation, “That’s very decent of him.”

Well, she married my father, David in 1943 and Johnnie was born in 1944. At the end of the War they came home to an England of austerity, with rationing in place and extensive bomb damage still to be cleared.

Evelyn Rogers and Major David Rogers on their wedding day in Cairo, Egypt. 1st December 1943.

My father had inherited Riverhill and the two of them set about trying to rationalise and adapt the house to a new era where money was tight and the workforce ancient and dwindling.
Peter was born at Riverhill in 1946, in the same room in which his father had been born in 1909 and in which I was born four years later.

We shared a very happy childhood with the confidence of knowing we were much loved by our parents. We may not have been lavished with expensive presents and there were few trips abroad but we had all of Riverhill gardens to play in and there was always the annual seaside summer holiday in Cornwall to look forward to.

My mother loved Cornwall and the West Country and visited it throughout her life. She taught us all to bodyboard in the surf from an early age and I remember, during her last trip in 2016, we both walked, with Tris and Ellie, into the pub at Crackington Haven. The whole bar fell silent when Mum said in a loud voice “ I first came here in 1926”.

On an earlier trip my children were electrified when their granny went swimming in the sea aged 80. No wetsuit for her!

The middle years at Riverhill saw her take on a more public role. She had already been a governor of Weald school for many years and of Wildernesse School in Sevenoaks and she took over from my father as Patron of Cookham Church. She became chairman of the South Eastern Branch of the Historic Houses Association and encouraged other homeowners with interesting properties to join.

In the year 2000 she organised a party at Riverhill for all the disparate relatives of the Rogers family. There was a board with a huge family tree and many guests found themselves talking to cousins they may have known about, but had never actually met. I am delighted that many of those who attended that party have made a considerable effort to be here today.

Ten years ago mother found fleeting TV celebrity in an episode of Country House Rescue which was featuring Riverhill. The editing slightly unfairly cast her as the obstructive old guard, ever resistant to the changes Ed and Sarah were contemplating. In reality she was supportive and immensely proud of what they have since managed to achieve.

It is sad that the last period of her life was marked by slow decline. As an active person all her life she resented the restrictions of age. She could not bear to be patronised.
We had great difficulty in persuading her to give up driving aged ninety-five. Our case was strengthened somewhat, however, when she managed to drive her automatic car into the flower bed up against her house. She rather sheepishly had to summon Grandson Ed to help get it unstuck.

“How on earth did you do this?” he asked.
“My foot slipped.” she said “ I was wearing my muddley slippers”.

For the last two and a half years she was totally bedridden and had to have 24 hour care but remained remarkably positive and continued to treat her situation as a temporary blip.
However difficult or undignified things became, standards of conduct were maintained. Carers were advised she should always be addressed as Mrs Rogers.

The day finally came when she had to be moved into Kippington Nursing Home. This involved a stretcher and a fair amount of uncomfortable manhandling which itself didn’t seem to bother her - but something else did...

“You alright now, my love?” asked the ambulance man once they got her settled.
She lifted her head: “It’s Mrs Rogers!”

She was a remarkable person; forthright, ‘politically incorrect’ (My children’s jaws would be on the ground at some of her remarks).
She was fun , - and a wonderful mother to me.

Mrs Rogers on Rosewalk at Riverhill, taken in the mid-1980’s

Up-Hill by Christina Rossetti

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.