When Monty was one, the family moved to Britain and Hertfordshire. He described his father as "an Army heavyweight boxing champion, a commando, a very tough alpha male." He was a moody and distant man, who gave up his military career for a more settled life, only to find himself, in the years that followed, moving from one ill-suited job to another. Monty described his parents as being "very strict".
He recalled : "I grew up in Hampshire in a tiny village called Weston Patrick, where much of our extended family lived. The doors were left open and we’d run in and out of each other’s houses." The family were, in fact, living in the house built by his grandfather in 1870 in the Arts and Craft style.
"At five I went to a private day school in Basingstoke called Quidhampton. It was run by a pair of spinsters who were very strict. I was in trouble all day long – once for putting stinging nettles around a little girl’s knickers – and when I was seven I was asked to leave." At this point he was packed off "to a boarding school, Bigshotte School in Wokingham, Berkshire. I was very homesick at first. I remember going home for a day and bursting into tears because it all looked so beautiful. But I had a very good English master called Ian McWhinnie, who took me under his wing and encouraged me to write and act."He recalled that he had no love of gardening at a young age : "I was introduced to gardening at a very young age by my mother. But it didn’t entice my botanical interest. The garden was filled with jobs that had to be completed before I was allowed to go and play. So I saw it as obligatory drudgery on a par with washing up, chopping wood, feeding the chickens and all the seemingly endless chores of a 1960s rural life."
Monty has said : "Dogs have always been part of my family. The only time I have been separated from them was when I was at boarding school between the ages of seven and sixteen. I confess that I missed the two labradors, corgi, and beagle that had joined our family during that period as much as I missed my parents."
Back home in school holidays he "learnt that taking the dogs for a walk earned credit in the chores department and it was one less job that my overworked, constantly stressed mother had to think about. As a result I would set off every single day and walk the dogs for at least an hour. Whatever the season or weather, I was never more happy than when I was setting off out of the garden, across the little village road and up the farm track with excited dogs in tow. It meant freedom from duty and any responsibility other than bringing the dogs back home with me. These early walks not only freed me from the tyranny of the garden and did the necessary job of exercising the dogs, but they also created in me an instinctive need to share my outdoor world with a dog or two."
He duly gained a place at Magdalene College, Cambridge at the age of 21, where he read English and then muddled through his postgraduate work studying for an MA at the London School of Economics, while earning money to support himself at Joe Allen Restaurant in Convent Garden.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gqdGAsJ2kpQ&t=0m15s
Monty's love affair with Nigel began twelve years ago, when he recalled in 2017 :
"There was one puppy that caught our eye, sitting apart from the others, it was barking and had a slightly goofy smile. More 'Lenny the Lion' than leoline."
"It was the first of July 2008 and my son an I were in the middle of the Forest of Dean. The cottage was set deep in the woods, in a clearing, down a bumpy grass track. We had the unease of not being quite sure if this could possibly be the right pace. I was worrying that it was, indeed, the right place with all its slightly unnerving remoteness in this, one of the most cut off bits of the UK. Once we were inside, it was clear that the whole house was given over to the cult of the golden retriever. Three or four adult dogs greeted us in the hall and the kitchen was almost wholly occupied by a mother and her little pups."
"Outside in the garden were kennels with another litter and two of the most handsome dogs I have ever seen. One, with a russet coat, the colour of oak. This was the sire of the pups in the kitchen and a champion obedience triallist. The mother came from a long line of either hunting gundogs or guide dogs for the blind. In other words, these pups were born to be both good and beautiful. But for the moment, all these noble virtues lay suppressed beneath that thick layer of cuteness. Few can be immune to the overwhelming charms a 7 week old retriever puppy. However, I was sternly practical, smoothing away the wrinkles of sentiment with firm hands."Look at them carefully". I said to my son. "Check the line of their back, how they hold their heads. We must make sure they have a good hit score. Are they responding with curiosity or fear ? We want a dog that is bold and confident. Resist any temptation to rescue the weakest or the most timid." But I knew this was bluster.
"So we chose him, paid our deposit and drove home, wondering what to call him ? There had been some discussion already and certain names had strong lobbies within the household. One school of thought was that anything remotely ' pet like', was a capitulation to the forces of bourgeois degeneration. So "Rusty", "Max", "Captain Jake" or "Barney" were definitely out. They fought hard for the least suitable name one could think of. The game was made more complex : it couldn't be a ridiculous, made- up name, it just had to be as inappropriate as possible. "Keith" was a favourite followed closely by "Nigel", with "Norman" having its fans. The older, duller and slightly less excitable section, ie, 'Me,' wanted to walk a middle way. It had to sound reasonable when called out in a park or, as the dog went about its intended retrieval work in front of other owners and their highly trained dogs. "Ted" and "Tom" worked well by this measure. In the end a compromise was struck. "Keith" although tempting for its extreme 'undoginess', was jettisoned in favour of "Nigel". His full name would be "Nigel Bear", but first name terms will be adopted by all, but those who know him very well, sometimes call him "Oh Mr Bear". So a week after our first visit, we drove back to the middle of the Forest, collected "Nigel Bear", who, of course, was promptly sick in the car."
https://soundcloud.com/hodderbooks/nigel-my-family-and-other-dogs-written-and-read-by-monty-don-audiobook-extractMonty published 'NIGEL My Family and Other Dogs' in 2016' and said :
"Thus is a book, I suppose, about love. Love for a particular dog, Nigel. But also for all the dogs I've shared my life with. There have been quite a few and I felt enormous passion and love friendship and companionship for each one of them. And from my earliest memories I've shared my life with dogs. Of course, Nigel is special. He does inspire intense passion. He's bombarded with letters, cards and presents and he quietly plods along and accepts it all. And this is his garden and that's the other love story. I've made this garden over the last quarter of a century and over the last 8 years Nigel has shared it and every day he's been out there with me and he's changed and grown and become what it always is, which is surprising, yet somehow fulfilling and reassuring and he's become a key part of my life. The story of Nigel, but also the story of gardening, life and love." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM91oRMDleI
Monty and Nigel in the orchard 2018 :
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