My Hermit has been stolen.

Until recently my home of Dimblem has held the unique distinction of being the only stately home in England to possess a genuine Hermit, who lived in a grotto next to the cess pit. It was of course all the fashion for nobility to have Hermits dwelling within thier estates in the 18th and 19th centuries. This trend came to a gradual end with the introduction of psychiatiric hospitals, where upon most Hermits were sectioned for the safety of society.
Here at Dimblem we frowned upon the benevolent treatment of the mentally ill by placing them within the draconion confines of secure hospitals. My recent forefathers proudly continued to employ the odd and intellectually negligent as Hermits who lived in blissful lunacy here at Dimblem.
The most recent incumbant of this venerable title was a grubby and aggressive Scotsman called Wild Wee Gordon, who enjoyed a life of squalor and solitude. I would attempt to visit him once a month and take him food and clothing. Like all good traditional Hermits he would return my kindness by threatening to kill me and pouring abuse upon my family.
Last week I went to visit Wild Wee Gordon and was shocked to find he had departed. There was a short note explaining that he was intending to marry a girl from the village and that he could not survive on the wages I was paying him. He had obtained a job as a accountant and had given up the Hermit life for good.
A tear formed in my world weary eyes as I contemplated the departure of Wild Wee Gordon, the last Hermit in England.
Yet another fine old tradition had fallen by the way side, a victim to the modern world.

_________________
One nil to Lord Dimblem !