A wrought-iron bed became the centerpiece of a love story and a lifelong devotion. In 1965, Jerry Butler, then known as “Jerry the Bed,” encountered his future wife, Meryl, at a cinema screening of The Knack… and How to Get It, a film centered on a four-poster bed. Their shared enthusiasm for the furniture piece deepened their connection and shaped a career that would span continents.
Nine years ago, a journalist traveled to Tangier to meet Jerry and Meryl, who had moved from North Wales to Morocco in 1989. The relocation stemmed from a practical insight: the four-poster beds in North Africa were superior, designed with mosquito nets in mind. At the time, it was fairly cut-off with no running water or electricity, let alone sealed roads: ‘The nearby city of Tangier was practically a day trip away,’ he adds, recalling its many ‘houses made from local sandstone’. Now, the trip takes 25 minutes by car.
Mediouna retains its rustic appeal. The journalist passed Berber women tending a fire, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread. Jerry’s home, a sandstone structure with a blue door, reflected their diverse tastes. Inside, walls were painted in bold primary colors, shelves sagged under the weight of books, and the garden overflowed with plants rescued from roadside neglect. The couple expanded the original one-room house, blending bamboo, wood, and local materials into a space that felt neither Welsh nor Moroccan—but entirely their own.
The house brimmed with collected treasures: a floral iron bed from Tetouan draped in what Jerry suspected was an Iraqi bedspread, a painting by local artist Yousef Tamli hanging above it. The kitchen walls were painted deep cobalt blue, shelves lined with English pottery, and a red broom leaned against a mustard-yellow Crittall window frame. ‘That view makes for pretty beautiful washing-up,’ Jerry says with a smile.
Outside, the sun set behind the garden wall into the Atlantic. On a terrace near the living room, Jerry pointed to a small structure built in the style of the nearby Cap Spartel lighthouse—a tribute to his passion for maritime design. Nearby, an 1835 invalid chair, crafted by a Welsh artisan for a lord with gout, sat overturned. ‘Bought it for about 2,000 quid,’ he said.
A Life Woven into Tangier’s Fabric
Meryl’s influence remained in the details: the cats named Bubbles and Squeaky, the rescued dog Bonzo who joined the mosque’s call to prayer, and the Land Rover Defender, which doubles as an unofficial community bus. As the journalist departed, Jerry walked them to the gate past a pile of discarded bed knobs beneath a tree. ‘Do you think you’ll ever leave?’ I ask, as another neighbour drops by with bread. ‘Never,’ comes Jerry’s response. ‘Too hard to ever leave this.’
The journalist later visited the whitewashed English Church of Tangier, where Jerry had served as churchwarden and where Meryl now rests. On her grave, a church hen and her chicks settled for the night. It felt certain they would have approved.
Legacy in Wood and Iron
The business, now led by Jerry’s son Tony under the name Seventh Heaven, continues to source and restore four-poster beds, though Jerry remains involved in acquiring stock from Morocco. The home—a blend of memory, craftsmanship, and quiet devotion, stands as the most enduring symbol of their shared life.
The walls preserve traces of Jerry’s work and Meryl’s choices. Among the overflowing bookshelves, many filled with secondhand finds from Tangier’s souks, are volumes on maritime history, mirroring Jerry’s lifelong interest in ships and lighthouses. A framed map of the Strait of Gibraltar, marked with his handwritten notes, hangs near the bedroom door, where the floral ironwork of the Tetouan bed gleams under soft turquoise paint. The bedspread, likely from a Baghdad market decades earlier, features lotus flowers that Jerry insists “fit perfectly” against the bed’s detailed scrollwork. Above it, Yousef Tamli’s painting, a swirling abstraction in ochre and indigo, was acquired during one of Jerry’s early trips, when he and Meryl spent afternoons browsing art stalls near the Kasbah.
Jerry’s workshop, tucked behind the living area, is a cluttered space dedicated to restoration. Disassembled bed frames lie in various stages of repair, their wooden posts sanded smooth and ironwork straightened with precise hammer strokes. A workbench holds an assortment of bed knobs, some elaborate, others simple, alongside lengths of rope and fabric for future projects.
Bed Stories Outlive the Furniture
Jerry’s standing in Tangier extends beyond his craft. Many expatriate households, especially those in design and architecture, credit him for their interiors. A four-poster from his workshop might appear in features on Tangier’s bohemian style, its detailed carvings or faded upholstery framed as living history. The beds vary widely: some Moroccan, adapted for mosquito nets; others English, their woodwork softened by decades of use. Jerry does not categorize them. “A bed is a bed,” he stated. “The narrative is what counts.” His own home embodies this principle, its mismatched treasures, from the 1835 invalid chair to the Iraqi bedspread, each chosen not for consistency, but for their connection to shared experiences.
Meryl’s legacy persists in everyday moments. The cats, Bubbles and Squeaky, follow Jerry through the house, tails flicking at the scent of hidden tuna. Bonzo, the rescue dog, barks as Jerry opens the gate, his voice blending with the mosque’s distant call. The Land Rover Defender, its rust softened by years, serves as both transport and a mobile gathering spot. “People bring their children for rides or simply to talk,” Jerry explained. The backseat often holds bed frames or tools, but it has also carried fresh bread from village women who stop daily. Jerry does not reconcile contradictions. “This place thrives on stories, not routines,” he said as the sun painted the Atlantic gold.
