CHAPTER 58
Vignettes from my Life (Cont.)
18. Later in 1967
The trip to see Stephen and the rest of the ballet school perform at the end of their Spring Term was a delight. In the end he wasn't scheduled for a solo performance but was the partner in a simple, exquisitely danced, pas de deux with Lisa and was one of the line of young males in the final extravaganza dominated by Buck and Fabien who had the main male roles supporting two very accomplished young ladies. In that, Jody also stood out as the Court Jester, doing some quite athletic leaps and rolls brandishing his Jester's beribboned stick.
Afterwards while we were waiting to leave having hefted out one already packed bag Stephen came along the corridor carrying newly washed tights, socks and inevitable dance-belts. Jody, similarly laden was a few paces behind him and went into his room. James rushed forward to congratulate Stephen but was almost brushed aside with a curt, 'Hold these, please'.
“Dad, Buck and Fabien are coming to stay for Easter, but I'm worried about Jody. His Mum and Dad have split up and he's supposed to go to stay with his Grandmother in Ireland but she doesn't approve of him being a dancer so could he come and stay with us? I'll pay for his keep.”
All said in one breath and very sincerely and concerned. Stephen, Oh, Stephen, what could we say? Stephen did have Johann's Grandfather's money. That was tucked away safely until he was twenty-one but he had a share of the interest before it was re-invested. He insisted on buying his own clothes and dancing requirements but that left a tidy sum accruing in his bank account.
Anne stepped in. “Of course Jody can come. You're not paying. He's our guest. Go and tell him.”
The grateful look on Jody's face when he came from his room said it all. He had been a lost soul for several months, only relieving the tension by the fanatical way in which he trained. I was not to know this at the time but with that simple statement by Anne we gained another surrogate son. Fabien and Buck grinned from ear to ear when they heard the news. Buck told me some days later that Jody Fuller might be a showman but he had real potential.
So, our family ebbed and flowed. It had increased today as it were, by the drop of a hat. In fact, Jody had already shown his skill earlier in the program with a spirited dance from de Falla's “Three-Cornered Hat”. For a lad of just on sixteen it had been danced with panache and fire.
James immediately took over Jody and helped him pack and after Anne had squared everything with the administration about his assured whereabouts over Easter we set off home. It meant a bit of rearrangement once we got there but Anne was a past master at accommodating sudden guests. Francis was shifted out of his room and put with Fabien and Buck in the large, en suite, guest room. She knew and I knew that those three were going to be inseparable over the holiday anyway. I thought of the joke which went round the college quite frequently, “How do you separate the men from the boys in the Clare Choir?” “With a crowbar!”. James, with Jody and the ever-present Khaled were in Francis's old room and Stephen and Safar would share his and James' room.
Khaled and Safar were going to move in anyway as Marion had accepted a three year post dealing with cosmological mysteries at Princeton and Ludo was going to exercise his expertise in Anglo-Saxon and Old English, as he said, with the linguistically challenged graduates there. “When they can read Beowulf like a native I shall know they've arrived.” I pointed out that Americans were not all ex-Mayflower expatriates but were mostly the 'huddled masses' from here, there and everywhere. “Jacko, old lad, you take everything too seriously!” Grunty was missing, too. His father had taken him off to the States for a flying visit as Professor Gibson was receiving an honorary degree from some illustrious academic establishment there.
*
I was more than busy over the Easter vac as I was correcting the last draft of 'Audacity' and Anne was the same with hers. The boys entertained themselves. The four lads did 'class' every morning starting dead on nine o'clock with Francis as ardent watcher and tape recorder manipulator. In the afternoons they went with Francis, Khaled and Safar to the school boathouse to do torso, leg and arm strengthening exercises. As Buck and Fabien had both been promised places in ballet companies in their own countries after finishing in the summer they were very keen on keeping as fit as possible. James had his A Level exams as soon as school returned so he worked most of the time with the lad who used to be teased, Jeremy Vine. For some reason, only known to himself, dear James had chosen a disparate set of three subjects to take. Pure Maths, English and History. Jeremy was a straight, in that sense, Sciences student. Their only meeting point was the Pure Maths and as Jeremy was a whizz at maths James worked well with him.
The dance lads worked hard and from the piles of tights, tee-shirts, dance-belts, socks, underpants, bed-sheets and towels, which kept the washing-machine busy most days, they and the others were keeping busy and enjoying their stay immensely in all sorts of ways.
The only problem was what was to happen to Jody. His parents had no other children, She had been a dancer in the West End and now ran a restaurant. He was a trumpet player in theatre orchestras and dance-bands. That was how they had met, dancer and musician; the combination must have seemed ideal. But, mother desperately wanted Jody to be a dancer. Father didn't. A couple of days after he'd arrived Francis told me Jody had opened his heart to him and said his father had called him a 'bloody little pouf' from when he started having lessons at the age of six. Father was often away from home and liked his drink. At the end of the Christmas holidays there had been an unholy row and he'd thrown all Jody's dance clothes out of the bedroom window and told him to find a proper job. His mother had bundled him off back to school a few days early and the next thing he knew they'd separated and his mother said she didn't want him either as her boyfriend, of whom Jody knew nothing, didn't want him around.
What could I do? I contacted Lachs and a few days later a van appeared early in the morning with all Jody's possessions and signed and sealed statements from both mother and father making me and Anne his guardians. A note from Lachs had already said all Jody's fees were being paid and there would be something for his keep. I didn't enquire but I guessed Sayed's hand was there somewhere. Jody's possessions were unloaded by two rather tough-looking young men in overalls. I guessed they were part of Lachs' group and when they were having tea and sandwiches in the kitchen I heard one call the other one 'Sarge'. They were more than amused when the kitchen was invaded by four very stately young men who had finished 'class' and wanted drinks and sustenance. Even very male young Marines took in all the details and I saw a knowing look flash between the pair and the younger of the duo's tongue flicked between his lips several times as he surveyed the group with no pretence at averting his eyes.
We had told Jody and the boys the night before what was going to happen and the lads nearly went mad. Jody was hugged, patted on the back, congratulated by everyone with Safar solemnly saying that now he was one of the family he had better start mucking in and the first thing he could do was help clear the table. So life in our family started for him.
Stephen was overjoyed at having another best friend around. He would be thirteen a couple of weeks after Easter but, with Safar being nearly fifteen and Jody sixteen in a week or so, I wondered how he would fit in. There had been a special bond between Safar and Stephen from very early on. They were both studious, somewhat serious, but always ready to counter the wit and wisdom of James in particular. They both loved playing the flute. Safar was now more than equal to Stephen who said arrangements were being made for him to have lessons from one of the Opera House players. Uncle John - as he called John Parker, was arranging it. Safar had also learned to play the piano. Marion was a more than competent pianist and he'd been having lessons for a couple of years now from a friend of hers.
I knew Safar missed Stephen while he was away. They kept up a correspondence of post-cards and sent jokes and things heard back and forth. Safar was also growing fast. Although the others still called him 'Midge' he was now as tall as Khaled, two years his senior, just over five foot six, so both were now taller than their father!
Stephen seemed to have come to terms with being away from his family for these long periods at school. However, I remembered how his father had told me so many years ago there had been a lack in his life, a certain feeling of loss, not quite knowing who he was. With him it was possibly engendered by his father's death as well as he was of an age to have missed him. He had admitted to me all those years ago that even though he had good friends at school and a loving mother he didn't really have much family life. It was also strange. Both Lachs and Flea had never had any permanent relationships in their adult lives. Lachs' marriage to Audrey should have been ideal but that had collapsed, I felt, through no fault of his own. However, with the break-up, Lachs' ability to bond with another seemed to have collapsed as well. He had never revealed any other liaison. On his last visit, as we sat talking late at night, he admitted he threw himself entirely into his work. He only felt fulfilled when he was working flat out and only felt fully relaxed when he was in Cambridge with us.
Flea's escapades with married ladies was well-known. I knew of four at least and he had stayed with us on more than one occasion while licking his wounds. On one occasion we were awoken at four in the morning with him begging sanctuary - with that irrepressible grin on his face - as an irate husband had arrived home unexpectedly from a business trip and almost found him and his wife sleeping the sleep of the just after, as he put it. They'd just woken in time and it was a mad scramble for him to get out of the back door. Clad only in hastily donned trousers and jacket, no shirt, he'd escaped in his sports car hotly pursued by the gentleman in question in a much larger car. Only by dint of swerving off into by-roads did he get away and ended up in Cambridge pleading for his old pal to save him from a fate worse than death. His only excuse was that you don't often get five feet five's with a dick like a horse and that's what the ladies liked. Having seen said dick on many occasions I said it must have been a very small horse. I grinned to myself. I well knew that the six and a half inch sturdy erection on him looked huge. He said he couldn't help it. He'd never been short of offers. I knew he had had a very powerful sex drive. Teenagers who could come six times in the course of a night must have. Lachs did, too, perhaps not quite to the same extent, but powerful and profound. I wondered if his son had inherited that power and profundity. It was there in his dancing I was sure. Still, at thirteen, he still had to develop and find out.
I was cogitating on all this sitting in my study looking out into the garden when Francis knocked on the door and wanted to know if I was busy.
“I had a letter from Silvio this morning,” he began with no preamble. “He wants to come to England at the end of July for a language course and there's one he likes in Cambridge and he needs somewhere to stay.”
It sounded very much like an arranged job. More than one letter I guessed, back and forth. I looked at Francis. Puppy-dog eyes weren't in it. I tried to keep a straight face. Here was my eldest son, probably wanking, sucking and shagging and being wanked, sucked and shagged by two of the hottest young studs imaginable, now trying to arrange more of the same with an over-sexed Italian stallion. No, not an over-hung stallion. James' chart had noted in brown pencil that there was no change in length of six inches and one tenth over the time they'd been at least wanking together on the previous visit. I was slightly mistaken about the extent of the request. He took a deep breath.
“And could Bruno come, too? Silvio says he needs to improve his English as well.”
“And the rest of them? The other four?” If the present company cluttered up the washer with spunk-stained bed-sheets what would it be like with at least four of the Italian mob spraying their teenage seed as well and, given the accelerated rate that the Italian boys seemed to develop, it would probably be five. Oh no, Fabien and Buck would be in their own homes giving their mothers extra work, so two down, but that still left nine or ten.
Francis shook his head. “No, Mama is going to take them to the new villa that's almost finished on the coast. I think the place is called Rapallo. He says they are more interested in being by the sea and perhaps we could all go there next year.”
Bribery? I said he'd better consult his Mum. He said she had said it was up to me. Puppy-dog eyes again. Even at nearly nineteen he could still act the wanting seven-year-old!
“Yes,” I said, “But you're responsible for them. I don't want them here on some flimsy pretext. Last thing I want is for Mama to find out they've spent their time and her money just sniffing around, chatting up girls. So, first thing you do is check out the language school. Make sure it's a good one, there are some ropey ones about. See if they have qualified teachers. There are quite a few of our students teach for them and I wouldn't trust half of them.”
Puppy-dog eyes became more alert. Dad was almost agreeing!
“I'll start this afternoon. James and Khaled can take the others to the boathouse.”
Amazing what the prospect of.... No, I mustn't be unkind. There was a genuine friendship between the lads. So, that was that. Two days later he had done the rounds. Yes, the one chosen was OK. They used school-teachers on holiday, earning extra pennies, and only had students for conversation. If they attended mornings only it would be cheaper and he would deal with conversation in the afternoons and James could help. By the way, he said, with a crafty look, they asked if we could take up to half-a-dozen more as they were short of suitable families for the students. I picked up the nearest book and he retreated quickly before I could throw it at him.
Actually, Francis hadn't been going to the boathouse every afternoon as he had been reading ready for the new term. He didn't go into detail but he said he was enjoying the course. Bit smelly was his comment to me when I asked how the dissection work was going. James, of course at the dinner table and to the horror of the other lads, wanted to know which bit of the body he and Grunty had got up to? And was it male or female? A sharp look from Anne shut him up.
As it was, neither he nor Grunty seemed to have any problems with the course. We saw nothing of them as stipulated during term time. At least, no physical bodies, but I saw Mrs Pring ironing a shirt of his one afternoon so I guessed washing was smuggled in and out. I thought of that other pair, Nobbo and Cleggy. Two others with ambition and now fully fledged clinical lecturers in their chosen specialties in their respective London hospitals. Both had produced sprogs as well. Isabella looked as if she might foal as often as one of her favourite mares. They had four youngsters already, two boys and two girls, interleaved. Cleggy was content with his two boys. Content! The last time they had visited us they were just like Dad. Holy Terrors! But then, I wondered just how many other children the pair had sired. Nobbo had told me they had masturbated for money weekly during their second and third years as students. So, six terms of ten weeks, give or take a wank or two added up to quite a total of possible pregnancies. I'd read that some women who underwent such treatment needed more than one insertion of the vital fluid. But, even so, the prospect of all those possible Cleggys and Nobbos - now in their middle to late teens - was quite something. Nobbo had said anonymity was guaranteed, but what if there was a knock on the door and “Daddy!”?
We heard both of our books had been accepted. Ma also 'phoned to say her latest and another shocker by Aunt Della would be out for the Christmas market. I just wondered where two ladies of advancing years got their ideas! Ma did say she would exchange one of hers for the two of ours. Cheek! Anyway, having checked my draft once more for the ninety-ninth time I wondered what she would make of passages such as:
'......and so the young bronzed Mars, stripped and ready for the fray, kneeling, caressed that smooth well-muscled thigh of young James whose friendship now he valued more having been chastised so cruelly for that moment of ill-temper. Good-natured James who had worried long for causing such a hurt to his fine friend now thought to have some sport with him. Thus, he, standing over him smiled down knowing that young god was his to do as he would will. That unsuspecting youth stared up at his quiet smiling face and spoke soft and humbly. You are as marble fine and I would kiss you awake like that sweet Endymion who slept and was aroused from slumber by fair Selene each night. No fair Selene am I as you can see but I will wake your ardour none the less and we will pass this night in sweetest bliss before you sleep again.
So saying, he bent his head and with the softest lips, fluttering like those iridescent wings of the poor creature they had released, caught against the casement light the morn before, kissed from sculptured toe to ankle trim then up the chiselled shank to swelling thigh where full long his prize rose swiftly ere his kisses reached that rose-budded stem.
His Endymion, so awoken, knew the wanton god was his and called with soft voice, come lie with me and gain your prize. I am the hostage to your desires, do with me as you will for you, young Mars, shall husband all those spoils of war and take my seed as Ares your other self and share those gifts. But Lusty Will hath said he would battle with you as well so we three shall pass this night and you and he shall vie for each small portion of my fate.
The artful youth raised but one finger and to this signal call the second of his conquests rose from his couch and smiling joined the pair. I think my friend your warlike name belies your softer self for in melle sunt linguae sitae vostrae. [For your words overflow with honey: Plautus Truculentus] I would not vie with thee but let us share such joy that this most cunning James has brought for us. We three shall pledge that through this night all spoils are for us equally. Come let your broadsword plunge between my lips while you taste that sweet honeydew from your Endymion's staff. He hath the wish from two nights ago to take my butcher's steel and sharpen once again that tongue which with wit and pun enlivens all our merry discourse. Come, I am ready, and with no further word the trio set themselves upon the bed and laved and sucked until all had shared the other's seed........'
Ouch! I may be thirty-seven but re-reading any parts of the tale were uplifting! Still, if this was a bit racy then the first draft of the first two chapters of Tony's 'growing-up' book were even more forthright. No hiding behind sweet euphemisms. In the opening chapter a thinly disguised hero 'Paul' succumbs to the wiles of a slightly older boy, 'Charles', which was certainly the nom-d'emprunt, or nom-de-guerre, or whatever, of Big Jim Chater. I hadn't had the opportunity to inspect more closely that lengthy tool of his I'd seen in action but the description of every vein, every tiny mole and every fold of his foreskin gave a pretty good idea for identifying it even on a dark night. As 'Paul's Odyssey' itself unfolded I guessed I would appear at the present rate of seductions and experiences in about chapter ninety-eight!
We said goodbye to Buck and Fabien. They had one more term to go and then return to their homes and the companies to which they had been appointed. As they boarded the train at Cambridge station with Jody, Stephen and Lisa in tow, Francis flung his arms around each of the boys in turn and kissed Lisa and looked a real lost soul on the way home. Even James kept his mouth shut and didn't make one of his usual comments. He didn't know I'd overheard him the day before saying to Francis he was going to miss Fuck and Baby-One but not so much as Francis would. Francis ignored it as I came into the room but I guessed the little Newark would be dealt with in due course.
James's exams came and went. He said he winced a bit at a couple of the Pure Maths questions but Jeremy had tackled them as well and got the same solutions. English Literature was a doddle in his opinion and, thanks to Mum, he thought he'd done OK on the History papers. Please could I go and stay with Grandma and Gramps at Ulvescott for a couple of weeks to wind down? Can Jerry come, too? Be back for Sports Day was the command. Khaled was miffed. He still had schoolwork to do so one weekend I took him and Safar up to the London flat as their father was over for a visit. The visit was rather important as he was going to be appointed pretty soon as Ambassador at the Court of St James for his country. All depended on some careful negotiation between the many members of his family who might feel they had a better reason for getting the very prestigious position. Anyway, tea at the Ritz was very pleasant.
*
James returned just after supper time in the evening of the day before Sports Day. He disappeared off immediately to say hullo to his Mum who had retreated to her study. She came through to the kitchen and piled a plate with leftovers, grimaced resignedly and took it off with her. When he re-emerged bearing the empty plate I was about to give him a telling-off as I thought he wasn't going to take part in the School Sports. He realised I was going to say something.
“It's OK, Dad,” he said as he came into the kitchen where, as usual, I was clearing up. “I 'phoned and I'm entering for the Mile and Jerry is time-keeping for Old Soapy.”
Old Soapy was a highly revered Maths master who always fired the pistol for the start of any races and always had a couple of his favourite mathematicians as record keepers. But I was puzzled.
“But when have you done any running?”
He held his hands up in a placatory fashion and smiled. “It's OK, Dad, I did at least five miles every day at Ulvescott and Jerry said my times were good for the first mile. Much improved by this morning so I think I'll be able to keep up the family tradition.”
I nodded. “I missed not being able to run for the last time. I had a pretty good chance to win the Lane Cup again.”
He looked at me closely. “Dad, you told us about Piers' medal. Could I borrow it for tomorrow and one of yours as well?”
I was quite taken aback. I didn't even think the boys had been interested in the story or my history.
“Of course,” I said, “I've got them in a drawer in my study.” I thought then of the minuscule running shorts he would be wearing. “What about pockets?”
He laughed. “Mum said she'd sew them in” His face wrinkled in a grin. “Of course, I could just tuck them in my jockstrap.”
I flicked the tea-towel, which seemed to be my usual weapon of punishment, at him. “Cheeky child,” I said, “They're precious. I don't want them corroded by your sweaty body.”
He took no notice, merely sidestepping. He was used to being in the firing line. “Did Gran sew Piers' medal in for you, or did you have pockets in those great things you wore? Gosh, they're nearly down to your knees, it's a wonder you could run in them. Ah, but I suppose they acted like sails and any breeze helped you along.”
They'd giggled over the photo album many times as kids. Me, clad in long singlet and running shorts, holding the Lane Cup proudly was just one of the collection handed on by Ma.
“Perhaps some of us have more to hide than the younger generation,” I said, “Those green shorts of yours would have had Matt, Tom and me arrested in our young days.”
He looked at me slyly. “Probably you, Dad. I saw what you used to put each month in that diary you showed us.” He snickered. “Must run in the family 'cause Graham's the same. God, he was only fifteen and he was hung....” He shut his mouth tight showing his teeth. “Sorry Dad, James has done it again.”
Graham, Gareth's son, must have been inspected on the visit the lad had made for a few days en route for the minor Public School he had been sent to at the insistence of his Mum, 'to toughen him up a bit'. At fifteen he was already nearly six feet and was really overawed by the rumbustious James. Anne had put him in with him as Stephen was back at ballet school earlier than the term starting for Graham so, no doubt, there had been plenty of time for analysis of attributes.
“Can't help it, Dad, but it is very noticeable. Grunty says it must be in our inherited factors,” he stopped again. “Oh, Lor, shouldn't have told you that as well.” He looked at me and smiled. “If I can't talk to you, Dad, I'll never know anything.”
“So, you've discussed our intimate anatomical makeup with the medical oracle, eh?”
“Dad, don't use such long words. It's just that our lot seem to be what Grunty calls well-blessed. He ain't”
“I thought you weren't supposed to say ain't. And how do you know about Grunty?”
“Sorry, but he isn't.” He emphasised the word 'isn't'. “Boys' talk. That's all.”
“But I've seen the chart and that's not done by talk!”
“OK, Dad, but you keep saying you were a boy once and you won't tell us what your friends measured.”
“I told Francis a little bit, so he's discussed it with you. Boys' talk?”
“Oh, Dad, what do you think we talk and think about ninety-five per cent of the time?
“I know, I was a boy once and in my day it was ninety-nine per cent and don't forget, thinking doesn't stop when you reach the old age of eighteen.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I used to think no-one could live past eighteen and I've only got a few weeks to go. Actually...,” Here he looked at me and smiled that James smile. “..thinking about it you're not much older than us. Francis says his friend Jock Parrish is twenty and he'll be that next year. Gosh, Dad you're only thirty-seven and you've got us.”
“Yes, and sometimes you make me feel like seventy-three. Having you makes one age fast.”
He grinned. “You don't look it and anyway it must run in the family both sides.”
“What, pray?” I asked, but knowing the answer.
“Oh Dad! You know! Being well-blessed. Piers certainly was.”
I was puzzled. What evidence? Clothing? Over-large jockstraps? Still to be seen imprints in underpants? No there were no jockstraps - probably hadn't been invented then. The underpants I'd found had been rather voluminous but were well-ironed and folded.
“And how do you know that?” I was truly baffled.
“In his diaries, of course,” he replied smugly.
“But we never found anything. Tony and I have read them through enough times.”
He was enjoying this. “It's there as clear as day. Remember where he gives references in the Bible to the vicar's sermons?”
I racked my brains and remembered Tony and I had seen them and disregarded them as things a rather devout boy of the time might note.
“Yes, I think there were about three of them, but I don't see the relevance.”
He nodded. “Neither did I until Jerry gave me a clue.”
“Has Jerry read the diaries?”
He shook his head. “No, but we were in the church because he wanted to have a look around. He was looking at that list of vicars from 1300 on the wall and he laughed. Said one of them had a real double-barrelled name. I had a look and it was Richard Cox, nineteen hundred and six to nineteen twenty-six. He laughed and said he bet he was called Dick the Prick!” He grinned at me. “Sorry, Dad, but it's important. So when he was chatting to Aunt Mary when we got back I had a quick look in the diaries and it's solved. Look, I'll show you.”
His backpack had been ditched on arrival under the kitchen table. Out came various pieces of dirty underwear and other unmentionables and, wrapped carefully in brown paper were the three diaries.
“Why on earth have you got those?” I began, angrily.
“It's OK, Dad.” He had retreated a couple of steps seeing I was beginning to lose my temper. “Aunt Mary told me to bring them home because it was important for you to look after them.” He bent down again and drew out another package which he unwrapped. “She said Francis and I were to share this when I told her about the rowing.” It was Piers' tasselled rowing cap. He held it out to me. “She said things must not be lost.” He sniffed. A tear rolled down his cheek. “Oh, Dad I felt so sad and so glad when she gave to me. I put it under my pillow. Poor Piers. But I knew he wanted us to have it as well. It won't be lost.”
He sniffed and drew out a grubby handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Gosh, it's odd, but I knew he was there. Jerry said it's a strange place. He was all worked up about his Chemistry exam but he said he felt much better about it as soon as he got to Ulvescott. He says he knows he'll pass now.”
I put out a hand. “Ulvescott's the same for me. Now tell me what you've found.”
He grubbed in his backpack again. “Lost it. I found a Bible there and copied some bits. Can we have look for one in your study?”
He picked up his bag and followed me up the stairs. He must have realised something. The house was quiet.
“Where are the others?” So far he hadn't enquired about Francis, Khaled and Safar.
“Oh, they've gone over to Jem and Sam's new house to help move some furniture. They could do with another big strong boy.”
“But I've got to rest. I'm running a mile tomorrow.”
“Abstinence?”
“Dad! But what about them?”
“Safar's in the hundred yards and Khaled's doing the four forty. They're fit!”
We found a Bible on my shelves and sat side by side at the desk. He took the first diary and flicked through to Easter of 1915. I recognised the crossed out entry. I had a sudden resurgence of feelings. I waited.
“Look,” he said, “Easter Sunday. He's written 'Vicar's sermon: Matthew 25, 2. Better than wise. G less than foolish.' Then, I'll show you.” He shifted to the second diary. The week after Christmas before he went back to school. Just him at home as the dots alone showed. “There, 'Vicar's sermon: Exodus, 20, 1: Days of labour! More!' He picked up the third diary. “The third one was when Miles was staying after Christmas. You know, when they did it.” He opened it to the last few pages. “It's here on the Sunday before that. Look. 'Vicar's sermon: Matthew 18, 21: I can forget seventy but Miles can almost'.” He picked up the Bible and held it up. “That first Matthew reference is to the parable of the wise and foolish virgins. Five wise and five foolish. Don't you see? If Vicar is Dick or Cox, it doesn't matter, but he says he's better than wise, so he's better than five, and that other boy G, that's the Gordon who went home.....,” I nodded, I remembered even more clearly. “....is less than foolish so he's less than five. That means they'd been measuring themselves because the next one we all know anyway is that He laboured six days and Piers says more, so he's over six. And that third one....,” Here he thumbed through to the page in Matthew's gospel. “....that keeps mentioning seven and ends up 'Until seventy times seven'. He says he can forget the seventy and Miles can almost. So he's seven inches and Miles is a bit less.” He looked at me triumphantly. “I'm right. Aren't I. Cleverclogs, eh?”
I nodded. Not having scrutinised the list of Vicars I didn't know about the Reverend Richard Cox, vicar from 1906 to 1926. I grinned to myself. And Tony couldn't have known either. I remembered we hadn't even bothered to look in the Bible. It was so manifestly plain, like a pikestaff as it were, now.
“You're obviously right. Did you tell Uncle Tony?” I said, laughing. He shook his head. I was the first recipient of the news! So, Piers was well-blessed. I wasn't surprised. I'd already noted the French strand with Daniel and Johann and the English strand with my cousins and, I suppose the combined strands with myself and my sons. “That's something you can tell Grunty. It certainly runs in the family, French and combined.”
He looked at me quizzically. “French? Daniel? Johann?” He paused. “Yeah, I remember Daniel wandering about but......, I don't really remember taking too much notice.” He grinned at me again. “Too use to seeing you, Dad. Seeing that...”
I put out a hand to give him a playful punch on the arm. He took it and laughed.
“It's true then! Graham said about his Dad, and said he'd let slip Uncle Dick and Gramps used to be the biggest in the University Fifteen.”
Oh, yes, I remembered Mr Gardiner's remarks about Dickie Dido and I'd probably fill the jockstrap like someone else could - my Dad! And my cousin Gareth had a whopper as I fondly remembered from that first visit to Cardiff. Well, so did Alun and Rhys. Yep, it certainly ran in the family.
“But you won't be tattling all this to Grandpa I hope.” I snickered. “I guessed it was probably so when the Gardiners gave me all Chris's old stuff. Old Henry Gardiner held up a jockstrap and said something like he expected I'll fill it like my Dad, pride of the line-up.”
“There you are, Dad,” he said elatedly, “At school we've often discussed whether our parents were like us. It's true, they were.” He snickered, too. “And then when they get old they say No to everything and they've done it all themselves before!” He realised what he'd said and shook his head. “That was all an awful mistake I made. I wouldn't have done it for worlds now. Still they say you learn from your mistakes.”
I put a hand out and held his arm. “Better luck next time.” I grinned, “But thinking about my case. I didn't learn, because I had you!”
He smiled. “But, Dad, I think we're very much alike!”
I let that ride. “And I suppose you'll have to tell Francis all you found out?”
He grinned. “You bet! He'll be mad he hadn't spotted it..... ....Dad, you will keep those diaries safe, won't you?..... And can I have the medals, please?”
I put the diaries in my desk and found the two medals in another drawer. “You keep those safe, too, and I want to see whatever you get for winning the mile.”
“Ta, Dad, I will.”
He rushed off bearing his bag, clutching the medals. I went down to the livingroom and was just settled with the Times crossword when he came back beaming and holding up his green running shorts. They looked distinctly grubby.
“All done,” he said giving me the garment. Anne had sown in a patch inside on the right hand side. Very neat. I could feel the medals within it.
“They're filthy,” I said. “Surely you could wear a clean pair tomorrow.”
He give me such a look. “Dad, I've run at least five miles a day in those every day for the past three weeks and I'm winning the Mile in them tomorrow.”
“And I'll be there to see you!”
“Thanks, Dad.” He took the shorts back. Another thought struck him. “When are Stephen and Jody coming back?”
“Ah, not until next week. They got an extra week because two of the others weren't well.”
Stephen and Jody were doing a month in a West End show as two kids in several of the scenes. No speaking parts, just milling around and, generally, being kids. They were staying at the flat with Ma and Pa and she was chaperoning them back and forth. She was enjoying it but she was watching the show every night and at matinees and said a month would be enough. At the last moment the pair had been asked to continue for this week and as both would be getting plenty of pocket money they'd agreed. When I spoke to Ma on the 'phone she was quite happy as the pair were a joy to have around and she'd had another idea for a book and she'd sketched out the synopsis. She chuckled and said it was murder working in the theatre! So, her next book...?
“And Silvio and Bruno?”
“Next week too. Of course, Khaled and Safar are going off down to the farm with Miles. By the way, that's more news.” James was all ears. Major Miles Bastable the Marine Commando was a real hero to the boys. No swagger, no side, full of good humour and a great story-teller. “Miles is retiring next year and going to help his brother run the estate. Neither of Giles' boys are interested in farming and there's a lot to do.” Neither Francis nor James had evinced much interest in farming either as during a visit to Dorset James had slipped into a slurry ditch and Francis came off worse with an angry ram who chased him, with him escaping by inches by vaulting over a stile. One of Giles' lads was a trainee journalist and the other an accountant of sorts. As Miles was a part-time minder for Khaled and Safar it was deemed safe for them to be on the farm. “Oh, and as soon as they go Lucius is coming to re-decorate Francis' bedroom and knowing him he'll take a week.”
“So, I suppose he and those two will be in the big guest-room. Can't I have the little room 'cause Jody snores.”
“That room's out of bounds. It's full of pamphlets and papers and I don't know what, all to do with your Mum's new major interest.”
He groaned. Since finishing the book Anne had taken up her involvement with Women's Rights with a vengeance. She never pushed it at home, I think she was too well-mannered to be a real militant, but the boys often answered the 'phone when one of her more 'angry' associates was wanting to rant on about something or other to do with spare ribs, or loose livers and floating kidneys as the boys facetiously put it. In fact, Anne was mainly involved with the group's publication. This was a journal appearing every three months called 'Women's Issues'. When I said that I thought 'Women's Issues' would be a substantial monthly volume I got a disdainful look and the riposte that if so, 'Men's Issues' would be three times a day on a postcard.
“No, you're in with them and stick a peg on his nose.”
He sloped off, moaning, to find Francis.
Francis just shook his head in disbelief that James had solved another code in the diaries. “I suppose it had to be you,” he said when all was explained, “I don't know what the vicar's text would have been for you?” He paused and then he grinned. “Wouldn't be anything to do about size, we all know that! I know. I remember we all had a laugh when we read it in RI. Old Testament somewhere, Ecclesiastes I think.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yes, I know. 'In the morning sow thy seed and in the evening withhold not thy hand'! Fits you perfectly!”
James looked at me. “He's saying I have bad habits, Dad!” he said in a put-on sulky voice.
“If the cap fits, James....?”
*
The next day each of the three emerged winners. Safar was shorter than all in his race but streaked past and just breasted the tape ahead of the more fancied lad. Actually, the pair were friendly rivals so no problem. Khaled had really practised he'd told me and he put on such a spurt at the end he had everyone cheering. Dear James! With his tousled hair, grubby school singlet, muddied green shorts and those long hairy legs he looked rather unkempt, to put it mildly. I was near the starting line and he gave me a tremendous wink and a grin as they lined up. I held up one finger and he nodded. He had a plan. He used the four front runners as pacemakers and on the last bend he gradually increased the stride of those long legs and passed each making the one in front his next target. Hearing someone hot on their heels they increased speed but James had hidden energy and overtook them all winning by a good yard. He ran up to me from the finishing line. I congratulated him.
“Thanks, Dad,” he panted, “I did it for you and Piers. You couldn't run because of your accident and he never lived to do anything more!”
It cost Dad a bit that night but three Victor Ludorae, Mum, plus big brother Francis and Jerry the timekeeper, had their favourite outing - the Berni bar - prawn cocktail, steak and chips and Black Forest gateau, plus a glass of wine or two for each except for Safar, who had about a pint and a half of Coca Cola. I nudged Khaled and said, as I had on many occasions, “I thought you mustn't drink wine?” He gave me his usual old-fashioned look. “When in England do as the English do!” The only one who complained was James. “Midge'll be up all night running to the loo!”
When we got back home James said he just wanted to make a quick telephone call. Five minutes later he came back grinning. “All sorted. Gran says I can go up and stay at the flat with Jerry while he looks at his Hall of Residence. It's just down the road from the flat 'cause he's going to Imperial College.”
“And what about Jody and Stephen, they're there?” asked Anne.
“That's OK, there's a spare room as Uncle John's not using the flat now they've got that big house in Dulwich.”
That was news, too.
“Is it OK, Dad? Can we go? I said a week and Gran said it was OK.” I nodded. He grinned. “Could you lend me ten pounds? I'll pay you back when I've been to the bank.”
“James, to get you out of the house for a week, ten pounds is a small price to pay.”
“What about us?” a chorus came from Francis, Khaled and Safar and three hands shot out.
“You two are going off with Miles and I gave you your allowance yesterday and Francis is staying here eating everything in sight, so, nothing doing!”
*
Actually, chaos did not ensue, even though for a couple of days at times there were several teenagers of various sizes and ages milling about. Miles turned up in a new car the next morning and Khaled and Safar were whipped off in a cloud of exhaust to cries of 'Tally-ho' and a trumpet blast from James. He, with quickly washed clothes, set off to London in the afternoon with Jerry. Silvio and Bruno arrived on the Sunday and settled into their routine well. Language school in the morning and trailing around talking with various of the boys who came visiting in the afternoons.
Jody and Stephen returned on Wednesday and said James and Jerry were making the most of their stay but they wouldn't be drawn on details. Mr McIntyre had found Jody a job in a clothes shop - a gentlemen's outfitters as Jody grandly put it - for the summer. There was no doubt, the lad was no slouch. He and Stephen did 'class' every morning at seven o'clock so he could be off and out ready when the shop opened at nine. He got back soon after five and he and Stephen then did exercises. Also, Stephen had decided he would help me as I wanted to re-lay part of the patio. He said pushing a laden wheelbarrow of sand would be just the thing to keep him in trim.
That meant James had to be found a job for his return. The week stretched to ten days. A job that would be the very best for his abilities. The job that had been the choice for a recalcitrant Francis. Touting for the punts! Mornings only as there was a queue of applicants involved and he was lucky to get it but he'd already made friends somehow with the chap running the rota. It was, as he pointed out, a very useful job as employees could always negociate substantial discounts for friends and family. As the substantial discount was probably a case of just getting into a punt with the connivance of a friend who would be slipped a few bob it actually solved problems of what to do with bored teenagers and other visitors in the afternoons. James loved to punt so was always in charge. “Half-colours for rowing are a good advertisement!” Luckily he seemed to know when the yobbos were around and no-one ended up in the water like Grandpa. Even Grandpa in the past had allowed him to punt so that was a bonus for him.
I was in the kitchen the afternoon James had returned, of course, just in time for lunch, and was preparing the veggies for the evening meal! We'd heard he and Jerry had had a wonderful time. Ma had taken them to four Promenade Concerts in the Albert Hall in succession and Jerry had bagged a good room in the Hall of Residence and they'd visited this, that and the other. I peered out of the kitchen window. Silvio and Bruno were on their backs on towels on the lawn in full sunshine while Francis, sitting between them with his back to the sun, was getting them to repeat phrases from the text book they had been issued with. Anne was in her study getting things ready for her up-coming Women's Conference and Stephen was practising the flute. A typical English summer afternoon. James came in, also from sunning himself in the garden. He went to the fridge and found the orange juice.
“Gosh, it's hot out there. Getting a nice tan, though.”
As he was wearing nothing but the most disreputable cut-off denim jean shorts with half his arse about to hang out I just nodded.
“That pair out there,” he said, peering through the window above the sink by where I was standing, “Can't see how the sun penetrates all that fur. Christ, they look like a pair of bloody hearth-rugs. It's a wonder Frankie doesn't get carpet burns sandwiched between that pair at night! He said Grunty says he'd like to see what their testosterone level is as they never stop!”
Bruno was rapidly catching up with Silvio in hirsuteness. At nearly eighteen his furry front was quite formidable, only outdone by his brother who now sported a moustache and small beard as well. James was most probably right. The three never dallied in front of the telly but were off up to bed promptly just after ten each evening. They still emerged, bright-eyed and abundantly bushy-tailed, ready for breakfast just after eight each morning. Ten hours of whatever they indulged in seemed to keep them fit and healthy and I'd noted Francis shoving extra bottom sheets in the washer from time to time.
“James,” I said, dropping a peeled potato into the waiting pan, “You've taken the name of the Lord in vain, you have sworn, you've made insinuations about your brother's and our guests' sexual habits and finally implied that a neighbour is also, or would like to be involved, all in one go and you haven't been back three hours yet.”
He just snickered. “Sorry Dad, but what can one say, mustn't swear I know, but, it's true and you know it. They're at it all the time. And..., Francis and Grunty are best friends and it's his level he'd like as well!”
I didn't enquire what 'it' was but he was jiggling up and down. I grabbed at a rip near his seat and another couple of inches gave way.
“And you are jealous no doubt. Trying to entice one of them no doubt with your garb. God, boy, you're almost hanging out both ends!”
He looked a bit startled. I think I'd hit something. “Dad, the Lord won't love you.” He looked very seriously at me. “I need to talk to you again. Let me help you finish.”
“Only if you wash your hands after tucking yourself in a bit more discreetly. No wonder Bruno keeps stumbling over his words.”
My tug at his back had meant the rather over-developed meat in his jockstrap was bulging out through a rip at the front.
“Dad!”
We finished the veggies in silence. I poured two glasses of orange juice and put ice-cubes in, stripped my shirt off and guided him, along the new path Stephen and I had laid after doing the patio, towards seats further down the garden. I loved the sun and had on quite short shorts and I saw James take a couple of glances downwards. OK, boy, you know Dad packs a package as well!
He took a sip from his glass. “I must admit, Dad, I wouldn't mind enticing Bruno. I've got to tell you something. I think I like boys as well as girls. I've thought about it a lot since Easter.”
I kept silent but nodded encouragingly, I hoped.
“Yeah, I talked to Francis then and he told me how he felt properly. That's why I wanted to go to Ulvescott.”
“With Jerry?”
He nodded. “Yes, and I wanted to talk to Uncle Tony as well.”
Um. Tony hadn't said anything when I'd spoken to him on the 'phone. He was a good, tight-lipped, counsellor.
He went on, slowly and deliberately. “You've guessed about Jerry, I suppose?”
I nodded. It was fairly obvious what his inclinations were.
“I thought he and Francis might have..., ...you know, hooked up, but Francis said although he liked him very much he wasn't right for him. We had lots of talks and Jerry says the same. He said it's difficult being Jewish and gay and that's why he's going to London to do his degree. He made enquiries while we were up there about groups and so on and he said he'll be OK. So, Dad, another confession, but we didn't do everything. He said he'd rather wait for when he meets someone he wants to be with all the time. But, Dad...,” he looked somewhat relieved, “...I think I'll be OK too. Jerry's a great friend. You've probably guessed he's not the first I've fooled around with.... That's wrong, ...with Jerry it wasn't fooling around. Uncle Tony said I was just like you and I had to talk to you.”
I wondered how much Tony had told him?
“I know what you told Francis when you talked to him. You love Uncle Tony and Uncle Lachs and Uncle Flea. Proper love?”
I nodded. “And there's others too. You'll know in good time. I found I could give my love to some of my dearest friends and they're still my greatest friends.”
He nodded. “Khaled and I are like that. You've guessed that too? We've done the same. We've pledged our friendship fully. Safar has said when I'm ready he wants the same. Am I doing wrong?”
I shook my head. “My belief is that whatever two friends, and I mean real friends, do together will only cement that friendship and giving oneself completely is the final sign and symbol.”
He smiled his James smile. “That's what Uncle Tony and Francis said. You didn't mind me asking and saying all this?”
I smiled and shook my head.
He went on. “Do you remember that book The Little Prince? We used to read it a lot.” I nodded, it had been another great favourite of the boys. I had seen the well-worn copy when clearing Francis's bedroom ready for Lucius's painting skills. “Do you remember the Prince's friend the fox? He said 'You become responsible, for ever, for what you have tamed'. I think I've tamed how I feel and I'm responsible now.” He shook his head and looked a bit glum. “Those girls were the biggest mistakes I could ever have made. I had to prove myself. I don't need to now. Francis, Khaled and Jerry have taught me that.” He smiled. “Please don't tell Khaled I've told you all this but we each made proper, brotherly, comradely love the second night after I'd made such a fool of myself over that tart. We've promised each other we'll do anything for each other now.” He smiled. “Khaled will tell you when he's ready.”
I took his hand. “I'm glad you've been able to talk to me. It makes me very happy to think both my sons can. And I haven't told you the loveliest thing you did recently was run that race. Even if you hadn't have won I knew you did it for love.”
He nodded. “I did. I've been a stupid son at times but you've never given up on me. You and Mum took Stephen without question and then Khaled and Safar. They're real brothers to me now. Then there's Jody. And Buck and Fabien. You and Mum have never turned anybody away. I want to be like you. I promise I will be....”
He clutched my hand. “...And you don't mind one of your sons being gay and the other liking both?”
I smiled. Now was the time to say more. “It's in the family. Piers, you know about. I'm certain your Great-Grandad's brother the mining engineer was. He gave his life to save his best friend. I've seen the newspaper cutting saying they always did everything together. Neither was married and they lived their bachelor lives next door to each other. Your mother's Uncle Lester and her other Uncle, Robert, who died young. That's why Gran and Gramps have always accepted Uncle Tony without question. I think from what Uncle Edward has said that his relationship with Lachs' and Flea's father was more than just being ordinary friends. My cousin Johann and my distant cousin Daniel both pledged with me. I think it probably goes right back. Either completely gay, or bisexual, which is the other word.” I grinned at him, he was agog. “I don't think Jean-Antoine could have written that book without at least knowing both camps and he certainly knew the Lascelles cousins. So James you have nothing to worry about. Join the family!”
“I'm in it,” he said almost silently.
“And where did you learn to use that word, gay? I've only heard it mainly from students I've had to help. It's nicer than 'queer' or 'pouf' and you'll have to watch out for those words if you make known you like both.”
He smiled. “A couple of the boys at school called Jerry a 'pouf' last year and because I told them to shut up they called me it as well. I said if that was all their little brains could dredge up it didn't worry me but they had to be careful their own little sins weren't ever revealed.” He giggled. “They both went very red and went off muttering.”
“And what did you know about them?”
“Nothing....., but they're boys, so.....” He giggled again.
“...Hoist with their own petard, eh?” I said.
“Yeah, definitely, must have been!” He said that with emphasis. “Anyway, Uncle Tony always uses that word, gay. He said its what people now say in America. At least, he said all his friends did. He told me a lot about the studios and all the art his Uncle does. He said he also got to know an Englishman out there who does marvellous paintings of boys. Swimming and so on.” He looked at me quizzically. “That drawing of you? You and Uncle Mike?”
I nodded. He smiled. That question would never be asked again.
“James,” I said, “Francis's room is all redecorated. Just needs the bed made up. Pop up and do that and then go and ask Bruno if he'd like to share with you. It'll probably be OK. But knowing you, my dear James, you might just say the wrong thing.” I laughed. “There's a lovely old German saying which fits you.” I smiled at him. “Alle Kunst ist umsonst wenn ein Engel auf das Zundloch brunzt.” He muttered to himself then shook his head. I translated, “All endeavour is buggered if an angel pisses in the touch-hole of your musket!”
He giggled. A strangled “Dad!” emerged. He flung his arms round me. “I'll try not to be a little Newark! I love you Dad!”
We hugged. I whispered in his ear, “I'll tell you what, if he says 'No' I'll have my ten pounds back!”
“Oh, Dad!”
Next morning at breakfast James was wearing a different pair of, not quite so disreputable, shorts. When we were in the garden a little later I asked him what had happened to the others. He shook his head and grinned. “He couldn't wait once we got into the room, he just ripped them off me.”
“Carpet burns?”
He shook his head again and smiled seraphically, “No, just like a soft, silky, coney-skin!”
*
We waited for the A Level results with Francis teasing James increasingly every day about what happened to little boys who failed. Neither he nor Jerry failed. Both got the crop of straight As which were more than needed. In fact, Jerry got a letter from the Examinations Board congratulating him on the extremely high marks he got for the Chemistry papers. He said even though he was at Ulvescott after the examinations it was because he'd experienced whatever was there that he got those high marks.
*
Both Francis and James had several long talks with me before they departed to their respective colleges with the injunction that they were not to be seen at home until the end of term. One topic was the decriminalization of acts between males over the age of twenty-one which had been passed by Parliament only that July. They both sensibly said they wouldn't go out of their way to put themselves in any danger with James saying as long as any girl he went with was not under sixteen he'd be OK. As soon as he said it he just mouthed the word, 'Love'.
*
That term had a very unhappy start for us all. Aunt Mary had a stroke and died at the beginning of November. Giving James the diaries and the cap must have been her foretelling something was going to happen. Then Mr Marcham had a slight heart attack two weeks later so decisions had to be made.
The future of Ulvescott Manor had to be settled. The estate was held in trust by a company registered abroad. With the death of Mrs Crossley, and the illness of Tony's father, Tony and I were the succeeding Trustees according to her Will. In fact, de facto, sharing joint inheritance. But, as usual, Ulvescott seemed to have a life of its own. Just before Aunt Mary passed away I'd had a letter from my American cousin, whom I'd never met, Charles Bradley Hamilton. He was a lawyer acting on behalf of a college which wanted a short-term base in Britain for small groups of staff and students for seminars and cultural visits. Did I know of anywhere suitable? I'd 'phoned Mr Marcham and his immediate response was Ashburn House, but that was on lease to a hotel chain. Then, with Aunt Mary's passing, at the funeral he suggested to Tony and me that Ulvescott Manor, or at least part, might be leased out. His own illness made other things imperative, too. He and Helen Marcham and the Duchess would move into a house he had already bought in the village just before Christmas. Dora would be maid in charge as Mrs Browne was now retired. Tony said he would move back to Cambridge and immediately bought a large house near the river, cash down, but was going to Garthorpe Hall for Christmas and would move in after. Our house would be full over Christmas as Charles, his wife Grace and their son Alfred Bradley Hamilton the Third, would be flying over to allow him to start negotiations.
Negotiations over who was sleeping and staying where for Christmas then had to be made. The Gibsons said Ma and Pa could stay with them next door. My cousin and his wife could then have the big en suite guestroom. The six boys could have their two usual rooms and Brad the Third, as they named him in advance, could have the small spare room now Women's Issues and various other pamphlets were moved to a room, or coven as Francis said, in one of the women's colleges. Brad was born in December 1951 so was just sixteen. With a sense of altruism, or whatever, James said as their room would be rather crowded, or at least the bed, with him, Francis and Khaled sharing, he would volunteer to share with said Brad the Third, sight unseen. Stephen, Jody and Safar were not concerned; they shared and that was that.
James was in for more than a slight shock. A taxi drew up at the appointed time, late afternoon, on Tuesday the nineteenth of December. Three large, and I mean large, figures emerged. My cousin Charles looked just like his father the Reverend Alfred the Second, except he was around five feet ten and eighteen stone at a guess. Grace Elphinstone Bradley Hamilton, his gracious statuesque wife, was a smidgen shorter and not much lighter, while Alfred the Third at sixteen was six foot and around sixteen stones to match his age. I saw Anne wince. Would our furniture stand up to the weight applied?
Stephen and Safar had a fit of the giggles. Brushed aside as a sign of their young years they retreated quickly carrying a bag each. I looked at James. A poker face. He was to share a bed with someone shorter by two inches in height but about five stones more in weight.
What a family. All fears disappeared about how a high-flight lawyer would fit in. Chuck, as he insisted all called him, including the boys as Brad also called him that, was full of jollity; roly-poly jollity which, I recognised, disguised a white-hot intellect. Grace was Old American, unsophisticated straightforward unalloyed charm. And Brad? Each of the boys also winced. That was when he shook hands with them. I know I did.
Tea and two dozen hot crumpets later everyone was chatting together. Anne announced supper would be ready at seven o'clock and I saw Brad smile contentedly. Thank goodness Anne had made a hot-pot for a horde, as she usually did. The boys stood, or sat back as the guests helped themselves first. Half the hot-pot went. Six pairs of hungry eyes fixed on me, they'd only had one crumpet each. Lucky them, I didn't manage to get one at all! Francis did the honours for us and loyally divided up the rest of the hot-pot, which was substantial in itself, between the eight of us. All the mashed potatoes went in the first round and I had one sliver of carrot. I guessed there would be a post-mortem on the proceedings at some time. Luckily Anne had a trifle ready for the next day as well as the big apple pie she'd prepared for tonight. All disappeared with about two pints of custard.
As Tony was going to drive me with Chuck and Grace over for the day to Ulvescott in the morning we had an early night. There were suppressed grins from the others as James went into the small spare room with Brad. Anne sighed as we got ready for bed. “Treble the rations,” she said.
The pair were ecstatic about Ulvescott. Mr Marcham was up and around and escorted them on a tour of the building. We had stipulated, at least Tony and I, that Piers' room and the Horsebox with the central bathroom would be out of bounds and locked for the duration of any stay. Chuck there and then gave Gerald a cheque for ten thousand dollars for 'any refurbishment or restoration needed' and there was plenty more where that came from he was informed, as we couldn't let heritage like this wither and rot away. He would talk to the college trustees who had plenty of resources. A further cheque was forthcoming, on account, as the first batch of twelve graduate students and four tutors would be in residence for intensive seminars on English Literature from May the First until October the Second. Catering, cleaning and waiting staff essential. Transport to nearest station. Also a resident butler of sorts for May until October. Of course, Jem and Sam and whoever, probably the lads as well for summer jobs. We would plunder our resources!
We stopped at a restaurant for lunch. Tony and I watched as the couple more or less marched through the menu. Luckily, when we got home Anne had a large piece of beef roasting, plus three pounds of sausages. Ma and Pa had arrived and joined us for supper. Ma had, also luckily, brought one of her superb tarte au pommes which joined a large fruit crumble for pudding. The table was cleared. After supper I saw a hurried conference. Christmas Day would soon be upon us. Quadruple the rations! All cooks to the mainbrace, capstan, galley or whatever. Ma was volunteering to help as even Jem and Sam would be pushed to prepare and cook sufficient, and I guessed Mrs Gibson would be roped in as the four of them were joining us as well for Christmas lunch.
I didn't manage to corner James and Francis until the Thursday morning after breakfast. We went up to my study.
“Tell me all,” I said, “The troops looked mutinous the first evening. How are things?”
They both grinned. “It's OK really,” said Francis, “As long as Mum doesn't run out of supplies and we're put on hard tack. We promise we'll help get ready for Christmas lunch. Actually we think they're all great fun. We took Brad and showed him the usual colleges yesterday. He said they were 'awesome'.” He imitated Brad's twang exactly on 'awesome'.
I looked at James. Enigmatic now. “And your side of the story. How is your second cousin? Does he take up more than his side of the bed or do you sleep on top?”
He couldn't keep a straight face. He yelped. “Dad!” He giggled. “Thought I was going to get squashed when I saw him first.” He became serious. “Actually, he's very gentle, but, God, he's strong! Oh, Lord, James has taken Thy name in vain twice!” He grinned. “That's not all fat. He's muscle. Does weight-lifting and he's champion wrestler for his age and weight at school and for the State they live in. Gosh, you should see the thighs on him!” He became serious again. “Dad, you know what we talked about? Well, it's definitely the French side as well. We just about match and he's only sixteen.” He glared at Francis who held his finger and thumb about an inch and a half apart. “Huh, and that's just the width of our ends!” He looked at me. “Sorry Dad, they've been taking the mickey out of me all the time. They'll laugh the other sides of their faces when I get him to show them a few of his holds.”
“Them?” I asked.
“Him and Khaled especially and they razz the other three up as well. Actually they're not bad. Brad watched Stephen and Jody do class yesterday and said no way could he do anything like that and they got him doing plies in five minutes. As I said he's very gentle and...” Here he looked at Francis. “....He won't be getting married.”
“What?” I said.
James smiled. “He asked me if I minded sharing with him as he wanted to tell me straight away he was gay. He said only two of his friends knew but he thought he ought to tell me in case I didn't want to be in the same room as him.” He looked at me. “I said it was very honest of him and I really respected him for that.” He nodded vigorously. “....We talked for ages and I explained about Francis and me and about all the family connections and he was so relieved. He's a really nice guy, Dad, and Francis has said he didn't mind me talking to him and telling him things. Dad, can we take him over to Ulvescott? It's not all shut up yet.”
“What do you think, Francis?”
“Yes, please. I'd like to talk to him as well.”
“No time like the present. Tomorrow's Friday. Now Francis can drive he can take you over in the car. Take sleeping bags as the bed isn't made up.” I saw them glance from one to the other at the use of the singular. “Gramps will let you in and Mr Craig is keeping an eye on the place and also keeping the boiler on a low heat. Don't forget, Gramps has had a burglar alarm fitted and he'll have to give you the code if you want to go out. I'll phone Gramps and he can tell Mr Craig you three are coming. Mum will stack you up with food. Tins no doubt. There is an electric oven in the kitchen now. Please don't raid the cellar. Back on Saturday not too late. I trust you, OK?”
They both solemnly nodded. Another relation to be introduced to the peace of Ulvescott. I knew I could trust them.
I think the other four guessed it was important as no-one moaned because they weren't included in the visit. In fact all thoughts of moans were dissipated in any case as Cousin Charles took all of us to the Berni bar that evening. Lucky we 'phoned early to book as there was a table load of us with three who had two of their largest steaks apiece!
Friday there was more sight-seeing for the adults. I took them into college and they were duly impressed with my room and its view. We went next door to look in King's and I said I had got tickets for the Nine Lessons and carols on Christmas Eve. Somehow I had managed to get twelve tickets and we were to be within the Choir so would experience it all first hand. Actually, I hadn't managed, Willy Roberts had. It was worth the case of a dozen good wines I gave him as a Christmas box. Pa said he wasn't bothered not coming. He would settle down with a good book. Little did he know two of his Christmas presents he'd get the next day would be a copy of each of 'Audacity in the Age of the Enlightenment: French Connections' and 'The Education of Women 1350-1450: An European Perspective'. Anne and I didn't have a bet on which he would open first!
I was in my study when the trio returned on Saturday afternoon. The place was quiet as all the others were out doing last minute shopping and stocking up on extra chocolates in case the supply of other food ran out. All three came in, Brad first.
Brad started to speak as he entered the room. “Gee, thanks for letting us go down there. It's the most wonderful place. I know it is, because.....” He stopped and looked at the other two who stood either side of his massive frame.
Francis smiled. “...because as usual we knew who was there with us.” He turned to Brad. “Thank you for everything.” He held out both hands and clasped Brad's rather more meaty paws. “We're bound within the family now.”
James was not to be outdone. He came round and put his hands above and below the others. “We're bound,” he said simply.
Brad looked at me with such enthusiastic joy on his face. “I never knew I could be so happy, Uncle. James told you about me. Even Mum and Dad don't know. But I'll tell them soon. Francis is just like me. I'm so happy. And James!” He turned and just about crushed James in a bear hug. “James. I may be only a kid but you're my greatest buddy!”
Nineteen and twenty just about dwarfed by the kid of sixteen!
I didn't ask details but from the exuberance I knew the three had consummated their relationship fully. I dreaded to think of the conjunction of the pairs when weighty Brad was top. On Christmas night James had a little too much to drink. My fault, I'd made a rather potent punch and he'd quaffed two glasses thinking it was orange juice, or so he said. He sidled up to me just before he went off to bed. “Dad, he's ever so gentle and I haven't been squashed yet, but I'll show him tonight!” He giggled and went off to lead an almost equally inebriated Brad to a fate.......
Brad told his parents on the day after Boxing Day. In fact, he asked Francis, James and me to be there. No surprise. The Junoesque Mum enveloped her equally Rubensesque son in a hug and said they'd guessed and they'd been so worried about him if his English cousins found out. Poor Brad's eyes were popping, both from the sincere hug but also from the revelation that his parents had guessed. I thought back to Tony's similar unveiling and his shock at his mother's matter-of-fact statement.
His father had a chat with me later that morning and said he'd had plenty of experiences as a boy, especially with his close-bonded twin brother, Sam. He said his only regret was that we hadn't been able to meet all those years ago especially when his father sent back those photos of their English cousin in his running gear. “You caused me a lot of trouble with Sam that night those pictures arrived! And then you in that kilt! Yow!!” He grinned and winked.
I went with Chuck and all the boys to the boathouse in the afternoon. For some unknown reason Brad had packed his wrestling leotard and so was determined to give a demonstration to the delight of the boys. It wasn't very warm in the weights room to begin with but the temperature rose as he effortlessly floored Francis and then James several times even though Khaled was hanging onto one massive leg in two of the bouts. As an encore he picked up Stephen and Jody under an arm apiece while Safar clambered onto his shoulders. Plenty more photos for two family albums!
They departed the next day with effusive thanks for the marvellous time they'd all had, invitations to visit anytime and another cheque for ten thousand dollars 'for that family place'.
*
In the late afternoon of the last Saturday of the year I was in my study answering the first of many letters I was to receive about my book when there was an unholy screech from the direction of the younger boys' room. I knew there had been much giggling at lunchtime and consultations previously with Anne who had gone out shopping with Stephen and Jody in the morning. I thought I'd better investigate as I then heard James say very sharply, “Stand still otherwise you will get them cut off!”
A peculiar sight greeted me as I got to the open door. Jody was standing on the bed, on a large towel, in the nude, clutching his genitals and looking rather worried. He was the author of the screech. Kneeling on the bed were two industrious figures wearing serious expressions and rubber gloves and painting some sort of liquid on his legs. James was standing in front of him brandishing a shaving brush with plenty of lather on it and a safety razor in the other hand. I noted an amount of foam had been daubed near Jody's left groin.
James hadn't realised I was at the door as he had his back to me. Jody's face was all screwed up in a rictus of fear and apprehension. “Come on, take your hands away,” James commanded, “If you want it done properly you don't want any of that other stuff near your balls, it'll be safer with the razor. But it might be better if you do hold everything up. Come on, just stand still, all I did was just put some soap on you!”
The two leg painters saw me. Stephen waved his brush. “Jody was told to have his legs shaved before he went back to school,” he said, “He's getting awfully hairy and it would be best for him especially if he does anything not wearing tights.”
Jody's eyes opened but he was resigned to the process. Anyway he knew I was used to seeing his nude, or almost-nude body, scuttling to and fro between bedroom and bathroom. James turned round still brandishing the implements.
“Mum said it was better to get rid of the hair with that stuff, they got it this morning. It's what ladies use,” he sniffed, “They don't sell much in Italy.” He turned to Jody. “You'd need gallons of it for some of those girls we saw on the beach. Made Frankie look as if he was nearly smooth.” As Francis had hairy legs almost as densely furred as hearth-rug Silvio it was true. I'd noted the hirsuteness of legs and particularly the armpits of Italian ladies on a previous visit. “Now stand still while I lather the tops of your legs.”
I thought I recognised something. “Is that my shaving brush?” I asked.
James waved it at me having anointed the tops of Jody's muscly thighs generously. “Yes, Dad. I had to have something nice and soft for the dear lad's precious legs.”
“But, that's my shaving brush... For my face!”
“It's OK, Dad, I won't put it near his bits. Anyway, they're clean. We made him have a shower before we started. And I'll wash it out afterwards. No worry.”
He put the brush down and immediately started shaving the hair from the tops of Jody's legs. The other two were surveying their efforts. They were now rubbing swathes of ginger fur off his shins. I left them to it.
Ten minutes later a nude Jody was led into my study by a triumphant trio.
“Look, Dad, they will be pleased,” said Stephen pointing at Jody's hairless, beautifully sculpted legs. “We did under his arms and we gave him a trim, too. And James never nicked him at all.” He pointed across. “He did wince when he was doing them, though.”
Jody struck a pose, ankles crossed, head to the left and right arm raised above his head. Jody's previously abundant dark ginger pubic bush was now sculpted and trimmed into a heart shape and displayed his good-sized, very white, cock and a pair of now hair-free pendulous balls to perfection.
Whoever said family life was dull?