had been at the ridiculously early hour of six o’clock until the ‘martinet’, as he nicknamed her, left for a more lucrative post and his father considered he was too old at eleven years old for more nannies and could be sent to a boarding school about thirty miles away.
John had got into the habit of reading his favourite books under his blankets with the aid of a torch after the martinet had done her final round and disappeared to her sitting room to drink a large glass of sherry or other favourite tipple. Reading in poor light strained his eyesight and as a consequence he was forced to wear thick horn-rimmed glasses. However, he did discover that he did not like alcohol; he helped himself one day to a sip from all the bottles, whisky, vodka and sherry, that were stashed away by the often tipsy and bad-tempered nanny in a cupboard in her sitting room, resulting in violent sickness and stomach-ache, not easily forgotten. If the martinet guessed what had happened she did not mention the incident to his father and managed to show some sympathy with his plight. Shortly afterwards she moved to her new post.
John did not make any close friends at boarding school, he did not know how to, but at last he had some company of his own age and observed their behaviour from the sidelines. He was a loner. Most of the boys just ignored him; one or two tried to be friendly which he appreciated but he was not really concerned about his status. One or two played chess with him and discussed stamp collecting but there the interaction ended. The few that did make friendly overtures left him uneasy and unsure. He felt more comfortable without them.
Before he went away to boarding school he would often slip into the large garden, his father’s pride and joy and second only to his business deals, where the gardener, a burly rough fellow with thick red curly hair, was pressed into keeping an eye on ‘the child’, but actually had no time for small boys.
‘Clear off kid,’ he would shout. ‘Amuse yerself and leave me be – I got work to do. Kids, ugh.’ He delighted in giving John a menacing smile exposing large white teeth that reminded the boy of a crocodile he had seen once in the local zoo. His eye teeth were large, sharp and unpleasant. There was a gold filling down the side of one which glinted in the sun. He could be a vampire, John thought, he had read about those. He didn’t really believe in such things but the idea sent a shiver down his spine.
John was glad to do leave the man to his work and the further away he could get from those frightful teeth the better. He would make a den in some of the large bushes and act out his childhood fantasies. He could be an Indian, cowboy or whatever he liked. He had an imaginary friend called Roger, who joined him in his games.
‘Come on Roger, you can be the Chief Indian, I’ll be your best warrior,’ he would whisper so that his father or current nanny didn’t hear, or ‘Come and see my stamp collection,’ or ‘What would you like for tea? Nanny has promised sticky buns today.’ When he went to boarding school Roger was no longer needed and conveniently disappeared.
One of his classmates, Oliver, spent a few weeks during one school holiday with him. Oliver did not really like John but was persuaded by his mother, after a rare invitation from John’s father, whose conscience had started to trouble him about the solitary life his son was enduring, to join John in his home, the renowned and luxurious Huxley House. John’s father hoped too that a companion would keep him occupied and he would not bother him so much, not that he ever saw very much of him. Oliver’s mother had a difficult baby, who seemed to be screaming most of the day and night, as well as a tiresome self-willed toddler so she was delighted at the prospect of a respite from at least one of her children and agreed with undisguised eagerness.
‘Do I really have to go?’ Oliver had moaned. ‘John Lacey is
John had got into the habit of reading his favourite books under his blankets with the aid of a torch after the martinet had done her final round and disappeared to her sitting room to drink a large glass of sherry or other favourite tipple. Reading in poor light strained his eyesight and as a consequence he was forced to wear thick horn-rimmed glasses. However, he did discover that he did not like alcohol; he helped himself one day to a sip from all the bottles, whisky, vodka and sherry, that were stashed away by the often tipsy and bad-tempered nanny in a cupboard in her sitting room, resulting in violent sickness and stomach-ache, not easily forgotten. If the martinet guessed what had happened she did not mention the incident to his father and managed to show some sympathy with his plight. Shortly afterwards she moved to her new post.
John did not make any close friends at boarding school, he did not know how to, but at last he had some company of his own age and observed their behaviour from the sidelines. He was a loner. Most of the boys just ignored him; one or two tried to be friendly which he appreciated but he was not really concerned about his status. One or two played chess with him and discussed stamp collecting but there the interaction ended. The few that did make friendly overtures left him uneasy and unsure. He felt more comfortable without them.
Before he went away to boarding school he would often slip into the large garden, his father’s pride and joy and second only to his business deals, where the gardener, a burly rough fellow with thick red curly hair, was pressed into keeping an eye on ‘the child’, but actually had no time for small boys.
‘Clear off kid,’ he would shout. ‘Amuse yerself and leave me be – I got work to do. Kids, ugh.’ He delighted in giving John a menacing smile exposing large white teeth that reminded the boy of a crocodile he had seen once in the local zoo. His eye teeth were large, sharp and unpleasant. There was a gold filling down the side of one which glinted in the sun. He could be a vampire, John thought, he had read about those. He didn’t really believe in such things but the idea sent a shiver down his spine.
John was glad to do leave the man to his work and the further away he could get from those frightful teeth the better. He would make a den in some of the large bushes and act out his childhood fantasies. He could be an Indian, cowboy or whatever he liked. He had an imaginary friend called Roger, who joined him in his games.
‘Come on Roger, you can be the Chief Indian, I’ll be your best warrior,’ he would whisper so that his father or current nanny didn’t hear, or ‘Come and see my stamp collection,’ or ‘What would you like for tea? Nanny has promised sticky buns today.’ When he went to boarding school Roger was no longer needed and conveniently disappeared.
One of his classmates, Oliver, spent a few weeks during one school holiday with him. Oliver did not really like John but was persuaded by his mother, after a rare invitation from John’s father, whose conscience had started to trouble him about the solitary life his son was enduring, to join John in his home, the renowned and luxurious Huxley House. John’s father hoped too that a companion would keep him occupied and he would not bother him so much, not that he ever saw very much of him. Oliver’s mother had a difficult baby, who seemed to be screaming most of the day and night, as well as a tiresome self-willed toddler so she was delighted at the prospect of a respite from at least one of her children and agreed with undisguised eagerness.
‘Do I really have to go?’ Oliver had moaned. ‘John Lacey is
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