Only Time Will Tell
Page 54I accept that you must have had some noble purpose for turning your head and your heart against this world, but I wish you had shared your reason for so doing with me. But, should you read this letter, perhaps you might grant me one last wish.
Old Jack removed the handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped his eyes before he was able to continue reading.
God gave you the remarkable gift of leadership and the ability to inspire your fellow men, so I beg you not to go to your grave knowing that when the time comes for you to face your maker, you will, as in the parable Matthew 25, v14-30, have to confess that you buried the one talent He gave you.
Rather, use that gift for the benefit of your fellow men, so that when your time comes, as it surely must, and those same men attend your funeral, the Victoria Cross will not be the only thing they remember when they hear the name Jack Tarrant.
Your loving father
'Are you all right, my luv?' asked a lady who had moved from the other side of the carriage to sit next to Old Jack.
'Yes, thank you,' he said, the tears streaming down his face. 'It's just that I was released from prison today.'
GILES BARRINGTON
35
I was thrilled when I saw Harry walk through the school gates on the first day of term. I'd spent the summer hols at our villa in Tuscany, so I wasn't in Bristol when Tilly's was burnt to the ground and didn't find out about it until I returned to England the weekend before term began. I had wanted Harry to join us in Italy, but my father wouldn't hear of it.
I've never met anyone who didn't like Harry, with the exception of my father, who won't even allow his name to be mentioned in the house. I once asked Mama if she could explain why he felt so strongly, but she didn't seem to know any more than I did.
I didn't press the point with my old man, as I've never exactly covered myself in glory in his eyes. I nearly got myself expelled from my prep school for stealing - heaven knows how he managed to fix that - and after that I let him down by failing to get into Eton. I told Papa when I came out of the exam that I couldn't have tried harder, which was the truth. Well, half the truth. I would have got away with it if my co-conspirator had only kept his mouth shut. At least it taught me a simple lesson: if you make a deal with a fool, don't be surprised when they act foolishly.
My co-conspirator was the Earl of Bridport's son, Percy. He was facing an even greater dilemma than I was, because seven generations of Bridports had been educated at Eton, and it was looking as if young Percy was going to ruin that rather fine batting average.
Eton has been known to bend the rules when it comes to members of the aristocracy and will occasionally allow a stupid boy to darken its doors, which is why I selected Percy for my little subterfuge in the first place. It was after I overheard the Frob saying to another beak, 'If Bridport was any brighter, he'd be a half-wit,' that I knew I didn't need to look any further for my accomplice.
Percy was as desperate to be offered a place at Eton as I was to be rejected, so I saw this as no more than an opportunity for both of us to achieve our purpose.
On the day before the examination was due to take place my father drove me to Eton in his swish new Bugatti, which could do a hundred miles an hour, and once we hit the A4 he proved it. We spent the night at the Swann Arms, the same hotel in which he had stayed over twenty years before when he took the entrance exam. Over dinner, Papa didn't leave me in any doubt how keen he was that I should go to Eton and I nearly had a change of heart at the last moment, but I had given my word to Percy Bridport, and felt I couldn't let him down.
Percy and I had shaken hands on the deal back at St Bede's, agreeing that when we entered the examination hall, we would give the recorder the other's name. I rather enjoyed being addressed as 'my lord' by all and sundry, even if it was only for a few hours.
The examination papers were not as demanding as the ones I'd sat a fortnight earlier for Bristol Grammar, and I felt I'd done more than enough to ensure that Percy would be returning to Eton in September. However, they were difficult enough for me to feel confident that his lordship would not let me down.
Once we'd handed in our papers and reverted to our true personas, I went off to tea with my pa, in Windsor. When he asked me how it had gone, I told him I'd done the best I possibly could. He seemed satisfied by this, and even began to relax, which only made me feel more guilty. I didn't enjoy the journey back to Bristol, and felt even worse when I got home and my mother asked me the same question.
Ten days later, I received an I'm sorry to have to inform you letter from Eton. I had only managed 32 per cent. Percy scored 56 per cent and was offered a place for the Michaelmas term, which delighted his father and was met with incredulity by the Frob.
Everything would have worked out just fine, if Percy hadn't told a friend how he'd managed to get into Eton. The friend told another friend, who told another friend, who told Percy's father. The Earl of Bridport MC, being an honourable man, immediately informed the headmaster of Eton. This resulted in Percy being expelled before he'd even set foot in the place. If it hadn't been for a personal intervention by the Frob, I might have suffered the same fate at Bristol Grammar.
My father tried to convince the headmaster of Eton that it was simply a clerical error, and that, as I'd actually scored 56 per cent in the exam, I should be reinstated in Bridport's place. This piece of logic was rejected by return of post, as Eton wasn't in need of a new cricket pavilion. I duly reported to Bristol Grammar School on the first day of term.
During my second year, I became more aware of the financial constraints Harry's mother must be experiencing when I noticed that he was wearing his shoes with the laces undone, and he admitted they were pinching because they were so tight.
So when Tilly's was burnt to the ground only weeks before we were expected to enter the sixth form, I was not altogether surprised to learn that Harry thought he might not be able to stay on at the school. I thought about asking my father if he might be able to help, but Mama told me I would be wasting my time. That's why I was so delighted when I saw him walking through the school gates on the first day of term.
He told me that his mother had begun a new job at the Royal Hotel, working nights, and it was proving to be far more lucrative than she had originally thought possible.
During the next summer hols I would, once again, have liked to invite Harry to join the family in Tuscany, but I knew my father would not consider the idea. But as the Arts Appreciation Society, of which Harry was now secretary, was planning a trip to Rome, we agreed to meet up there, even if it did mean I would have to visit the Villa Borghese.
Although we were living in a little bubble of our own down in the West Country, it would have been impossible not to be aware of what was taking place on the continent.
The rise of the Nazis in Germany, and the Fascists in Italy, didn't seem to be affecting the average Englishman, who was still enjoying a pint of cider and a cheese sandwich at his local on a Saturday, before watching, or in my case playing, cricket on the village green in the afternoon. For years this blissful state of affairs had been able to continue because another war with Germany didn't bear thinking about. Our fathers had fought in the war to end all wars, but now the unmentionable seemed to be on everyone's lips.