Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
Chapter 49
Part Two
We slept after that. In the morning I was awoken by Daniel handing me a cup of coffee. He smiled down at me saying nothing. He was nude, his well-formed young cock hung plumply down with his balls in their sack underneath. I glanced at his thighs, beginning to be covered with a forest of small curls of black hair. I nearly dropped the cup. There, outlined on the inner surface of his right thigh was a small strawberry birthmark. I handed him the cup and told him to put it down somewhere. He looked startled. Was something wrong? I shook my head. I swung my legs out of the bed and pointed. We matched. I said quietly, "Piers aussi!"
We clutched each other, tears streaming down our cheeks. If this wasn't proof what was? The thought of coffee was abandoned. In the next few minutes Daniel learned how joint pleasure could be accomplished. We lay head to toe diagonally across the bed and quickly drew the night's accumulation of our juices from each other. We shared our spunk, crying and laughing at the same time. I knew. And Daniel knew. We must be related!
We had to hurry to get ready. We washed quickly. We both said we would snatch some breakfast at cafes somewhere and we would meet up at the flat at five o'clock to clear up, pack and go back to Ivry. Daniel told the ever-present Madame Garnier we would be leaving for home that evening. I smiled at her. I don't think Madame la Concierge had ever been greeted so jovially in the morning. I could have kissed her I was so happy. I said that to Daniel before we parted at the end of the road. He said he'd heard of 'la rage', rabies, and I'd better be careful, I might have got bitten!
The day flew by. I finished copying the rude book, almost another hundred pages. I scribbled furiously not bothering to try to make sense of what was happening. I did note one passage where the whole group of boys had to suck each other simultaneously, 'comme une guirlande des lis blancs'. I felt a momentary twinge in my groin as I thought of my originally pale-legged Swiss cousin and pale-legged probable cousin this morning - like white lilies - an apt description. I sighed with relief as I got to the end of the last page and scribbled the last sentence and then the dedication 'pour Monsieur Georges les Salles'. Finished. I could check over the rest of the letters tomorrow. Most I remembered were signed,'George' and the others 'Arthur'. I couldn't remember if there were addresses from where they were written. I knew I'd noted it somewhere but, thinking about it, those notes were all at Kerslake.
We met at the corner of the road and I asked him how his day was. He screwed his face up and said, in English, 'Shitty'. He'd been told off as he had forgotten to learn an English poem to recite to the class. He had to learn one tonight for the morning and tomorrow was the last day of school, too. 'Merde,' he added, in French.
I laughed and said we could rehearse something on the train journey and then I would help him later at the house. We hadn't got much further than the little gateway into the courtyard when Madame swooped on us. She explained she had cleaned the flat and had sent the dirty towels and the bed sheets from the bed to the laundry and she would settle the bill with Daniel's mother. Oh Christ! Dirty towels! Bed sheets! I noted the crusty spunk where we'd wiped ourselves on the towel when I folded them this morning. There had also been a small patch on the bottom sheet where a copious overflow had landed. That bath towel and that sheet had evidence of two rather well-built sperm producers. One bed!
Oh! I found a note in my pocket and passed it to her. She smiled, bowed and disappeared into her spider's web. Daniel said nothing until we exited the ancient monument of a lift and entered the spotless flat.
"Do you know how much you gave her," he said, whistling under his breath. "That would have been a good meal."
I held up a placatory hand. "That or your mother hearing we'd dirtied more than our fair share of the linen and towels and those sheets were only from one bed! And, we know we are welcome here in the future!"
He grinned. "Thanks. Julien brought another officer here and she told Maman. I know Maman told him off and said he could jeopardise his career. I think I know why. But we don't have careers."
Cheeky little hound. I chased him round the flat and he said I mustn't make the place untidy when I laid him over the bed and gave him the Jem treatment of three sharp smacks to his backside but he squealed with pleasure. The hound then said he'd heard Englishmen liked to be beaten and there were places in Paris where ladies would do that to them. I said he shouldn't know about such things. He sneered and said who did I think those ladies were we passed on the way to the cafes each evening. Oh, my seventeen-year-old probable cousin was more worldly wise than I was at that age!
On the train to Ivry he got out his English text book. I had a quick look. "I wandered lonely as a cloud" or "Come into the garden, Maud" were ticked as possible ones to learn. I remembered one of Tony's quips and said that first line was first written as "I wondered, lonely as a cow" until the poet's sister read it and altered it. Luckily, he didn't believe me. I could imagine the frisson in the French educational system if that gobbet was produced in an essay! Straight from a scholar at Cambridge University! However, I thought I would give him the benefit of a little of my poetic knowledge. Luckily the carriage we were in was empty.
"What about this one," I said. "All English boys have to learn this. They have to recite this to gain entry to the Fourth Year in their schools." I hoped my lie sounded plausible.
He looked at me with real concentration. I put on a very serious face.
"There were two young girlies from Bimingham," I started. I watched as he mouthed the words after me.
"And this is the story concerning 'em.
They lifted the frock
And sucked on the cock
Of the bishop as he was confirming 'em."
I paused. A look of shock and then of horror passed over Daniel's face. "Quelle!" he said. He saw my impassive face. He realised. "You are horrible to me, Jacko! What would Monsieur LeGrande say if I repeated that?"
I grinned. "He'd want to know the rest."
Daniel grinned too. "Tell me and I will learn it for Phillippe. He has been confirmed but I do not know if that was true for him!"
"The bishop was nobody's fool," I continued,
"With those girls from that nice village school.
But in the vestry room after
there were loud squeals and laughter
As he withdrew his episcopal tool.
Your Lordship's OK said the two
And thanks for that wonderful screw,
But the vicar is thicker
And quicker and slicker
And three inches longer than you."
Daniel giggled even more as I explained the slang words he didn't know.
"You are very rude, Jacko," he said in French. "But, if I tell Phillippe I will find out if the bishop 'screwed' him! Eh?"
He must have realised what he had said. "Boys screw," he said in English, "Don't they?"
I nodded. That was that. I had to repeat the set of limericks and after he'd repeated them word perfect I said he'd better be as good with his proper English poem. We settled on "Come into the garden, Maud" and I promised to help him after dinner that evening.
Of course, we had to settle something else. As soon as he entered the house he rushed to the small room where his mother usually sat reading or doing embroidery in the afternoons.
"Maman," he shouted excitedly, just like a ten-year-old, "Maman, Jacko's my cousin!"
His mother looked rather startled and I was laughing as I entered the room and greeted her.
"I'm sorry about the excitement but Daniel told me your maiden name was Fontane and that was also my mother's name as well. You both come from the same area so I suppose you might be related."
Daniel was almost hopping up and down and burst out before his mother could reply to me. "And he's got a mark on his leg just like me! And so did his cousin as well!"
His mother was calmness itself. She looked at me and smiled. "That explains a lot," she said. "The photograph. You. Daniel. You all have that same look. I have been reminded of what my father looked like when I see you, Jacques. He was tall, dark, but had blue eyes. So has Daniel and the girls. You have." She looked at me appraisingly. "Julien has almost blue eyes but the resemblance is more for my husband's family."
She stood up and retrieved an album from a cupboard. A posed photo of a young man in his early twenties was quite unbelievable. The set of his eyes, the mouth, the nose. The resemblance was uncanny. Piers. Me. Georges Fontane.
We sat and she told the family story. Or what she knew of it. Her father wanted to be a musician but his father, also Georges, had a small vineyard which he had inherited. He and his brother had quarrelled about the amount of land and he had moved from Clermont to Riom. Her father didn't like dealing with the vineyard and after his father died just before the First World War had let the vineyard run down and had died of tuberculosis himself in 1928. Her mother died soon after and she, an only child, had inherited the almost derelict land but rented it to the local Co-operative who cared for it now.
We looked at my reconstruction of the tree and she pointed at my great-grandfather's name, Jacques Fontane. "That was my grandfather's brother, he was a lawyer.
Grandfather said he was a hard man, very strict, very exact. He was a Protestant...." I interrupted and said his son, my grandfather, was a Protestant clergyman, she nodded. ".....but Georges became Catholic again and that did not help. There was a sister too but I don't know about her."
I nodded. Daniel and I were truly related. I smiled at him. We took each other's hands, stood and went to where his mother was sitting.
"Maman, Jacko is my cousin, isn't he?"
She smiled. "Not quite a full cousin, but you both have the same great-great- grandfather."
I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "You have been very kind to me even before you knew. Thank you." I smiled. "May I call you Aunt? And what will your husband say?"
She laughed. "Armand is used to me by now and you can be my nephew now I have a family, too!"
I said there must be other relations because of the lad who had escaped to Switzerland. She said she knew there were some others in Clermont, probably descended from the sister, but her father had never contacted them wanting only to play his violin and read books.
Papa was working late because he had been away and 'M Le Ministre' wanted a report ready before Easter. As soon as he came in and Daniel breathlessly announced the news he ordered aperitifs all round to recover. I came in for a hearty back-slapping, once he'd recovered, with a great welcome to the family.
I excused myself as soon as dinner was finished as I wanted to write to my aunts in Switzerland and America with the news. I would be seeing Ma on Wednesday evening so a letter wouldn't reach her by then. She would get the good tidings in person. I said I would take Daniel back to England with me for the summer, if they could spare him, Daniel sniffed and his parents laughed, and he could visit Ulvescott and also, I knew, Johann was coming as well. Perhaps, sometime we would meet our American 'cousins' as well.
Unfortunately, I had started something else. After I came out of the bathroom, ready to go to bed, Daniel was lurking.
"Please, Jacko, can we share?" he began....
I shook my head. "No, Daniel, it would not be right."
He pouted. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
"Sometime perhaps, but not now in your house...." He smiled and nodded. "....You have plenty to think about - now go to bed - and don't make more than one towel dirty or you'll have to take them to Madame next time at the flat."
He sniffed. "They would smell bad by then." He smiled and kissed my bare shoulder. "Goodnight, sweet Prince," he said in English. Shakespeare does come in handy.
I was in a good mood the next morning with my English group. We laughed our way though 'The Owl and the Pussycat' which wasn't on the syllabus but one of the girls had an old book of nursery rhymes and poems. I also said if any were in London during the Summer they should contact me and over Easter they must read the rest of the set books as we would deal with them finally before their exams next semester.
I also felt light-hearted at the Lib Nat especially when the librarian I usually dealt with said he'd checked the index to 'L'Enfer' - the naughty books - and there was no record of the book being published. His superior had asked for a copy of anything I published on it. More for Dr Blake to look at for me. Oh my God! Could I ask Dr Blake to read the mucky story? Anyway what could I write about it? I could do a translation and I could foresee that causing a sensation as an appendix to my thesis! Anyway, I still had plenty of other things to write about.
I had a quick look to see I'd made copies of all the letters. I made another note of the address at the top of George's letters - Garforth. Arthur only put 'G' and the date '72' or '73' on his. I took that to mean all his were written in 1772 and 1773. I then found a few more in the next box of documents. These were proof that the writer 'George' must be the same as the dedicatee, Georges les Salles, as there was specific mention of a secret book which he hoped to receive. These had '1773' at the top and were written between May and September. I scribbled out the contents of the five letters to make clearer copies later.
At least I could read my own handwriting. So, tired but happy in my work, I said goodbye to the librarian and said I would be back in four weeks time.
We had a superb dinner that evening. Even Daniel was allowed a complete glass of wine. We watched and waited as each washed in the bathroom later. When I'd finished he came up and put his arms around me. "Thank you, Jacko," he said so sincerely, "You have made me very happy and I want to meet your sons, they must be as nice as you."
"If they are as nice as you, Dodo, I would be very happy!" I kissed his cheek and we held each other closely. "Go to bed now and make sure....."
He giggled in my ear. ".....or Madame le Trichoteuse will get me!"
I felt down and grasped his already hardening cock in his underpants. "Go on, bed!"
He had left a card on the breakfast table in the morning. It was addressed to Francis and James and the message, in English, 'To my little cousins and their big father'. As the picture was of a rampantly phallic Eiffel Tower I wondered if it was deliberate. But then, was I being boastful!
At least the crossing wasn't rough but I found the interminable Dover to London train journey a real bore. I was sitting, slightly comatose, thinking about the 'secret book' and the letters. I sat up suddenly as if hit by an electric shock. The old lady sitting next to me looked a bit startled. I apologised saying I'd dropped off to sleep and woken suddenly. It wasn't that. I had suddenly made a connection. 'Garforth'. Garforth Hall in Westmorland was where Charley lived. Charley Lascelles. And the dedicatee was 'Georges les Salles'. A Frenchman's error of hearing I assumed. I keep saying Oh my God! to myself but here I thought it was wholly justified. That dirty book was commissioned and written for some ancestor of Charley's. I nearly burst out laughing. The Abominable Arseholes had a lover of arseholes in his family tree. I had only digested snippets of the book but remembered a passage about the oiling and fingering of Robin's passage of love before..... I couldn't remember the next bit in the French. Oh God! I must.... I must translate the complete book!
Ma and Pa were really pleased to see me. I broke the news gently. That is, pulling my dear mother's leg as I said I had discovered long lost relatives of hers who would probably demand a share of any family fortunes. I then told the story straight and put out the photograph of Piers with Miles and beside it a photo of Daniel taken last year which his mother had given me. Ma shook her head in disbelief. I said finally about the three birthmarks, Piers', Daniel's and mine. Ma quietly said "Four". I stared. "Francis. It was very noticeable. I saw it two weeks ago when he was sitting on my knee at Kerslake."
I sat stunned and only came to as she talked about their visit to the States and meeting her sister again after so many years. My cousins were grown and both were set to marry. Charles was with some big law firm in Boston while Sam was learning the ropes at a stockbrokers. She laughed and said if we thought Uncle Alfred was rather large the pair of them were massive - they would give Bruce a run for his money! Pa had made a great impression with his counterparts across the ocean and Lord Harford's committee was highly pleased. It meant the PM and Cabinet wouldn't reduce their budget, too. What all this meant I didn't know. Pa said it was important to keep my mouth shut and not to mention that he'd even been to the US to anybody. Who'd be interested anyway, I thought. They were highly delighted to have been invited to Lachs' and Audrey's wedding. I grinned and said it ran in the Cameron family as well. 'Oh dear!' said Ma.
Being my usual rather disorganised self I hadn't realise how close to Easter we were. I 'phoned the college later that afternoon and Willy was on duty. He confirmed Dr Blake was visiting his sister in Suffolk but would be back on Wednesday week as he was accompanying his great-nephew on a visit to Lord Harford at Garforth Hall from Thursday until the Monday. Oh good, that would give me plenty of time to write up more about the letters and get down to translating as much of the 'secret' book as possible. Lord Harford was in for a shock sometime! And I wondered if Bruce remembered to cut the 'fuckin's' from his vocabulary when with his great-uncle. So, Bruce hadn't been to grandmother's. I wondered where he was?
Easter 1951
All was revealed the next day. I remembered I had to go to the new address just as I got in the taxi at Kerslake station with all my luggage. Who should be standing at the gate as the taxi drew up but Bruce. Thank goodness the house was large! There was Bruce cradling a diminutive James with one massive arm with a lively Francis holding onto two fingers of his other hand.
"How'ya cobber," he greeted me, in a bit deeper voice than before, "Got your joeys here to meet you!" He looked at me shyly. "I got my degree!" His face lit up in a huge smile.
"Oh, Bruce, congratulations! I knew you would. You worked really hard last year."
His face was a picture of pleasure. Then Francis let go of his fingers and hurtled towards me. I bent down. "Dad," he said. I swept him up and hugged him.
"Here's the other one," said Bruce, "I'll get your bags."
Once settled I found that Tony had discovered a more or less abandoned Bruce in college at the end of term. He didn't want to go to see his grandmother as she nagged him all the time. He said he was looking forward to going to Westmorland though. I found he and Tony had taken over the two boys and Francis kept telling me he was a kangaroo now. Unfortunately, that reminded me of Roo - and that reminded me of Kats. Tony was driving now and that afternoon had taken his mother to see the riding stable which seemed to attract all the pubescent teenage girls from miles around. He whispered to me after I watched him park the car in the garage that he'd never seen so many girls bouncing up and down, having orgasms without the benefit of insertion. I said as if he'd know. I asked how his African idyll was going. He wrinkled his nose. "Six inches at most and not interested." And how was Bruce? He laughed. "Five and a half and wondering!"
This was all before I related the story. "Bloo...dy Hell," Tony said as the four of us, he, his mother, Bruce and I had sat down for a cup of tea and I had finished the tale. Mrs Marcham looked at him sharply. Then she grinned. "My sentiments exactly," she said. "How you manage all these coincidences I don't know, Jacko, you certainly pile them up." She poured more tea. "Mary 'phoned to say poor old Bran isn't well. Tony's promised to take Bruce over to Ulvescott so you go with them and I'll look after the boys as Maggy's gone home for a long weekend." Maggy was the very efficient nursemaid and I had wondered where she was.
Bruce was a more than efficient nursemaid himself. The boys loved him and he kept them amused effortlessly and with seemingly never-diminishing energy. While he was being pursued round the garden after tea I sat with Tony and outlined my findings.
He whistled when I said about the 'secret' book and the most probable Lascelles connection. That evening, after dinner, we sat together in my most luxurious room and pored over my scribbled transcript.
He wrote down a fair copy of my translation as I said it out loud. I said I would have to tidy it up but he was to write whatever I said. The 'secret' story started with two friends strolling in the country discussing Nature and God and the handiwork of the Almighty and the supremacy of Man over the whole kingdom of animals. It seemed rather philosophical. There were statements such as 'Happiness depends on the good working of our organs, our education and the sensations which we perceive. If these sensations are pleasing then our love for ourselves will increase.' This went on for several paragraphs until the friends espy a young farmhand scything, his shirt off, his fine muscles rippling like a young God of War - 'mowing down his enemies' was the guess I made at the flowery language. He pauses in his work and the watchers see him 'unbreech and draw out Nature's weapon which after drawing off his rank piss he caresses and then more urgently doth' -Tony sniggered at my own flowery output - 'doth rub' - I couldn't think of another translation for 'frotte' - 'doth rub until with martial cries his torrent of Mars doth' - I liked my 'doths'! - 'his torrent of Mars doth shoot forth then fall upon the good Earth to join the seed cast there to grow and nourish us.' We both burst out laughing.
"We never saw Hubert, our little Storm-Trooper, reach that stage. That would have been something," Tony said over his giggles, "But all he got was a boot up the goolies!" He giggled more. "His 'Nature's weapon' looked well-used - not much rust on that, I bet! Anyway, it sounds as if that lad didn't cast his seed upon stony ground. St Matthew chapter thirteen, I think!"
I said I was glad of his Biblical knowledge but as there was plenty more, we'd better get on. Tony grinned and said he couldn't wait to find out what happened next, casting seed or whatever. From what I translated next we gathered that the friends then left that scene and continued their discussion. One asked the other the nature of passions, those based on a love of God and those based on a love of sensual pleasure. This went on for a couple of pages until they came to a lake where a lad, a young Neptune, was fishing. For some of the next I pored over my copy of Larousse I decided he was stripped and 'wore but a clout tied loose around his sturdy waist'. He was casting his net and 'drawing in good fish'. They watched his back 'shimmering in summer light', his firm well-buttocked thighs 'twisting and turning as he pulls his net'. Satisfied with his catch he stares around but sees no one as our watchers are well-hid. With nonchalant calm 'as he hath cast his net he casts away his clout and rings his water' - I was a bit hesitant over that - it looked like a participle of 'sonner' - 'sounds his water till all is spent then grasps his trident staff with casual ease until with conch-like cries bold Neptune's foam spreads over' - I told Tony to change that to 'o'er' - 'the swelling tide'. Tony said he thought that was not quite right. Lakes didn't have tides. I grimaced. What the hell!
The adventurers carried on, walking back to the castle where they lived, through the woods. I read out several long paragraphs which seemed to be a discussion of free-will against determinism or something like that. Then they came across young James, I noted the name was given in English, 'who axe in hand was', ..... here I had to consult the big Larousse - ....'pollarding the young saplings as slender as the stripling they perceived. His jerkin of fine'..... I had a look at the dictionary again......
"Did you say he was jerking?" queried Tony, still writing, "He started that quickly!"
"No, I did not!" I said, laughing, "I said 'jerkin' as in coat."
He rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Only asked," he said, "Must have been expecting more."
"Wait," I said, "This is only the start. Anyway, I think his jerkin is of fine leather. I may not have copied that word down correctly or it's obsolete. I'll continue...."
I started off again saying that his jerkin of fine leather slipped off his shoulders as he reached forward showing 'those fair sculpted arms like some Grecian statue of a youth in a niche in the castle hall'. I said the English was a bit rough but it gave the idea. 'His short pantaloons of russet colour'.
- here Tony giggled - "Of russet hue sounds better," he said.
I nodded. OK. 'Of russet hue topped shapely thighs with scarce a hair'. I shook my head. 'He moved along the river bank with casual ease.....' "I think it's 'plying'", I said glancing at the page in the dictionary. 'Plying his heavy blade to yielding stem until the heat of the day strikes his now bare and reddened back. The cooling water beckons and with one....' "'Wrest' it says here," I said, fingers on two pages. '...Wrest those pantaloons are on the bank and the sweet youth steps into the stream. His thirst he quenches by bending over....'
"O'er," said Tony.
'Bending o'er scooping in cupped hands the cooling draught while' Something 'trempe'....I wondered...... 'while dipping down with legs parted wide he shows his other self which gleams and shines and then is gone...'
"Winked at them, did he?" laughed Tony, "Carry on!"
"Oh, it's something like '..pausing' or, perhaps it's 'staying for a moment he...' I sighed. '.....then standing tall like some yeoman's bow....' Unhh... '..long-bow, he stretches tautly his own Cupid's bow with two fingers...'
"I bet that's 'fingers twain'," said Tony. "And the bloody Frogs used to cut off the two fingers of any English archers they caught - so watch it - if I see you holding your Cupid's bow like that I'll chop the bugger's off."
"Shut up and write! ....'And draws the string ready and lets off...'
Or is that 'looses off'?" I said. '...looses off five arrows enough to pierce any lover's heart....' '....which fall into that swift stream never to be found again."
We giggled. Tony said "Down the plughole".
I looked at the next paragraphs. The pair were moving on through the woods and discussing more about the idea of the freedom of the will and ending up for the day at the castle gate.
"I think I'd better try to translate this next lot by myself and I really need to talk to someone who knows the philosophy of that time," I said. "It's difficult. We were told by some old bird in a lecture that to really understand this form of literature one has to think about the new ideas which were underlying the thinking of the time. I spent ages reading Voltaire and Diderot and a couple of others and discussing them with Don McFee so I should be OK once I get going at it."
Tony nodded and then grinned. "You're quite the academic now, eh?" He put the pencil down and rubbed his hands and smirked. "That's three lads. Any more?"
"Oh yes! This part is divided into three days," I said, "And I think there are three lads each day.... ....and there are twins on the third day."
Tony looked at his watch. "Time for one more day," he said, "But cut the twaddle."
I laughed. Tony was intrigued, but so was I. I skimmed the beginning of the second day. There was a whole lot of discussion about how brothers reared together could have different characters, then....
"Here it is, pencil ready! They're walking in the village or town now.
Yes... 'Take heed' says one, 'that butcher there, young William, round, red-faced, well-fed, has a merry look as he sharpens his long slim knife on that hard...' It's called a steel, isn't it?" Tony nodded. '....steel and strokes the knife as quick as he strokes his hard....'" I laughed. "There's a pun here, Tony! 'Vite' for quick and 'vit' for prick!" Tony looked at my scribble and screwed up his nose. "The next bit's something like... 'It's said that ruddy William sharpens his blade ter nocte potes', three times a night, 'until he lies drenched in his venal juices'..... They move on up the road and doff their hats to the village priest and there's something about Church and State...." I turned the page. "Yup. They enter the tavern where 'young Robin has on his broad back a barrel which he lifts upon the bench, his muscled chest heaving as he lifts. His shirt is ripped and shreds some more as the cruel barrel tears at the soft cloth. In anger he pulls it off and stands in small clothes...' I think, Oh yes! '....From there peeps out....' enchapuchone," I consulted the dictionary, ahh! "...Hooded like serpent long a creature of the night."
"Is that right?" queried Tony.
I nodded. "I think so. That's a literal translation. Anyway, that lad's been spotted, they drink up and leave. There's a whole lot about the joy of work, as if that pair ever did any! I'll leave that until later...." I scanned the next page. "....They see smoke rising from a forge, OK? 'Taking our footsteps to the forge we stood as a young Goliath wielded a heavy hammer, bare-chested and with the sweat of heat and work...' 'Travail dur'.... Better be 'toil' I think. '...which glistening like rain on paths of stone.... .....outlines the strength contained within.... He turns and plunges the red hot rod of iron into the... .....quenching trough which screams like ravished youth... ...Then like the horse tethered to the rail John...'" I shook my head and thumbed the Larousse. I grimaced. "'....stales into the trough to rid himself then takes his private iron-hard rod and coats the fiery Vesuvius cone with his own ... sulphurous slime....'"
"Sounds like you, Jacko!" Tony said waving his pencil at me, "Enough to put the fire out!"
I'd cottoned on. The Vesuvius cone must be the fire in the forge. Yep, I'd told Tony about my adventure with Mike all those years ago now.
Tony looked at what he'd written. "Stales?" he queried.
I had one over our resident English specialist! "Old word for horse's peeing," I said. "At least that's what it says here and it makes sense." I tapped the Larousse. "Anyway, except for their walk back to the castle and more about honest toil for honest Christians that's day two. Had enough?"
We both had. Tony said he'd copy his own scribble neatly and he wanted to hear about the other three. It was late. We washed. We shared.
We shared each other too that night. Carefully and slowly we quenched our red-hot rods of iron with cooling mouths. We giggled after sharing our own warm slime and Tony said neither of us could scream filled as we were.
I turfed him out of bed as soon as I woke. Grumbling, he went to his own bedroom next door, giving me a two-fingered salute as he went out of the door. I didn't want an inquisitive almost three-year-old wanting to burrow between dad and Uncle Tony. I washed and dressed and crept down to the next floor where the Marchams slept with the nursery- room next door. The boys were still asleep. I sat and watched until Francis woke first, saw me, and started chattering animatedly. I wondered if I would ever be able to look after them properly. He climbed out of bed and sat on my knee. But first. "Pee-pee" he said. I took him into the adjoining bathroom and, like the grown-up little man he was, he concentrated hard and turned and smiled. "All done," he said, "Wash hands." I took him to the sink and obeyed. He had been taught well. My Francis. I started to read him a story from the book by the bed. Then James woke and wanted attention, too. "He needs a nappy," said Francis, "Pooh!" Luckily Mrs Marcham came in then, in floral nightgown.
"Don't look," she ordered, "I'm a sight in the mornings." Francis was pointing at James and still going "Pooh". "It's not so long since you were like that, young man, and your Uncle Tony, and your Daddy!" We laughed. She scooped up James and disappeared into the bathroom with him.
"Grandma smells nice," said Francis. "Do you?"
I ignored that and read some more. He sat on my knee mouthing the words. I pointed.
"And the boy went into the forest," he said, "and saw the giant."
I wondered. I turned two pages and pointed again, saying nothing.
"And the beans grew and grew until they were bigger than the house."
I covered the next line. He looked up at me. "Show me," he said.
I picked out a book from the pile and opened it. I pointed.
"How a bear likes honey," he began, then looked at me, "Is that zed?"
"Buzz, buzz, buzz," I said, nodding.
"Daddy can read!" he said.
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings! At that moment Mrs Marcham came out of the bathroom with a cleaned-up James. Should I boast that I think my son can read? Who taught him? Mrs Marcham grinned.
"Francis, show Daddy you can read."
"I have. Daddy can read, too."
There was general collapse of stout parties then. Over breakfast I found that Maggy had discovered only the weekend before that Francis was beginning to read. He had pointed to a headline on the local newspaper and said "Kerslake school open". When asked how he knew he said he had seen that word, pointing to 'Kerslake' lots of times and that word 'school' was outside Daddy's old school and the baker's shop had a notice on the door, 'open'. He asked the first word, which was 'New'. She had tested him with new sentences from the story of Jack and the Beanstalk and he made few mistakes. So, he'd spent quite a bit of time in the week reading to himself asking about 'k's and 'c's and so on. He'd learned to read in about a week!
Mrs Marcham laughed. "Tony read very early, by the age of three, and so did Kats." She paused. Memories. She recovered. "Ask your mother about you."
We'd more or less finished breakfast when the thundering footsteps of Bruce came up the drive. He'd been for a morning run. I felt envious. "Lovely day out there," he said. He disappeared and we heard him telling Tony he should be up and out. I said I would investigate and followed him upstairs. I heard him singing to himself in the bathroom on our third floor. We all had to share that and with Bruce in it by himself it was rather crowded. I opened the door and went in. He was standing by the sink naked.
"Have a look, Jacko, what do you think of that!" he said proudly.
The thin tube of gristle was now much thicker and had lengthened into that hanging flap of foreskin. His balls had dropped considerably. All this was surmounted by a spreading bush.
"Gotta thank you for that, Jacko," he said enthusiastically, "Would never have taken myself to that doc without you."
Tony took Bruce and me over to Ulvescott that day. He drove his father's new Rover and I sat in the front with him with Bruce taking up almost the whole of the back seat. Bruce was getting more and more enthusiastic about England. The green and pleasant land was charming him more and more. He commented on the thatched cottages we passed and the green fields and became positively elated when he spied a flock of sheep. I nudged Tony carefully, I didn't want to distract him too much from his very efficient driving. "Seen a few of his relations no doubt," I said quietly, "I think his name should be Baa..sil!" 'Fool!' was his only retort.
On arrival there was no Finbar and no Bran at the gate. When we went into the house the answer was clear. Finbar was looking after a very sick Bran. He was sitting by him in the kitchen by the Aga. Both Tony and I knelt and stroked Bran's head and he tried to lick our hands. We hugged Finbar and then introduced him to Bruce. Wow, two mountains - a dog mountain and a man mountain!
Bruce was very impressed with Ulvescott Manor and when he was shown the Horsebox where he was going to sleep his eyes opened wide. Tony and I were going to share Piers' room - Bruce never batted an eyelid about us sharing - the years in the jackaroo's bunkhouse must have accustomed him to young men sharing. We made sure our sharing was very quiet!!
Of course, as soon as Aunt Mary appeared I had to tell her about her late husband's new-found relations. She was adamant that Julien, Daniel and their sisters and everyone else should come and visit. I said I knew Daniel would be with me in the summer.
The invitation was there. The photos were compared and I said about the four birthmarks. I said that I had seen the one on Francis's leg when I had bathed him the night before. She shook her head in amazement and Miss P said that it would make a very good story.
Finbar wouldn't leave Bran when we three lads set out next day to explore the estate. The saw-mill was going great guns. There were stacks of timber waiting to be sawn and Bruce said plenty of the wood could be prepared for furniture or other better uses than just for firewood. I don't think the men operating the saw really knew much about wood. It was something to mention to Mr Marcham.
In the afternoon Tony drove us to see Lady Bing. I had to tell her all about the boys. She said she wasn't surprised Francis could read at such an early age, but it took some children a lot longer. I felt flattered and guessed she was commenting on her daughter's early progress. I played. In fact, I had brought two of the French pieces my blind teacher had lent me. She was very appreciative and told Stella she would like her to play some French music for a change in future. Then she wanted to know all about Australia where dear Nellie came from. She said Thomas was very rude about her because he'd said on a fine day she could be heard clearly in Calais when she sang in the Albert Hall. I gathered from the Duchess she meant Sir Thomas Beecham and Dame Nellie Melba. She whispered to me as we departed that she'd wanted to play French music but her mother always insisted on Beethoven and Brahms.
Easter Sunday morning we all went to church. Both Tony and Bruce went up for Communion but I sat, head bowed, thinking over the past three years of my life. So much had happened. What would happen over the next few years?
We had just finished Sunday lunch when we heard Finbar give an unearthly howl. Mrs Browne came rushing to the dining-room and beckoned. The six of us rushed to the kitchen. Bran had died that very moment. It seemed as if he had waited until Tony and I had reached Ulvescott for that last time to see him. I hugged Finbar who was growling softly. We were all weeping. Bruce took control. He found out from Mrs Crossley that there was a corner where the two previous dogs had been buried. After lunch we went searching. We found it sadly overgrown. As I cleared nettles and brambles Tony and Bruce dug a deep hole in the soft earth. Bran was wrapped in an old blanket he used for a bed and gently he was carried to his grave on a flat barrow we found in the barn. The three of us lowered him into the hole and as Finbar, Aunt Mary, Miss Pike, Mrs Browne and Dora watched, we covered him with earth. Our friend had gone. It was very noticeable, Finbar took over the role of guard dog and friend to the family straight away.
I think Francis was rather sad when we took Bruce to Kerslake Station on Tuesday. He wanted Uncle Bruce to come and visit again and tell him more about kangaroos. I promised he would and that when we went to see Grandma in London we would go to the Zoo to see some real live ones. I gave Bruce a letter for his great-uncle saying I would be in Cambridge next week and outlined the fact I'd found the 'secret' story written around 1773 or 4 and I needed advice. In a postscript I asked him if he knew anything about the Lascelles family history, without letting on about the dedicatee. Knowing Dr Blake, two and two would make twenty-seven!!
With Bruce gone and Maggy back to look after the boys I was able to get on with the translation. Again, Tony insisted he would write at my dictation as it would give him a rest from his own work. We were ready for the third day and the rest of the lads.
"OK," I said, "I won't bother with all the preamble. It seems to be about the influence of the Church and the veniality of rich monasteries and churches. Yes, here they are. 'Crossing a new mown field my companion spied through the tall hedge a young....." I opened the big dictionary...... I had seen the word before but needed to check, 'garennier', Yes! '...a young warrener surveying his snares where his captives had squealed and died. He was tall and so fair headed his golden tresses hung to his shoulders like a .....' Wait for it! '... like a nimbus cloud of light around his angelic face. Over his shoulders was.... ...was slung a green cloak of such a darkness and round his waist was... ...was a cincture of silver rabbit-skin which pouched above his bare supple legs....'" I stopped. Tony was sniffing.
"Bloody furry jockstrap that. Must tell Perce to get some for his cousin's next party." He laughed, "Can just see Billy Clarke prancing around in one of those." He sniffed again. "Anyway, in those days bunnies were called coneys, so I'll put coney-skin. Sounds a bit more authentic!"
I flapped a hand at him telling him to get on with it. "...'Hung from his belt were three of his trophies and bending quickly he gathered up another. By a stately oak tree young Allan loosened his cloak which fell to the ground and leaning against the friendly trunk he took the pipe hung on a cord around his neck and played a merry tune. That pipe fashioned with his own hands from rare wood silenced....' Ow! ....'stilled the birds who answered in their turn. With a quick hand his pouch was off and as his fingers raised the melodies from that pipe so psallare elegantius........'" I showed Tony the phrase in my scribble, he copied it down. ".....with sweet boy's nectar in myriad drops joining the refrain.... That nectar sweet enough to charm the honey-bee as the sweet notes delighted the song-birds in the air.'"
"What on earth," said Tony. "He's trying to be poetical I suppose." He paused. "I don't suppose 'psallare' is like 'psaltery' in the Bible?" He screwed his nose up. "That was a sort of harp or lyre.... Got it! As he piped a tune he plucked his elegant lyre as accompaniment and the 'sweet boy's nectar' shot out in drops." He laughed. "Got to tell you this. I've put how boys come into categories." I must have looked a bit askance. "Go on, you've seen enough. Anyway you're top category. Do you want me to tell you?" I nodded. "Well, top notch are lads like you, the 'squirters'."
"Thank you," I said, "Glad I'm top quality."
"Shut up and listen," he said waving his pencil at me. "Next are the 'gobbets'. They get around stomach level, you squirters would hit the ceiling on a good day."
I shook my head, laughing. "Never done that yet!"
"Oh, you know what I mean. Chest and upwards!" He held up his left hand and tapped a third finger. "The 'drippers' are next. Lots of grunting then out at belly level. And lastly there's the 'oozers'. Runs out and down the old prong. Perce is like that. Whoops, how do I know, you may ask?" He laughed. "Should have got Nobbo and Cleggy to do a survey, eh?"
I said they were busy enough now chopping off lumps of old bodies and tossing off on Thursdays without bothering with how they or their fellow wankers came.
"Young Allan and all these others in the story are all squirters though," he said.
'Young Allan'? I scrabbled through the pages Tony had written previously.
"Another English influence!" I said triumphantly. "Look, there's Robin in the pub, there's John the blacksmith and William the butcher." I laughed, "Red-faced, ruddy, that's Will Scarlett and now Allan. It's all Robin Hood and his Merry Men, eh?"
"Well I'll be buggered!" nodded Tony, "Hood, hood?" He scrabbled through the pages. "Yeah! 'Peeps out hooded like serpent long'. That's Robin's dick! You're right."
I was struggling to think of other characters. There was the something Miller and Friar Tuck and who was James?
"I think there's one or two more." I remembered. "Much the Miller and all we need then is Friar Tuck!" I said.
Tony laughed again. "No, I don't think he'll be a character, but I bet it'll be Try'a Fuck later!"
Ouch!
It seemed that the wanderers left Allan merrily piping his tune and walked on, I skipped the chat, until they heard the sound of sawing. Tony was scribbling as I translated this and then went on.... 'Two brawny youths, covered with....' Sciure de bois? '....saw-dust, laboured with a great blade within....' Une fosse de scieurs de long.... I wrinkled my brow. Dictionary. '....a saw-pit... cutting the trunk with ease. Like Castor and Pollux they appeared, red-gold their curly locks..' I nodded. I thought my translation of 'boucles de cheveux' was good. '...and as the dust rose and the saw gained heat so Castor above lifted his short tunic and pissed to cool the blade and lay the dust. His twin, that Pollux of same blood.... .....called halt.... ....and climbed to stand beside his strong brother. He took his flask and drained it...' A grands traits... '....with great gulps.... ....while Castor drank his own... ...pouring the quenching draught fully into his throat....' '....Their flasks drained dry young Pollux called and soon a bright-haired....' gaillard '....lad wanting two summers of the pair brought new swollen flasks. The brothers whispered to the boy and pulled his ears and stroked his broad young back and long brown arms. He blushed and scampered off, laughing, while they smiling and laughing too, cast off their tunics and stood...' Au front d'arain '..as bold as brass, clasping each other's mighty blade and with practised stroke pulled back and forth as in the pit until with joyful shouts twin streams gushed and mingled with the dust. Their hidden brother, the young Adonis, now taught well, would in his bed that night take on their guise..' Same word I noted. '....and draw his own sweet cream, hand by hand, and wonder should he creep to his brothers' bed....' '....to share his new-found joy with them.'
As I said that Tony sniggered. "Little wanker! I get it. I suppose they're about fifteen or sixteen and he's two summers younger and that'll be his first time. Your bloke certainly goes the rounds."
I went to the last couple of pages of the complete manuscript. I remembered that as the lads reached eighteen they were paid a goodly sum and left and new youngsters were recruited. There it was. I showed Tony the French and then said as Castor and Pollux left through the castle gate, their bags of golden coins in their hands, so they passed their young brother and his friend coming in.
"C'est la vie," said Tony, "The bloom of youth on their cheeks had faded and another blooming cheeky youth takes over." He got serious. "That translation sounds a bit rough, you'd better work on it if you're going to discuss it with Dr Blake. Are you going to try to put it in that mock flowery style? It sounds as if the French is a bit like that. And you'd better list all the Latin bits. Most of those are later, eh? But you'd better get a couple of your proper chapters ready for him as well. You've only got another year!"
Nag, nag, nag, I thought. But he's right. I had done the two articles and I had outlined the general basics for my thesis. Would it be enough?
"I've only got to put mine together this term and they can have it," he continued. "It's mainly a catalogue with examples, but my supervisor said no one's done the amount of reading I have and I could stay on and pad it out for a doctorate. Got other plans, though." He grinned. "You come back in the summer with half your thesis done and I'll let you read what I've written of my novel! Got to find a job though!"
He wanted to stay in Cambridge and there were plenty of academic establishments catering for those who needed help with passing exams - crammers for Higher School Certificate and other sort after qualifications. He'd made enquiries and at least two would sign him up as a tutor. Not well-paid but enough to keep the wolf from the door while he scribbled in a garret, so he said! He wouldn't starve, there was always the Blue Boar and the card he'd been given. I wondered if Lord Harford would still honour his cards if he heard about the family skeleton? Dr Blake would have to be consulted.
In between playing all sorts of games with Francis and James and hearing Francis read I carried on trying to put the translation into reasonable English. I did all the maundering bits and got the feeling this was all a ploy to make the rest sound legitimate. I plumped for the pseudo-poetic as that seemed to be the style of the original. I did the whole of part one and left it at that. From the antics in parts two and three I thought I'd have a very willing transcriber in Tony later! Anyway, Tony read through my second draft and altered a few phrases and it did begin to sound more authentic. We would see. I also practised typing on my ancient French typewriter which Ma had found in a secondhand shop in the Fulham Road and given me as a premature birthday present. I never asked what she was doing rooting around Chelsea and that area. Local colour for a forthcoming story, no doubt.
That wedding! I caught an early train to London on Saturday. I had to be at Moss Bros by ten to be fitted with a morning suit. I really looked a toff! Top hat and all!! I met many of Lachs and Flea's friends again. Mostly military of course. Titty gave me a great handshake and he and Bastable were in their full dress Royal Marines Officers' uniforms. Potty was there looking very imperious, with countless others. I bumped into Ludo Wilkinson. He was staying on in Cambridge having done a stint at a theological college and had just been ordained deacon in the C of E. I hadn't seen him for nearly a year and he wanted to know all my news. I found he was now to be a Junior Fellow in his college and teach Anglo-Saxon. Oh! Keeping up the old Oxbridge tradition of Fellows being clergymen. I wondered about my future.
I must say Audrey looked stunning and didn't look a bit pregnant. Lachs was smiling but it was very noticeable she was at least four inches taller than him. Still he and Flea made a fine pair in their Officers' dress uniforms as well. Aunt Della was charm itself. Mother-in- law! And Uncle Edward, with Ma and Pa, and a grinning Rhys, completed our bit of the family. Oh, yes! Julia was a bridesmaid.
Actually, Audrey's mother was very nice and her father was a quiet man and said to me he hoped Lachlan knew what he was letting himself in for! Antony Milverton and I had quite a chat at the reception. I liked him more each time I met him. I felt he was just himself, no arrogance, although he was making quite a career for himself as the young wonder of the silver screen. He said he would like to visit Cambridge again as he so enjoyed that previous time. He was there with three young men of his own age. He, at least, was the up and coming film-star and they were his hangers-on. I think Antony had the measure of his sister, who was revelling in all the publicity she would get - there were several Press photographers outside the church and I saw my own photo in one of the rags early the next week.
Flea was everywhere gossiping with all, but at the reception at the Dorchester we sat by ourselves and chatted. He said Audrey had Lachs twisted round her little finger and from all accounts he'd been shagging the arse off her at every opportunity for about a year. That was until Christmas when, and here Flea chortled, the johnnie burst. We laughed thinking of Peggy Finch and young Georgie's tale. At least, Lachs hadn't lost his virginity with her. Panic stations when Audrey discovered she had a bun in the oven but all was smoothed as the run of the play was finishing at Easter. Her next job was to go to Hollywood to be in a film in November so the sprog would be popped before then. He said Lachs' promotion to Captain was to be announced in a couple of weeks and he was being seconded to the War Office. Flea said he was enjoying his flying. He was helping to train new young pilots but there were rumours of some of them being transferred to Korea. I asked him about his love- life.
"It's OK," he said with that particular grin, "I've lost it, too. Sister of a pal of mine. Nothing serious. She doesn't want to carry on, though. Thinks pilots only want one thing and then they're off. She's been through a few from all accounts. OK while it lasts, eh? But I'm too busy to worry. Plenty of time to settle."
He said he had most weekends off and had bought a little Morgan sports car so took that out for runs, mainly up to Chester. I said come over to Kerslake to see the boys. Francis wanted to see his Uncle Andrew and insisted making aeroplane noises every time his name was mentioned. That was arranged.
Lachs was whisked off before I could chat to him other than giving him my heartiest congratulations and whispering that he was only keeping up the family tradition. He said he supposed Edward and I had been good, or bad, examples. "Keep an eye on Flea for me always, eh?" he said as we parted.
Tony stayed on in Kerslake, scribbling, as he said, when I went over to Cambridge to see Dr Blake and report my findings. Willy was in the Porter's Lodge when I arrived. He greeted me effusively and said would I see the Bursar first. There was also a whole pile of letters and copies of journals for me as well. He said he would get Davy to take them over to the Guest Room where I was being accommodated for the couple of days of my stay. Young Davy then appeared. A younger version of Jem, who I knew was now in Egypt as a cook with his pal Sam in the Officers' Mess in Alexandria. I didn't know if he knew of the closeness of that pair but he was a dark-haired 'gaillard, a young Adonis...'. Oh. Jacko! He knew who I was and from the look he gave me I bet his brother had tittle-tattled to him! We were interrupted by Bruce appearing. He gave Davy a swipe on his bum.
"Hi there cobber! Fitzbillies, eh?" He produced a half-crown and Davy went off laughing. Extra sustenance from the bun-shop!
He greeted Willy then who asked if he'd had a good trip to Garthorp and was Dr Blake in residence now?
"Oh, bonzer!" he enthused, "Charley's Pa offered me a job up there. Needs a manager and says I can have it. And Uncle Will says I should take it. He's up in his rooms unpacking his clobber." He turned to me. "How are ye, mate? And the lads? I miss 'em."
I said all were well and Francis wanted to know where Uncle Bruce was. I said I expected Tony sent his love and Bruce blushed a bit. He offered to take the folder of stuff I had for his great-uncle as he was having tea with him later. After the Fitzbillie's buns, I thought! Huhn, there also seemed to be growing rapport between great-uncle and great- nephew. Perhaps Dr Blake was no longer quite so distant from the lad. Lad?
He's twenty- two now. I keep forgetting that time flies!
My first task then was to see the Bursar. Over a welcome cup of tea he said he had good news. A College benefactor had given a considerable sum of money for distribution to needy research students and if I didn't mind receiving what he thought was a portion of conscience money over black-market profits there was a cheque for two hundred pounds for me. I said my conscience was clear, he laughed and the cheque was mine. Solvent! That, with my stipend would see me comfortably through the next year!
My second task was to scour Heffers for appropriate reading books for Francis which could then be passed on to, I hoped, an equally bright young James. The lady was much amused as I selected almost a dozen suitable ones as she was more used to my queries about rather more erudite volumes. I explained they were for my elder son and her eyebrows raised perceptibly. I could almost see the cog-wheels churning. If children tended to learn to read at about five or six this young man must have been....? No, surely boys of fourteen or so couldn't, or mustn't, or....! I put her out of her misery by saying he was nearly three but we'd found he was beginning to read well. She unstiffened. Still, I saw her look at me closely.... I must have been quite young...!
I was in the Guest Room when Davy tapped on the door. "Excuse me, Mr Thomson," he said once I'd bellowed 'Come in '. "Dr Blake presents his compliments and will see you at nine o'clock in the morning, sir. Shall I call you at seven?"
Very properly I thanked him and said that would be most acceptable. As he turned to go I asked him, "How's your brother? It seems strange without him and Sam here."
He turned and gave a shy grin. "He's well." He put his hand in his coat pocket and drew out a photo, "Here they are." Two smiling, and definitely plumper, young men standing with arms round each other's shoulders, stared at the camera. The background was undoubtably the Pyramids. I handed it back to him. "He says he misses it here," he said, "I miss him, too."
I said he'd find it dull after the Pyramids. He grinned and left.
I did quite a lot of work that evening sorting out the headings for a new chapter. I had to have plenty to show Dr Blake. I musn't be accused of slacking.
Davy had been well-trained. I was awake and stretching when he came in with the customary mug of tea. The snippet of news that day was that one of the old Dons had died in the night in Addenbrookes. He was well over eighty and had been at the college from the age of eighteen. He was doddery when I first joined the college and I'd had a breakfast with him early on and he was still all there mentally. He was a mathematician and my maths friends had said he had been quite a celebrity in his early days.
So, at nine o'clock I knocked on the door and was greeted more than affably. He'd heard all about the boys from Bruce and also about the death of Bran. Peter lay in his usual comatose state under a table. He was pretty ancient. We got down to business. He harumphed a bit and said I'd made an interesting discovery. Was I aware of that kind of literature from that time? I said I wasn't other than the references to subversive books smuggled in from Switzerland during the years leading up to the Revolution which one of the lecturers had talked about. I said he'd hinted that as well as tracts against the Monarchy and the Church there were also books of a more dubious nature, as he put it. Dr Blake then said that at undergraduate level one could only scrape the surface. Surface! I'd spent bloody hours reading all sorts of books to write essays or answer questions in the exams!! He must have seen my expression. He smiled.
"Surface I said, and I mean it. There was a lot going on in that century leading to the Revolution." He waved a hand at me. "I know I deal with the previous century mainly but you find yourself finding out all sorts of things as you leave your undergraduate days behind. You've started and started well it seems. You've placed your three authors very well in those two chapters I've read. Now this rather, shall we say, risque discovery. How does it place you?" He laughed. "That will make a very good appendix to your thesis with plenty of scholarly notes." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a black-bound book. "This might give you an idea of what was published at the time. If I'm not mistaken your author read it. Look after it. You might find some of the illustrations rather revealing. Keep it carefully it's not for handing around in polite company. I found it in a pile of old books in Paris a good few years ago."
I took the book from him. Black binding. No title on the spine. I opened it to the title page. 'Therese Philosophe' in a shield with three rather naked ladies around it. I riffled the pages. It was in French. Wow. An illustration caught my eye. A bare-bummed girl kneeling by a reading desk with a hooded man about to deal with her with a very lengthy dick. I hurried on realising there were several more quite revealing pictures. I glanced up. Dr Blake was watching me.
"It is what is termed a 'livre philosophique' of the more dubious kind.
The ones you mentioned against Monarchy or the Church were also in that general category because they were forbidden and could get you branded and sent to the galleys if you dealt in them. That one was published in1748 and your oeuvre was written about 1773, so you say." He laughed. "I don't think it was delivered because George Lascelles and his cousin Arthur went to Jamaica in late1773. They ran a sugar plantation out there but died when their mansion burnt down in 1778."
I sat open-eyed. Over the next half hour or so he said he had asked Lord Harford if he knew much about his family and had been given a slim book to look at compiled by his grandfather. He'd noted that George, born in 1750, had travelled widely on the Continent with his cousin, Arthur, who was a year younger. It wasn't clear in the book why he'd gone to Jamaica but he'd brought it up in conversation with Lord Harford who'd said he'd heard there was trouble over stable-boys. The fire was thought to have been started by a disgruntled slave who was also burnt to death. Boys will be boys was what his Lordship said.
He said he'd guessed there was a connection somehow with the Lascelles family from my cryptic comment so he'd taken the hint. I was then told to translate the whole manuscript and also check the other manuscripts against the printed books. He would give my list of Latin phrases to a friend who was a classics don to see if he could place the origins and give translations. I said it seemed that some were euphemisms and he said that was quite common, my guess at the lyre seemed correct. That lot over I then had to go through in detail the chapters of my thesis I had already written. He said he thought my arguments were sound and, by the way, the editor had accepted my article on the plagiarised book. Dr Blake still had my second article - about the cache of letters. He suggested I put a cliff-hanger at the end just saying that in further letters there was evidence for a secret book. He suggested once my complete translation was done to talk to Lord Harford about it and reveal the family connection. He expected it would be all right but he didn't want the family upset by any sudden revelations, even of something so far in the past. There was the customary knock on the door at twelve o'clock and a stocky red-haired lad stood there, lunch was served. As he looked the same sort of age as Davy I wondered if they were friends, too.
I had to visit the University Library after lunch so had no chance to look at the book until late that night after I got back to Kerslake. Wow! As I scanned the pages I found it was the story of this young girl, Therese, released from a convent, and her adventures. She, like the two in the story, hides and watches an affair between an abbe and a woman. The illustrations left nothing to the imagination. The abbe with his prick well-in, doggy-fashion - something about inserting St Francis's cord! Another with the man being beaten on the bare bum with a bundle of birch twigs by a woman while another tosses him off.. Then Therese with a naked Count, pulling his plonker for him. Wow!! One thing I did note, when I got round to looking at the text, was the fact of many familiar phrases. My crafty author had pinched bits of this book as well!
Francis was in bed when I got home so next morning I was woken by him bouncing on top of me.
"Daddy, Uncle Andrew is coming. Why do you call him Flea? Can I call him Flea? James has done another poo."
I grabbed him and bundled him under the covers. He squealed as I tickled him.
"I call him Flea 'cause he used to hop about like you. And that's my name for him!"
"I want to call him Uncle Flea. I shall ask him."
I staggered out of bed, Francis taking no notice of my hairy nakedness.
I found one of the books. It was a cut-down illustrated version of the Swiss Family Robinson. We sat up side by side in bed, he half across my lap and we read the first page. At least, I started but he took over and with few hesitancies he read about the boat sailing from the port on its long journey.
"Can I go on a boat?" he asked.
"When we go to France you can."
Oh, the inquisitiveness of the young! I had to tell him about my cousin Johann in Switzerland where that family came from and then about Julien and Daniel in France. He'd met Julien who had called in with Matt earlier in the year. Then there was America. He slid off the bed and trotted out coming back with postcards which Grandma and Grandpa had sent to him on their visit and the one Daniel had sent from France. He announced that Maggy was cleaning James' bottom. I had to answer questions like 'Is France in London?', 'Are there boats in London?' 'Is Uncle Bruce in London?'. This obsession with London seemed to be because I had promised a visit to the Zoo. Next week, I promised. Uncle Tony and I will take you to see the kangaroos and the monkeys and the penguins and the camels. 'Will Uncle Bruce be there?'. No, I said, just a gorilla, I expect. The irony was lost. I covered it by saying that Grandma would probably be there. 'Will Grandpa be there?'. If I thought tutorials with Dr Blake made one's head spin.... Was I like that at that age?
I tried something else. I pointed to his nose. "Say 'this is my nose'." He did. I repeated it in French. He repeated it. We tried 'hand', 'foot' and 'finger'. He cottoned on quickly. I heard him later marching round the garden and he had the genders correct as he recited and pointed, 'mon nez', 'ma main'....
Flea arrived later in his sports car and by the time he went on Sunday I think even Francis was tired. Saturday night we slept together - he had so much to tell me. I locked the door carefully before I joined him in bed. I heard about his flying. How one of his young trainees had died when he crashed on his first mission. How alone he felt when that happened. How alone I must have felt when Kats and my friend Roo died. He said he'd got no comfort fucking the girl. She wanted sex and he enjoyed doing it but it was empty. I said I hoped I had come to terms with my loss but the gain was in my sons. He said he felt close to them and I said how Francis hung on his every word. Until he found his own love and perhaps had his own children he could have a share in mine. We had made that vow of oneness those years ago. If he felt comfort in their presence and in mine I was happy. That night we found comfort in each other. We lay facing each other as on many nights before, caressing each other and releasing each other's seed with complete contentment. He kissed my cheek after a second massive climax each. "I may fly high but you raise me even higher."
He'd gone when I woke next morning. I woke because I heard him in his room across the corridor laughing with my son who was demonstrating that Uncle Flea had 'un nez', 'une main' 'un doigt'....... I hoped one day he'd have 'la joie' I had.
Tony was all enthusiastic about taking his nephew to London. So, the next Tuesday we set off to catch an early train. The questions were incessant. The comments hilarious. Elephants do bigger poo than James. Who wipes their bottoms? Can that monkey talk? I nearly said only if it's name is Tony but feared more questions. We met Ma who was regaled by her grandson with all he'd seen on the train journey and he was going to Switzerland on a boat and a train to see a family. The journey to the flat by the Albert Hall was by a real London red double-decker just like the model he had.
When we got there Tim was practising on the upright piano in his room. He had news. He was having an audition at the Opera House, too. To join the music staff. He was just completing his fourth year at the Royal Academy and had just been awarded prizes for both piano playing and conducting. One more term to go!
Francis slept all the way back on the train. The compartment was empty so I told Tony a bit more about the secret book. I had compared the 'philosophical' bits with the Therese book and found he'd pinched whole paragraphs or had just altered bits to fit his story. I said I'd also had a go at Part Two where the twins were enticed first into the castle and given to Madame Hairy-Twat to be taught how to behave as young gentlemen. They were then 'accidentally' discovered fucking each other by the two watchers, who were the young owner of the castle and his slightly younger cousin. Matching George and Arthur, though in the book they were Milord and Monsieur. Fearing they would be banished to the life in the saw-pit again they were given the task of luring the fisherboy in. I said the book was quite graphic on how he was then fucked at both ends by the twins and wanted more. Madame Hairy-Twat dressed him in silk and velvet and his task was to lure Robin the inn- keeper's son. Poor Robin was no sooner in the castle when, after a good meal, his sturdy limbs were stripped and he was up-ended, oiled and was then fucked into delirium by the fisherboy and the twins. By the time it was the young coney-catcher's turn there were eight well-used arses and eight over-used pricks. His initiation was after he had been taken to explore a non-existent warren in the castle cellars by the eighth lad, the harvester, a farmer's youngest son. He was now masquerading as a Milord himself, who then divested himself of his rich cloak, his doublet and his hose and ripped the poor lad's fur-lined jockstrap off and thrust his mighty shaft 'bent like his erstwhile sickle' straight up. The poor lad screamed but found himself surrounded, not by rescuers, but by seven other lusty youths who gave him the works, one by one and two by two, and then the twins let him have his way with them. As I said to Tony, all ends well for Part Two, as everyone is more than satisfied. The others bear him off on their shoulders, with William the forester playing the pipe from round young Allan's neck, and the twins stroking his lengthy tail crying out that it is not furry like his coneys but soft as the silk he will be dressed in.
Tony was in stitches as I relayed all this. We both had hardons too! Luckily there was time for deflation to take place, as Tony put it, but he was sure inflation would occur again later in more private circumstances.
No way could I ask Mr Marcham's typist to do the story. I laboured at the French typewriter and found after a few days I could get up a reasonable speed using two fingers. I knew there was a typewriter at Ivry but I would have to ask permission to use it or buy one in Paris.
Next morning after having been assailed by an ever talkative Francis, I heard him a bit later in Tony's room.
"Daddy's got a hairy bottom."
Grunt from Tony.
"That monkey had a hairy bottom....." Pause "....Is the monkey a daddy?"
Tony said later he thought Francis might become a logician but he himself wasn't up to solving syllogisms but he thought a better question might be.... He didn't have a chance to say more as I was behind him at the time where he was sitting at his desk and put his neck in an arm lock until we both stopped laughing.
All too soon it was again time to go back to Paris. Actually, Francis wasn't too concerned, the constant comings and goings of so many people was something he had got used to. Maggy said she would see he wasn't put under any pressure about reading but she would see how far she could get with counting with him. I left early in the morning and, thank goodness, had a smooth crossing.
Daniel was waiting when I arrived at the house in Ivry. Maman had gone to see a friend. He was just like an older version of Francis. Questions came in abundance. I was quickly back to speaking French. I switched to English and said he'd better have some practice before his exams and he'd better be good and pass or I wouldn't take him to England. He did work hard. I checked his answers to past papers and questions his teachers had set him to do over the vacation. There were few errors - mainly things like 'would' versus 'should'. We practised these until Maman came home and then her questions started!
So started twelve weeks of concentrated work. My three authors were in a web of others. I had to read more and more. I read associated books and then realised, quite suddenly, I was thinking almost in the same way as they all were at that time in the eighteenth century. This was a very important breakthrough. I felt as if I was now beginning to be a scholar. I wrote to Dr Blake saying I would completely recast the chapters I had already written. A laconic note came back saying something like 'I thought you would'.
I did take a couple of days off after Daniel finished his exams. We made the journey to Riom. Papa insisted he got the train tickets. As befitted a 'functionnaire' they were First Class! We stayed in the family house which was looked after by an older woman in the town.
We enquired around and found his friend now lived in a small village a couple of miles away. The boys met. Jean-Claud was now eighteen, quite recovered, and worked in his father's bakery. They chatted on for ages and then we went to the local church and saw the memorial to the two brave boys in the graveyard. They hugged each other and their future friendship was assured.
Daniel wanted to know more about what boys could do and on the second night I fucked him and then he fucked me. I could hardly get him out of bed in the morning before Madame came to clean the house. He wanted to hold me and talk. Did all boys do that? I said one should only do it with love and affection. I was back with Lachs and Flea and the other friends who I valued in that way. Daniel was now counted among them. I don't think the smile on his face disappeared for several days. At home he knew we were on forbidden territory but we talked and confided all sorts of feelings and thoughts. On the long summer days I sat in the garden with him in the evenings and told him about Kerslake, my friends, about Ulvescott, about love, about marriage, and my sons. He relived our experiences but said he wanted to get married one day but I had taught him much about love.
Laden down with more books, presents and accompanied by an excited Daniel, I left to return to England on Wednesday July the eighteenth. I was half way through my stay in Paris.
[Author's Note: Therese Philosophique: Ou Memoirs pour servir a l'histoire du P. Dirrag et Mlle Eradice exists. There is a copy in the Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Libraries, though I doubt if you could have it on inter- library loan. The book was reprinted in L'Enfer de la Bibliotheque Nationale, V, 102, Paris, 1986. The manuscript of O Audaciam Immanem is so rare it is not even listed in Bib Nat ms. Fr. 21928-21929 which contains over 1,500 titles of illegal works, some not published, for the years 1696 to 1773. It may, of course, be a figment of the imagination.]
To be Continued:..................