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 59
Vignettes from my Life
- Easter 1968
Anne and I went down for the pre-Easter performance at the ballet school. Again, we were very impressed. Jody was becoming a star in parts which needed a certain flair, panache, and, yes, showmanship. Not overdone, but giving an edge to his dancing. Coming up to seventeen soon he would be in his last year from September. Stephen was now a suave, very precise young dancer. In the last few months he had started his growth spurt and was now about five feet four. The paediatrician who examined the youngsters regularly said he was right on course for a final reasonable height. He was also still well-proportioned, not all arms and legs as my lanky two had been.
Anne had gone to the office at the school to check on anything needed or any instructions. I went with Stephen to his room and finished his packing. He was quietly excited about something. He went over and shut the door.
"Dad, I've got to tell you, I can do it!" He laughed. "I had one of those wet things soon after I got back after Christmas. James and Khaled had told me about them and Jody said the same thing had happened to him when he started. Safar said I had to tell you."
"How did Safar know?" I asked as the boys hadn't seen each other since Christmas.
He grinned. "I 'phoned him. Didn't he tell you?"
The boys were always answering the 'phone, or were asking if they could 'phone friends so I hadn't really noticed.
"No, he didn't, I expect he wanted you to tell me your news yourself. Congratulations, you are really growing up!"
He grinned. "Gosh, I am growing up, aren't I. It's great isn't it?"
"That you can do it, or, how you feel?"
He laughed. "Both! The others said it would be good."
"Is there anything you want to ask about?" I said, just as I had asked the others.
He smiled. "Safar asked me that and said you would as well. James and Khaled explained about all sorts of things and Jody's been very helpful. I don't think there is at the moment."
"Jody's been helpful?"
"Of course, he's my friend. Got to help friends!" He giggled. "Jody'll be mad I've told you that, but James said you know all about boys."
"True, I was one myself quite a few years ago!"
"Yes, I know that, but it's that book as well!"
Well, I wasn't surprised Jody and he were wank-buddies. Stephen had shared his room with James, Safar and Jody who were all, quite obviously, seasoned masturbators. He must have been so frustrated waiting for it to happen. But, the book? I expect he and his room-mates at Christmas had pawed over the last section of the copy which had mysteriously vanished from my study and appeared there again the evening before the general departures. At least the pages weren't stuck together!
When we arrived back Khaled and Safar were waiting. I didn't know but accommodation had been re-arranged again. Stephen was in his usual room with Safar, and Jody, all smiles, was bunking in with Khaled in Francis's and his room. Francis would not be seen yet as he was working and staying with Grunty next door because they were having some exams as soon as term began. Also, James had decided he would pop up to Chester to stay with Uncle Edward and Aunt Della for a few days.
Of course, things didn't remain quiet when James returned from Chester on the Tuesday after Easter. More rearrangements. Francis decided too to return to his room, but brought Grunty as well. Why they couldn't have stayed next door I never fathomed? 'Change of scene' was the nearest to a sensible remark I got from Francis. That meant Jody and James went into the small guestroom leaving Khaled and the two trainee medics together. Either Jody had given up snoring or James was no longer bothered by it was also a question unasked and so unanswered. They seemed more than happy to be in together. Hatching more pranks to play on the unsuspecting populace.
Given that it was holiday time and given that adolescents love their beds James was not a typical adolescent, late or otherwise. He had always been an early riser and was always of the opinion that the others were lazy so-and-sos and would be better off up and getting on with things. The second day he was home I was up a ladder in the stairwell changing a couple of light bulbs and trying to work out why one was flickering just on eight o'clock in the morning. It was rather a delicate balancing job and I'd just completed getting the ladder into position when I heard James fling open the door of the room in which the three older lads were sleeping. From my vantage point I caught a glimpse of him dressed, very simply, in an old pair of navy blue rugger shorts.
James had a fog-horn voice. "Wakee, wakee, hands off cocks, on socks, you lazy lubbers!" he bellowed.
We had had words with him about the wake-up call before. He pointed out when he went sailing with Uncle Flea's and Uncle Georgie's Sea Scouts they were always woken with that call and it was an old sailors' reveille call. If it was good enough for the Royal Navy, and if it was good enough for the Sea Scouts, then....... It was no good arguing with James so, periodically, as long as Grandma wasn't in residence, he awoke tardy bedlovers with his bellow.
Someone must have been awake because we heard James's squeal which always occurred when retribution was meted out by a recipient of one of his capers.
In fact from the succeeding squeals more than one person had grabbed. There were two slaps on bare skin from the sound of it.
"Ouch!" James's dignity as well as his backside was hurt. "Give me back my shorts, Cally! I only came in to wake you up. It's a lovely day. And that hurt, Francis. I bet I've got hand prints. I'll go and show Mum and she'll tell you off." James usually razzed his retaliators with threats to tell his Mummy! This went back years and always invoked further retribution.
"Shut up, Squirt, or I'll give you something to tell Mum about. I know, I think I'll practice my first circumcision on you. Hold him still, Cally, while I find some nail scissors."
This provoked more squeals from James and giggles from Khaled and Francis.
"And you can have a neat job like Cally's if you like," said Francis to renewed laughter from the pair, "I can use him as a model!"
"What the hell's going on," came from Grunty. Grunty was a heavy sleeper and did not like being woken up. "Oh, it's him!"
"Francis is assaulting me!" came James's anguished cry, "And get your knee out of my face!"
"I've only offered to tidy him up a bit. Most unsightly all that skin.
And it'll be practice for me, won't it?"
"Talk about yourself then, we're the same," James said in a dismissive way. "Gosh, Grunty you have got hairy legs! Francis likes hair...ry....Ow!" Another slap. ".....And what are you doing, Grunty? That's not nice for a boy your age. I'll tell your mother!"
"Shut up, Squirt!" came Grunty's growl, "I was only scratching myself."
"Didn't look like that to me from this angle," came incorrigible James' reply. "You want to be careful or you'll have to wear glasses like Francis."
Francis's acquisition of reading glasses when seventeen after complaining of headaches when reading had provoked a deal of mirth at his expense; from James especially, exclusively referring to certain habits.
"Once Francis has finished with you I think I might perform a double orchidectomy."
He and Francis laughed.
"What's that?" queried James.
"Dictionaries are not provided. You'd soon find out! Little Squirt-no-more!" said Grunty.
"Ouch, let go!" squealed James again. "It's not fair, there are three of you. I'll go and get the others."
"How, brother dear? Little James is going nowhere. OK, Cally, while I hold him you find his most ticklish points."
"I'll help," said Grunty. "I have a theory that if you tickle someone enough and they're laughing you wouldn't need an anaesthetic."
"And here's the other one! Grab him, Grunty!" called out Khaled.
Jody had come exploring and his squeals were heard next.
"He's got his pretty panties on," I heard Khaled say. I suspected these were some dreadful boxer shorts he'd bought in some Oxford Street tourist trap which depicted a large arrow pointing downwards on the front and the legend 'In Case of Fire'.
"Get 'em off!" said Grunty and there were more squeals and two more slaps on bare skin were audible.
"Ow!, what was that for?" came Jody's aggrieved voice.
"For aiding and abetting Bogmop here and for whatever you two are planning to do next," said Francis. James had been called Bogmop recently because of an unfortunate visit to a new barber who had massacred his hair so it stuck out in all directions. "God! You stink, Fuller!"
"Well you have got your nose in his armpit. You're just kinky, Francis..., Ouch!" Another sharp slap was heard. He wasn't stoppable. "Hi, Grunts, here's something to tax your little brain. What d'you call a blonde on a boatie's arm, eh?"
A non-committal grunt from Grunty.
Jody chirped up. "I know! A tattoo!.... And d'you know a hundred and forty-four boaties are just gross ignorance!....... Ouch!" Another slap to a boy's muscular bum.
"Give that boy first prize!" chortled James. "And don't do that to him, Grunty!.... We know you like feeling...... Yowwww! Stop tickling me, Francis, you've got rough hands. You've got corns on the palms of your hands and we all know why!"
"Shut up, toad, we haven't finished with the pair of you yet." More squeals from James and a renewed giggle from Jody. "And from the sight before my eyes we could get a bit more practice in, eh Grunts?"
"What practice?" panted Jody.
"Snip, snip," went Khaled. What he did I had no idea but there were renewed squeals, from both this time. I guessed he must have grabbed the two foreskins and stretched them. "And what's the other one, Grunty? Orchids something, you said?" Khaled went on.
"Orchidectomy," said Grunty, "Orchis is Greek for this....," There was a concerted squeak as two handfuls of prime gonads must have been clutched. "......and 'ectomy' is for cut 'em off. And if you two don't scuttle back to your horrible smelly little pit and leave us to rest and recuperate there will extra rations for Old Mog next door." Old Mog, alias Winterbourn Master, was the most beautiful Siamese cat belonging to the McIntyres. There were even more squawks as the genitalia must have been squeezed again. "Go on, scamper off you pesky pair!"
Even though Grunty was smaller in stature than either Jody or extra lanky James, what Grunty said was law. Or else there would be disorder. Two scurrying, giggling creatures rushed from the bedroom and a pair of shorts and a pair of boxers followed them and hit the wall just as I had found that the second bulb holder was hanging by almost a bare wire. A job for an electrician. Not even for Luscious Lucius.
"No need to wake the household!" I called out from my position on the ladder. Two nude creatures came to the top of the stairs and looked curiously at me. Neither were at all abashed at being bollock naked.
"We've been threatened by the ugly mob," said James. A call of 'We heard that' came from Francis. "They threatened all sorts of things, Dad, you ought to go in there and sort them out! Big bullies they are!"
Jody just stood and laughed. He was used to James's pleas for aid when he'd managed to incite reprisals.
I was used to it too. My six foot two son, standing displaying his all, was no different to the child of seven pleading that I do something as Francis was threatening to lock him in the cupboard to stop him pinching pieces of his jigsaw. "James you are eighteen now, you great baby. Fight your own battles and go and get washed and dressed the pair of you and I'll take you to Ely this morning as I've got to take some books over to one of the canons."
"Can we come?" called out Francis.
"No, you can't, it'll give you and Grunty a chance to do some of that work you're always talking about. I'll take the other two as well and Khaled can stay and study in peace."
"Aw, Dad!" came a concerted trio of discontent. Even Grunty called me that at times!
The last noise had woken the other two, or, at least disturbed them. Two more nude creatures poked their heads out of their door and then advanced into the corridor to see what was happening. . From the looks on their faces there must have been some morning activity going on as two inquisitive creatures would have been out earlier to see what the rumpus was about.
"What's going on?" demanded Stephen, "Is it James misbehaving again?"
"What do you think?" I said, folding the ladder. "Where there is noise James can't be far behind."
"He's got a big behind," came a cackle from the other room.
"True," said Safar stepping round him. "Getting fat. Not enough exercise."
"Not the right type!" came the voice again.
"Shut up, Francis!" said James, "And as for you...," he made a grab for Safar who scuttled past him into their bedroom. He went to follow him but his way was blocked by the smaller figure of Stephen.
"Wher're ya going to, big boy?" he said, in a not very passable American accent. "I'm a'hoping ya ain't 'ntending ta hurt that li'l critter, 'cos ya'll hev me and my sidekick Safar the Terrible to contend with?" Stephen put up two fists and assumed a boxer's stance. "Yeah, big boy, ya've got the double S ranch to deal with. So one step forward and ya'll hev the double S brand on your fat backside."
Safar had reappeared. "Who's calling me a little critter?"
"He is, Midge!" James called out over Stephen's shoulder, "Little Big Slug here. Call him off before I get my Dad after him!"
"No way," I said from the stairwell. "You've disturbed everyone with your noise, James. You're the one who needs to be dealt with!"
That was the signal for a flurry of activity. James was on his back in seconds, squealing again, with Stephen lying on top of him. Safar, aided by an apostate Jody, was nipping at various bits of exposed anatomy. A moment later three other equally nude figures from the other room joined in and James was lifted bodily and carried, screeching, into the bedroom where, from the sounds of it, he was given summary punishment in a most enjoyable way as there were howls of laughter all round and giggles and bouts of silence punctuated by more laughter and giggling. I took the ladder downstairs and put it in the garage thinking one could imagine a modern version of the 'secret' book as no doubt those seven would not be averse to adventures in a castle.
Still, four clean, washed and smartly dressed lads were ready by ten o'clock. Stephen and Jody had done their class while the others were in the bathroom using all the hot water so there were complaints that their shower was lukewarm. My remark that I didn't want him in the car with smelly armpits had Jody on his back over the kitchen table being sniffed by Stephen and James. Both pronounced him wholesome and so we set off.
Ely always reminded me of Kerslake, a small city dominated by a huge medieval cathedral. I went off to the canon's house and the boys took Jody up the tower to the lantern. The others had all been up before but were always fascinated by the view; flatness with farms, villages and water for miles around. When I got away from a very learned discourse on Madame Recamier and her relationship with Madame de Stael we wandered down to the river and had a snack at a pub there. A beautiful, quiet English country day.
Khaled was really working hard. He had decided he wanted to do a degree in Economics with French as a subsidiary. His first choice would have been the London School of Economics. This was sadly vetoed by this father and advisers because it was thought to be too much of a hotbed of politics and student unrest and he would need to be shadowed all the time. I had a word with a couple of friendly dons at Trinity and he had been offered a place there. There were the usual provisos of interview, test and suitable results at A levels. He was doing Economics, French and Geography for his entrance and I'd been coaching him in French and, I will say, he was very fluent and had read the texts with good understanding. We chatted together in French at every opportunity so I got to know all sorts of things he was thinking about.
We were sitting in my study one afternoon drinking tea and just talking, as much as possible, in French. He was in a loquacious mood and thoughts and worries and all manner of things came tumbling out.
He said he'd talked to his father and said he knew he'd be happy enough if he didn't go back to his country. But, he was coming up to eighteen and there were pressures for him to marry and produce his own heir. He said the custom was really an arranged marriage. Some girl from a suitable family would be chosen. He wouldn't see her until his wedding night. He grinned and said the deed had to be done and as long as there was a male outcome he needn't see her again and he could marry up to four wives as his grandfather and his uncles had.
He said his father had only married once and he and Safar had been taken from their mother's care once they were five and they had lived then with two cousins of about the same age. They were then taught by tutors until the plans were made for them to come to England. I asked about his mother. He said he didn't really remember her. All he knew was that Anne had become his mother and that had made him very happy.
We discussed the possibility he would be almost forced into the marriage. I suggested he talked to his father and if it was so why not have everything done in London. I knew the Embassy had flats in St John's Wood as I'd visited Sayed there on a couple of occasions. "No love involved," he said, "Just procreation! And it will be next year, no doubt."
On another occasion we talked about the family. I knew how close he was to both my sons and had also accepted Stephen as a brother. Now there was Jody, and the contemplative Khaled and the effervescent Jody had gelled straight away. There was something so strong and solid about Khaled, I could see so much of his father in him. A boy who could be playful and mischievous with the best of them, but under that a great strength of character. I said I was thankful he was around when James had his lapse of judgment.
"I love James as my brother," he said, "I couldn't see him get into such trouble. I might be younger but we know each other so well. I can tell you this because I know you'll understand. James was so hurt because that Angie called him 'Ten-second Thomson' and told the other boys that, and that he might be well-hung but he was no good at using it. Of course, he got every one telling him and twitting him about his new nick-name, especially that Dirk." He laughed. "Dirty Dirk we called him as everyone believed his tales about getting it off with every girl he went out with. It's true. He never." He shook his head. "I told you I like his brother and we work together well, and he told me the truth. That's why I was so upset with James. He was set up." He looked at me earnestly. "You don't mind me telling you about it?" I said whatever he wanted to tell me was OK. "That woman. I knew she was a slag and I knew James did as well. She's got a reputation." He shook his head. The memory was obviously painful both for himself and his concern for James. "She called me a fucking little black bastard." He shook his head. "Nobody's ever called me anything like that. So that's why I was extra angry, not with James, but with someone like that." He waited a moment. I didn't say anything. "I would have hit him if you hadn't have come along, and I would have regretted it for the rest of my life!" He shook his head again.
"Two hot-blooded young males," I said, "One cut off from his intended rut and the other seeing his great friend about to make an awful mistake. But you resolved it."
He smiled. "Yes. In the best possible way. I love my brother James even more since then. And thanks for appearing when you did!"
I said that was accidental, all due to a cancelled meeting. He grinned and said "Fate!"
I went on, "But, you seem to have come through your adolescence unscathed."
He shook his head. "Only because Francis and Grunty took me in hand." He giggled. "Not always like that. No. I had a few fights at school because of my skin colour, and my looks and because I wasn't very big."
I looked at Khaled. I had never thought of him as other than looking a bit sun-burnt but he had those Arabian aquiline features, a rather imperious nose and high cheekbones. He had a really beautiful face and large brown eyes which, once he knew you, were full of friendliness. But I could see that pale-faced boys with small minds and nondescript features would see him as different.
"I've got to confess. Francis intercepted a couple of notes to you from Housey- Housey saying I was being reprimanded for fighting."
Housey-Housey was the very suitably named, Mr Barrington-House, the boys' Housemaster at the school.
"So your black eye that time was not due to over-enthusiastic tackling, then?"
He made a moue and shook his head. "But I won, not like James!"
I laughed. "And what about Safar?" I asked.
"No problems. He's got two very good friends who'd make sure no one ever says anything to him. Anyway, they all know I'm his brother and with me being in the First XV now no one would dare tangle with us."
"I worry sometime about Safar," I said, "He's so gentle."
Khaled laughed out loud. "You don't know him then. He's quite fearless when he's playing and I wouldn't like his clutching hands tackling me when he's roused."
I laughed too, remembering the squealing Giovanni in the pool with Safar grabbing his balls. But that was just boyish fun. I told Khaled what I'd noted.
"That was play. You should have seen him after his pal Martin got booted in one of the inter-House matches. He told me that in one of the mauls he got his hand up this other lad's shorts and pinched the top of his leg really hard." He shook his head. "Il n'est pince pas ses couilles." He didn't squeeze his balls. "But he knew it would hurt!"
Khaled achieved the usual ten O levels all at the top grade. Like the others he disappeared into his college only to emerge during vacations as far as we were concerned
The hiring out of Ulvescott Manor was most successful. Jem and Sam arranged all the catering and the hiring of staff. The kitchen was re-ordered and updated and good English food was produced. The boys went and helped out too. For them, the two bedrooms were unlocked. Francis was there with Grunty the first night, acting as waiters in dinner jackets and bow ties. Jem was in full college butler's dress with Davy as assistant in striped waistcoat and apron. Candelabra and crystal on the long table which seated the lot. Francis said the Americans were open-mouthed as they entered the dining-room to be confronted with such a set up.
- 1969
At the end of January Lachs came for a couple of days rest and recuperation. He said the aftermath of all the student demonstrations and the contacts the ringleaders had with various very radical and anarchist groups on the continent meant he was working flat out. We'd had more than a few contretemps and sit-ins in Cambridge and as for the London School of Economics that was completely shut down at the moment. I said I thought the only thing to do was just to carry on as normally as possible. Lachs laughed and said he thought things might escalate a bit more before anything like normality returned.
I found he'd been seconded to the Anti-terrorism Branch and he was contemplating moving into that permanently as he would be at the equivalent rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. Cartwright had recommended he did this and he would know by Easter. He also said that Sayed was becoming the Ambassador for his country from the middle of February. I asked how it would affect the lads. He said both could continue as they were. There might have to be a bit more security at times but their intelligence was that really no one knew or cared where the boys were now. The only fly in the ointment was, as it were, the insistence of part of Sayed's family that Khaled should marry. I said Khaled had realised this was a duty but he wasn't happy about it. He grinned. "Look at me!"
Jody was nearing the end of his training as he was coming up to his eighteenth birthday. He had been highly recommended to a London ballet company and the representatives, when they saw him give a demonstration and then do an incredibly difficult dance from a Russian ballet, offered him an immediate job. He moved into the flat with Ma and Pa after Easter. She then had plenty of free tickets to the ballet. I said that after 'Murder at the Adelphi' we could expect 'Battered Ballet Boys' as her next novel. She just said that if I paid a little more attention to detail I might have spotted that when my author wrote 'ansa' he probably meant 'hansart' as it would sound the same, so my guess at 'handle' (anse) was clever but it was really 'cleaver' which was more appropriate for Will the butcher.
Ma! You don't improve! Thank you! If ever it goes to a second edition I would have to thank my mother for drawing my attention to the euphemistic 'cleaver' referring to Will's substantial prick!
So: Extract from a possible Second Edition!:
'......Will finding a stain upon the shirt he was to wear that eve and the lazy serf who laid his clothing from the press upon his bed had gone he called to lusty Robin whose spacious room was next to his. For your good friend's sake have you a shirt I could wear at table this night. Jacob has gone and he does not answer my shouts. He has taken all for washing and has left me with one so stained Milord would chastise me for being slovenly. Robin said gladly there is a fine cambric here fit for St John himself.* Will hurried in wearing but his long hose. Robin spying that he was excited laughed. I would hold that [handle**] I perceive. Would that I could rouse my serpent with such ease. Looking at his friend in puris naturabilis*** Will shakes his head. Your serpent sleeps little said the wanton rogue and with Allan's pipe I could awake it as did the swarthy Indies man at the summer fair with his strange discordant sounds luring that forked tongued beast. But see it stirs as I whistle and seeks the air and a sturdy grip about its neck. I would gladly it rouse and see it spit as did that monstrous cobra's head for we have time enough to pleasure both before....'
Footnotes: * The text has 'batiste' (cambric) and the reference is taken to be to the 'Baptiste'. ** A reading of 'anse' (handle) has been assumed for the textual 'ansa'. However I am indebted to Lady Jeanette Thomson, aka J T Fountain (for the benefit of her myriad fans), for the suggestion that J-A L, her four times great-grandfather, may have meant 'hansart', a butcher's cleaver, which would fit the context admirably. A modern reading of 'hansart' could be 'chopper' which is a term commonly used by schoolboys to refer to their, or a friend's, penis, especially when of a goodly size. *** naked
So lives the life of an academic! And humble with it!!
- Easter 1969
I had a pleasant duty to perform just before Easter. I had to go to Birmingham to be external examiner for a PhD candidate. I'd arranged to stay a couple of nights with my cousin Alun and his wife Gwen, who lived on the outskirts of the city. As it was the beginning of the Easter holiday I had suggested their son, Simon, now aged about fifteen and a half, could come back with me for a stay and meet up with the boys again. No bother, as I was driving up and his parents could come for a weekend stay later to collect him. They had been rather infrequent visitors and I hadn't seen them for about a year. Alun was very busy anyway, a senior manager now and tied up a lot of the time with labour problems. Gwen was also busy as senior science mistress in a girl's grammar school.
I arrived the first night early evening, just in time for a very nice meal. Alun always complimented Gwen's cooking saying it was always good as she taught chemistry, and cooking was only practical chemistry! In fact, as soon as I'd unpacked I was called down to the dining room. And there was Simon. The long-haired ungainly six-footer who merely grunted a greeting was quite different from the rather sweet-natured twelve-year-old or the growing fourteen-year-old of previous acquaintance. Not only did he grunt but he also had the bane of adolescence. Like his Uncle Rhys at a later age he had the most unsightly crop of spots which must have added to his uncouthness at meeting his dad's cousin again. He was certainly well ahead in growth than I remembered myself or my cousins at his age.
Monosyllabic grunts for more accompanied the lightning demolition of three platefuls of rather good roast lamb, roast spuds and other veggies, which he drowned in copious amounts of the very tasty gravy. Alun looked at me as forkfull after forkfull disappeared down Simon's gullet. All right, Alun, I know I was Gannet Number One in your book when I was that age but that's your son! Another member of the family with a healthy appetite!
When it was indicated he might help by carrying out a few dishes there were more grunts, sadly reminiscent of the times I'd grunted, actually silently, when asked to do things at the same age. I tried a few questions. Nothing about school as I knew that was anathema to ask about such mundane things. My own had never come out with anything other than 'OK', or a sneer when asked about progress. I found his interests were centred on 'music' which I discerned, and heard in volume later, were entirely based on the decibel-rich outpourings of one particular pop group called the Rolling Stones. When I said I thought they were old hat having been around for years I got a series of grunts which I interpreted as meaning something on the lines that I was an old fart who didn't understand.
Luckily, my lot seemed to have some discernment and seemed not to go for the over noisy, cacophonous row I'd heard when some of their friends brought records over. Luckily, also, he sloped off to his room as Gwen, Alun and I settled down for a post-prandial drink and a chat. Unluckily, he decided to give us a full-scale rendition of something Alun referred to as 'Bugger's Basket'. Gwen told him to behave himself, no wonder his son was going through adolescent trauma. Alun then said he just wondered how I coped with that houseful I had. I said as long as you threw them sufficient food at frequent intervals and put up with unwashed hands at the dinner table one coped. Gwen laughed and said she knew exactly what I meant but one was enough for her especially with his habits.
The next day the viva went well. Miss O'Hara was a red-haired, vivacious young lady who had just done two years at Lyon University writing up a very detailed exposition on her chosen subject. Two hours later Dr O'Hara left the room looking very pleased with herself. I stayed and chatted with her supervisor and the internal examiner who was my old undergraduate buddy, Francis Thornley. So, I was in a happy mood when I returned to Alun and Gwen's.
Unfortunately, Grunter, as I had mentally labelled him was already home as it was the last day of school before the holidays. Grunter, not Grunty, who was as different from him as chalk and cheese. He did let me in. I went through to the kitchen. There was an open packet of biscuits which he had been munching his way through.
"Any tea?" I asked.
"'pose so," came an almost inaudible murmur.
I went over and filled the electric kettle and switched it on. He stared and munched a biscuit.
"Tea?" I asked.
He pointed to a cupboard where I found a box of teabags. I saw a teapot, held a bag up indicating did he want some. He nodded. I made tea and poured two cups.
I'd found the milk in the fridge, meanwhile. And, meanwhile, he watched and munched.
"Are the biscuits nice?" I asked.
"'pose so,"
I walked over and picked up the almost depleted packet of chocolate digestives.
"My favourites," I said and took two. He gave me a look as if I was stealing food from a starving child. I deliberately put the packet down near me. The silent battle continued.
"More tea?" I asked.
An impassive face. I waited for the "'pose so" but got a grunted "Please" instead. At least it still had some manners left over from prepubescence. I poured him a second cup. "Biscuit?" I asked. "Please." I passed him the packet. I wondered if I should try an operant conditioning experiment a la B F Skinner which students at various times had explained to me who were doing joint degrees with psychology. They had assured me their theories and methods were universal so what they did with their rats could be applied just as well to getting-on-for-sixteen year-olds with acned visages as long as they were starved and then fed as a reward for producing the wanted response. I sighed inwardly. I doubted if I had enough time, or biscuits, to couth the uncouthful.
I think my incitement of Simon to a modicum of civility must have exhausted any tiny reservoir of refinement which still remained from previous years. He virtually snarled his way through dinner that evening. Alun, unfortunately, had an urgent 'phone call and had to rush off to sort out some Union bother leaving Gwen, me and the Grunter to our own devices.
I was sitting in the drawing room scribbling a few notes to tidy up for my report on the viva and then had a look at the Guardian crossword. I could hear Simon giving Gwen grief in the kitchen. He was in a very bad temper over something. Probably because I'd had two of his lovely bikkies and he'd had to say 'please'. Gwen was too even-tempered to give in and knew the wiles of adolescents from her experience with girls with their moans and groans. In the end Simon came heavy-footed into the drawing room, switched on the television and lumped down on the sofa next to me. I was in for some kind of punishment. He couldn't sit still and then he started zapping the channels with the remote control. After twenty seconds of each about four times round I leaned towards him.
"Must be difficult being as big as you are, spots and all, and you're not even sixteen," I said very quietly and confidentially fairly close to his right ear, "But all boys are the same. I was, your dad was, and my lot are grief all the time." I paused a moment to let it sink in. "I know. Why don't you just pop upstairs, have a nice wank, relax, and then come down with a smile on your face."
He went rigid. He blushed. He stood up, dropping the remote control, and hurtled out and up the stairs. I switched the telly off. Gwen came through about five minutes later.
"My, it's gone quiet," she said. It had. No telly and, definitely, no Beggar's Basket or Jumpin' Jack Flash, other than Simon's emulation of the latter as he leapt up the stairs. "Did you say something to him?"
I nodded. "Nothing too awful. We'll just have to see what he's like in the morning."
"Thank God someone else has had a go. He ignores Alun. I can cope. A class of stroppy girls are twenty times worse than my little Simon! And you've coped, too!"
In the morning Simon was waiting for me with his backpack as I came downstairs.
"May I put this in the car, please?" came a pleasant adolescent baritone.
"And then, after breakfast we'll set off, eh?"
"Yes, please."
The previous evening's conversation wasn't mentioned on the ride to Cambridge. I heard, with no prompting, that he was very interested in conservation and intended to become a biologist and wanted to do research on endangered species. I don't think even Gwen and Alun knew that.
Anne had arranged for him to be in with Stephen and Safar and after I'd told her about the little altercation she said it would be interesting to hear sometime how they got on with him. Things went well from the beginning. They knew he was a chess fiend from previous visits and as both loved playing the three were constantly having tournaments or solving chess problems in the bedroom. As the double bed was the only one slept in I expect other tournaments were played. Confucius he say, boys with problems on mind wake up with solutions on chest.
About ten minutes after Alun and Gwen had departed with Simon after his and their stay I was in my study hunting for a couple of students' essays I had mislaid under the usual pile of paperwork.
"Are you busy, Dad?" came Stephen's voice at the door.
"No, just putting the world to rights, as usual," I said, "Come in."
Stephen and Safar came in with grins on their faces and Safar, as usual, giggling.
Stephen shut the door carefully. Always a prelude to a confidential chat.
"Can we ask you something, Dad?" said Stephen.
Safar stepped forward. Down to earth, straightforward Safar.
"Did you really tell Simon he should go upstairs and have..," his straightforwardness evaporated. "....you know.., do it and come down with a smile on his face?"
"Of course. Why not? You smile enough most of the time."
Stephen sniggered and poked a slightly duskier Safar in the side.
"Told you he did." He looked at me. "He said he didn't know how you knew.., ....you know, that he did it. He said he wondered if his mum had told you because she caught him in the bathroom about a week before, then he accused us of telling you 'cause he was here a year ago. But no-one here told you, did they?"
"I think you've done a James," I said laughing.
Stephen realised that cat was out of the bag. He wasn't concerned. He knew I knew the lot of them at least wanked themselves and each other. So whatever they'd done with Simon was commonplace. He was a fourteen-year-old then and fourteen-year-olds wank and like to be wanked. Common knowledge!
"No, I knew nothing. You never told me and his mother didn't, though she did hint at habits, but that was after he disappeared upstairs. Went like a rocket!"
"He does, too," mused Safar, then realised what he'd said and went slightly more dusky.
"Went upstairs, you fool," said Stephen, laughing. He turned back to me. "Thanks, Dad, for telling us. Actually, he said it was a good thing you said it as he was worried about coming here again and what you said meant you knew about boys." He sniggered. "Safar showed him that book."
One copy of 'That book' was in the habit of disappearing from my study.
"Sneak!" said Safar, "You kept telling him about it. I only said it was on the bookshelf."
"So you've got a copy in your room?"
They both looked rather sheepish. "You did get six spare copies from Kanga so we just borrowed one," said Stephen, "And Francis has explained all that stuff about free-will to us."
"And James?"
They both snickered. "The rest," said Safar. They turned and went from the room laughing.
- September 1969+
Safar was now safely in the Sixth Form. He beat cleverclogs James as he took twelve O levels and got As in all as one of the youngest in his class. He said his favourite was the extra subject, Music, and he was doing this with French and History for A levels. 'Keep it in the family' was his motto.
Of course, I had reached a milestone. On September the thirtieth I was forty. I sat and contemplated my life so far. It had been full of experiences. Rich, rewarding experiences as well as sad ones. But the happy ones really outweighed any others. I had lost my first wife and great friend to a cruel accident. But, I had two wonderful sons, as long as I never told them or their heads might swell. The support Ma, Pa, and Helen and Gerald Marcham had given was immeasurable. I could never have survived those early years without their help, guidance and generosity. I had many good friends. From early days there was Tony, Matt and Tom, Nobbo and Cleggy. There was Mike in Rome, now a Monsignor himself. My 'gret dark cousins', my French and Swiss cousins and the golden pair Lachs and Flea. There were my Uncles and Aunts and that seemingly unceasing ancestry and its many branches.
I'd had the honour of being the student and friend of a great scholar. I'd had luck in my own scholarship and was now a Fellow of my college. My adopted son, Stephen, was a great joy and those other surrogate sons, Khaled, Safar and Jody had made us a real family. Sayed was a friend too. I treasured his sons as I treasured his friendship.
Anne was a wonderful companion and family life revolved round her. There were so many others in college, academic colleagues and those other such good friends like Willy and Maggy Roberts, Jem, Sam, Davy, Lucius..... The numbers just went on because there were those at Garforth, and those who had welcomed me to Ulvescott but were sadly gone. Ulvescott, now a place I had joint responsibility for. And that presence there, so real for so many of us in turn, of that loving spirit whose own life never reached fulfilment.
I was sitting in the garden early that morning contemplating all this when Francis and James came along with two wrapped presents. There was a magnum of champagne and an early French psalter which I had seen in a bookshop in St Edmund's Passage. It had cost a bomb. The boys said it was from everyone with their love. The card with it was signed by many of the people I had been thinking about. Safar and Khaled came along and said how happy they were to be in the family and handed me a card from Stephen and Jody.
We had a quiet dinner party that night - with the magnum of champagne - and it was arranged that we would have a super party at Christmas when everyone could be present.
Francis and Grunty had successfully passed all their exams so far and had been awarded BAs and were now set to go into their fourth year when their clinical work would start in earnest. Both had decided to stay in Cambridge to finish their training. In fact, they announced they would be moving out of college and taking rooms in Tony's house. He had just finished a year as Visiting Fellow in Creative Writing at one of the newer universities and had almost finished off his 'growing-up' book. In between he'd polished off a very funny and graphic account of life in Hollywood which would be out for Christmas as well as writing a couple of scripts for television plays. Both of these last two commissioned by the well-established production team of Clarke and Smollett.
Then, Tony and Francis came to see Anne and me one evening early in the term. We had a meal and Safar disappeared to his room to study. Tony was soon wreathed in smoke and I, being a perfect host, produced the brandy. I saw Tony look at Francis.
"Dad and Mum," Francis began, "I've got something to tell you. I'll come straight to the point. You know I am going to live at Tony's. Actually I want to live with Tony. We love each other and I know he's nineteen years older than I am but I don't care. I've loved Uncle Tony for as long as I have known him. I knew I loved Tony as a man when I really knew I could only love a man. He's my man." He looked at us. "Dad. Mum. May I have your blessing?"
We both looked at Tony. This was something I had the feeling might happen. But the age difference? Tony had been my lover. I loved Tony as one man loves another. Now my eldest son was professing his love for Tony as well. Was Francis seeking another father? Was this a form of incest, or even displaced incest? Had they already consummated that love? Tony was Francis's biological uncle in any case. I knew Anne must be thinking along the same lines.
He looked very serious as he spoke. "Anne, Jacko, I ask you humbly to give your blessing. This is not something sudden. We have talked together and discussed everything possible for the past three years. I know you both have probably suspected that Francis and I want to be more than friends. I love your son deeply. Jacko, all those years ago I confessed I could have fallen in love with your cousin Johann, since then I have had a picture in my mind of my ideal companion. That picture is Francis."
He turned to Francis sitting next to him on the sofa and took his hand.
"I pledge my love for you, Francis, outwardly and openly. Would you be my companion for life if we have your parents' blessing?"
Francis leaned over and kissed his cheek. I looked at Anne. We both stood and linking hands we knelt in front of the pair.
"You have my blessing," I said.
"And mine," Anne added.
A scurrying figure hurried into the room. "And mine too!" said Safar, "And I can tell you something it's about time. We've all been waiting ages for one of you to pop the question!"
A rather startled Francis looked at him. "What on earth do you mean, Midge?"
"Oh, come off it," Safar said, laughing, "It's been so obvious for yonks that you two are made for each other." He knelt down too and put a hand on Tony's. "We all love you but Francis is the one for you. Just wait until I tell the others!"
There was little Anne or I could say. She and Safar went off to 'phone the others or leave messages for them to 'phone back. I sat and looked at the pair smiling at each other sitting closely side by side.
Tony looked at me. "You look a little stunned, Jacko, but you have that smile on your face as well. I promise I will look after your son. He will be loved and cherished for ever and ever. We needed your blessing as we haven't taken that final step." He turned to Francis. "You know I love your father, but he was not my first lover. Your mother's friend who was killed with her was my first. I may have had many experiences but I can truly say that the only ones I have really loved were Roo, Matt, dear Tom and your father. I want that love to be for us now. It will be."
Francis smiled. "I have pledged my love with my brother, with Grunty, with Khaled, with my cousin Brad and my lovely Italian friends, Silvio and Bruno. As I have told you I am not inexperienced but I want our love even to transcend that. It will."
"You both have my blessing for ever and ever," I said, "Francis is twenty-one. He is free. Don't be long."
They smiled at each other and then at me.
Although there was a general rule that we didn't want to see any of the perishers during term-time there were always emergencies. Or what passed as emergencies as far as they were concerned. Grunty came round one Saturday afternoon after visiting his parents next door. He was limping having been kicked viciously, so he said, by some opposing team member in the game that afternoon. He had been to see his mother to see if she had some magic potion to rub in to relieve the pain. From the smell which preceded him it seemed like the old favourite, Sloan's Liniment. I knew Francis had accompanied him. Mainly to dump the load of dirty rugger kit in the washer without father knowing. Unfortunately Francis was in the utility room and he had to shout to get his Mum to hear as she was in the kitchen. >From the conversation I knew Francis was harassing Anne trying to wheedle her into baking a cake for Tiger's birthday the next week as his mother said she wasn't that good a cook. I was in the garden in front of the utility room, just thinking. I greeted Grunty and he explained the purpose of his visit next door but I realised something was bugging Grunty. When Grunty was bugged he was very formal.
"Dr Thomson," he began again, he was certainly bugged! He had reluctantly started to call me Jacko recently, but usually it was Dad, or Dad Two. "You don't mind do you but I want to ask you something?" Usually when the boys used that tactic it was generally money they were after, James being the past-master with that ploy. But, No, not with Grunty. I waited. "Well," he went on, slightly hesitantly, "James told us you'd said your friends did other measurements. May I ask you what they were?"
I smiled. The medical researcher was asking, very formally. "Actually, one was measuring and the other was observing," I said. He cocked his head attentively. "Yes, amount of output and observing motility."
His lop-sided grin was there. "Tried the first. Only three of us though and the same with peering down a microscope. Didn't dare extend to others." He looked thoughtful. "How many?"
I said I thought there were about ten in the output sample, at least there were when I checked the arithmetic. I said I didn't know about the other but I had heard there was quite a queue of interested participants. I said Cleggy and Nobbo were very popular.
On the following Tuesday a very happy Grunty came rushing up the stairs to my study. "Come in," I said, "What have you got there? Not another emergency?"
He was almost waving a couple of sheets of photo-copied print. "No! It's important though! Found this. Is this them?"
I took the two pages. It was a research note published in a medical journal some years previously. I looked at the names, Anthony Arthur Clarke and George Padmore Clegg, nicely alphabetically ordered I thought. "That's them," I said, then read the title of the research note. 'Measurement of Output of Semen of Adolescent British Boys'. I goggled. I read the summary at the head of the paper:
'A sample of 30 adolescent boys, aged between 14 years 6 months and 16 years 3 months each provided between eight and ten measured ejaculates. Each was required to provide the single ejaculate in any twenty-four hour period. The mean of the 281 ejaculates was 3.55ccs, median 3.5ccs and mode of 3.4ccs, with a range of 4.3ccs and a variance of 0.549ccs. Further analyses are discussed within the article.'
I looked at Grunty who was almost hopping up and down. "I only knew of ten," I said, "I know that because I checked the figures for them. I didn't know about medians and variances then!"
"So you don't know you're famous, then?" His grin nearly split his face. I looked down the page to the body of the article. The first bit was dealing with the sample, 'boys from a Grammar School volunteered to take part', then there was the method of collection which I remembered very well, having sorted it out for them. Grunty was getting impatient.
"Well what is it?" I asked.
"Have a look," he said, jabbing a stubby finger at the second page. "There was some boy who skewed the results." He looked at me and couldn't contain himself, he just shook his head and laughed. "You see in lots of articles in medical journals they give the initials of the person, Patient AB or whatever. Look here," he pointed again and, as he read it out, I read the print. "'However, if subject JT who consistently produced the most ejaculate, on average 6.3ccs, range 5.8 - 7.3 ccs, is eliminated from the calculations then the average for the 29 subjects is 3.45ccs, median 3.25ccs and a variance of 0.29ccs. The overall range falls to 3 ccs. This subject produced, on average, 3.15 times more than the lowest average (CD: 2.0ccs). Both boys were within two weeks in age at the time.'" He looked at me. "Were you JT?"
I scanned the rest of the article. Four other sets of initials appeared with various comments as well as JT and CD. RB, TB, PM and PF. I did a quick think. RB, must be Rupert Barnes, Roo who was killed in the car with the lads' mother. TB, could only be Tom, now a Chief Inspector of Police! So PF, yes, Pete Fry. I'd lost touch with him. There was no CD in our form so if he was two weeks difference in age from me he must have been in the form below when I was in the collection process and so they must have got him as a participant later when he was in the Fifth Form and they were First Year Sixth. So the collection had gone on! CD? Yeah! Christopher Dickens, I bet and his pal Paul Marsh in the other parallel form was PM. Chris, I think was now an accountant in Kerslake and I would have to find out about Paul.
I had to confess. I nodded. "I most certainly am! Oh, my God!!"
Grunty was laughing merrily. "Something else that runs in the family!"
He did a James and clapped his hand to his mouth. "Ow, cat out of the bag! Stand in the corner, Grunty!"
We both laughed. Excited boys always told the truth! "Doesn't surprise me," I said, "I've had to change their sheets many times!" We laughed again. "Does Francis know about the article?" I asked.
"Yep, Dad," came a voice from just outside my study, "What it is to have a famous father!"
"Come in here!" I said with mock sternness, "You're not supposed to be here and if this gets out...."
"...You'll be the toast of the Senior Common Room," said Francis, loping in with a grin on his face, too. "What with the 'secret book' and now this, your reputation's made! They'll make you Vice-Chancellor next! Emphasis on the Vice!"
"And you'd be cut off with a shilling in my Will if you spread any gossip. Anyway, Grunty's blabbed about you and I suppose the other urchin." I turned to Grunty. "I need to know figures!"
Grunty pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his jeans pocket. Francis made a grab for it but Grunty fended him off. "I know it by heart," he laughed, "Subject FT, age 16 years 1 month: total ejaculations 7, average 6.1 millilitres and Subject JT, age 15 years: 15 ejaculations, average 6.05 millilitres."
He handed me the paper and it was very neatly laid out. It was Francis's turn to hop up and down as I held the paper away from him. It was my turn to laugh.
"No stamina, Francis? Seven against fifteen for your brother? Uhn, and GG, age 16 years 4 months, 12, average 4.8ml. Well, well, well! Much above the group average the lot of you! Statistically significant, eh?"
"Dad!" came the usual response. Francis laughed. "But I beat him. He tried to see if he could, but not quite! And we're perfectly level pegging on something else. He either stopped growing, or I just caught up! That didn't please him either." He looked at me and almost whispered, "I told you he was a little Newark! And now you know why we call him Squirt! And as for Grunty!" That was much louder.
Grunty took a friendly swipe at him and both burst out laughing again. I folded the paper and put it in the top drawer of my desk, turned the key and withdrew it. I held the key up. "Any statements from that other source and that will be revealed in its entirety...." I paused. "....But I did beat the lot of you!"
"Dad!"
The celebrations at Christmas were stupendous. We had more than a houseful it seemed. I think we managed to seat twenty for Christmas lunch and scattered them around for sleeping. Then, on Boxing Day, Tony and Francis had an 'At Home' and their house was flooded with well-wishers. And Grunty was there with his fiancee!
Not only was Grunty being congratulated but what I didn't know was that there was also to be a surprise party for my fortieth birthday which I had thought of as long gone. What a surprise!
We'd been to the 'At Home' drinks at midday and had left before three with the injunction to reappear for proper food - a dinner - at seven thirty. Anne had sensibly arranged for us to be transported to and from the dinner by taxi. At seven twenty it arrived and Anne and I got in but there was no sign of any of the boys. We assumed they would find their own way there. Tony and Francis's house had a very imposing front door and as the taxi drew up it was flung open and Jem in full fig as a college butler welcomed us in. In the wide hall was a banner which read 'HAPPY 40TH' and in a row up the staircase were nine familiar figures, actually ten. From the accoutrements they were carrying I knew they were the nine characters from 'Audace' - the tenth was the witch-like figure of Madame Hairy- Twat herself, lank black hair, blackened teeth and clad in a black dress and black and white hat, a great bunch of keys on a chain round her waist and a long wooden staff. A real fright!
As we came in and Willy and Davy stepped forward and took our coats and scarves the first figure stepped down. It was John the Blacksmith, alias Francis. He was wearing a very posh doublet and hose in a rich dark red and carrying a large hammer. He bowed low.
"Milord, your vassals await. To entertain is our delight but within the covers of a book we do cavort. This night our capers will be more circumspect but each will offer a greeting meet for thee. Step forward Will and show thyself!"
Tiger stepped down and cast away a seemingly blood stained cloak from his own patterned doublet and held up a large cleaver, no doubt borrowed from Sam's kitchen. "Good Sir, I'm Will the butcher's lad. I wish thee well and truth to tell thou measureth with the best!"
There was a howl of laughter and the next one stepped down. It was Jody as Neptune the fisherboy. He had on a light-blue tunic embroidered with goldfish and carried a net. "'Tis Neptune here, a strange young lad who dances for thy joy. When I was young and very lost, you found a grateful little boy. Now I am grown and flown the nest, I know thou standeth with the best!"
The next figure stepped down immediately. I took a moment to recognise Simon in a golden doublet and hose carrying my precious corn dolly given to me so many years ago by young Georgie. "For Mars the farmer's boy thou had a word which sent him to his bed. He thanks you for that timely word which made him turn his head. Your friends around send greetings fine, sweet memories from the past and those who cannot be with us have friendships which will last." He gave me the corn dolly and smiled. Oh, he was just like Alun at that age!
"I'm Robin the cellarer and bring you all good cheer, we're awfully sorry it's just old Adnam's usual beer." Grunty stepped forward in dark blue pantaloons and hose with an artfully ripped white shirt showing off his hairy pectorals and presented me with a plastic container. There had been a groan at the awful pun using the name of a well-known Suffolk ale. "For you we know have talents wide and none can that gainsay, so boaties dim and scholars wise drink to your health today." He bowed low and also handed me a scroll which I guessed was another copy of that fateful Cleggy and Nobbo article.
I hoped none of the others would ask what the document was, but OK, the next one came forward. No it wasn't one, it was a pair, bearing a large saw. Both were wearing identical russet brown tunics and hose, with tricorn hats and long peacock feathers in them. "I'm Castor," intoned Safar, sweeping off the hat and almost dropping the saw. "I'm Pollux", said Khaled more brightly, doing likewise, "We work as a pair of youthful ..." "...We need no rhyme, sweet brother dear, for our task tonight is very clear," interjected Safar, with another sweep of the hat and an accompanying groan from the listeners, "We come to praise thee, so lend your ears, for words of joy from those of tender years," Another groan. "We came to thee careworn and small, your family took us in, we've grown a bit..." Here he stood on tiptoe "....but not as tall as spotty youths and nor as thin," He waved his hat at the rangy figure of Francis who threatened him with the hammer. Khaled stood in front of his brother. "Enough of this, you prate too long!" He bowed and swept his hat off. "Good cheer, my Lord, so ends our song!" More groans.
Another tall, rangy youth stepped down, in cream figured doublet and hose and a short cloak in scarlet, carrying a small axe. "Tis I the stripling James, in truth I have both names, for in the book the wood boy strong and lithe is James the first, while in body here with foot in mouth [he pronounced it 'mithe'] is James the second who is worst." Several cries of 'Hear, hear' greeted that. "But father dear, it is most clear you are the one to praise for putting up with such a crew of boaties dim and scholars wise..." He pronounced this with the upper-class sound of 'waise'. "Your hair is grey with worries many, but I am James so lend a penny!" James' pleas for money were very well-known so there were cries of 'Don't give him anything', 'He owes me a quid already', from his enthusiastic confederates.
Unabashed, he moved aside as a figure with long golden tresses and enveloped in a long dark green cloak descended half way down the stairs. "Messieurs et Madames, vos attentions, s'il vous plait, but I have little I wish to say, for praise enough all you have seen, we nine are few but in this little play have been those characters so deftly drawn by Milord's great-granddad in years well worn. My praise will be a merry tune when all is done upon the stair." At this he dropped the cloak and Stephen was revealed glistening from head to toe and clad only in an exact copy of the coney-skin belt and furry pouch as described in the book and with his flute on a cord around his neck. There were several wolf-whistles. He waved his hand upward. "But what is this, an apparition so fair..."
"...Hush, boy, your prattling cease...," The old hag descended and said all this in a piping, grating voice. Oh Lor! It was Pa! "...I come today to hold the peace." He poked Stephen, gently, with the staff. "...For if this play goes on a whiles then groans will over- weigh the smiles. So, let us be a merry host, and for the birthday boy raise now a toast!....."
Out came Sam, Davy and Nick with trays of flutes of champagne and I was drowned in shouts of 'Happy Birthday' and several glasses of bubbly which went quickly down the hatch!
What an evening! Friends and relations were there. Even Nobbo and Cleggy with wives - but no kids I was glad to see as if Cleggy's pair had been there they would have had Stephen's coney-skins in tatters by now! Sayed and Ibrahim were there with Lachs, Flea and Titty Temple-Tempest in attendance. I noticed Jem and Sam had borrowed the best college plate for the elaborately set out table. I think about thirty or so sat down with Anne and I flanked by all our 'sons', real, adopted or surrogate. I found that the playlet had been Jody's idea and the costumes had been begged and borrowed from the ballet company costumier. I didn't dare ask who wrote the doggerel but Ma sitting next to Jody at one end of the top table seemed very pleased with herself. Pa insisted on remaining in costume and was at the other end with Simon talking quite animatedly to him.
- 1970
At the beginning of the Easter holiday Khaled came back from Trinity very agitated. He had been 'ordered' to go to London for the 'marriage' and consummation thereof on Wednesday the First of April. He was too agitated to see the ludicrousness of the date. He was quite determined he didn't want anyone to accompany him. Safar was a tower of strength and the two lads sat and talked together a lot over the Easter holidays.
James, I knew, was itching to make comments but I threatened him with letting Grunty and Francis loose on him with scalpels at the ready if he so much as mentioned the event. "No, Dad," he said, with his grin, "I wouldn't say anything.... But I can think things!"
As it happened it seemed to have turned out alright. Khaled was away for five days and told me it was all very discreetly done. He grinned and said he thought he'd acquitted himself well. After supper that evening he was displaying a very ornately decorated dagger which the girl's family had given him. James, of course, had to withdraw the dagger from its sheath and made great pretense at testing the sharpness of the blade. He then winked at Khaled. "Shouldn't be too bad. Quite quick. Hurray! It's a boy! Swish, swish! Khaled won't stray!" Unfortunately for James the blade was sharp and he caught the end of a finger. "Mum, help, I've cut myself!"
Mum was not sympathetic and made remarks about the older he got the more babyish he was and it was his own fault for making improper suggestions at the dining table. Still, she did take him off and put a plaster on his finger.
James was reasonably confident about his Finals. Anne insisted he came back home while the exams were on so that he got fed and got some sleep. It must have worked. My second son got a First. He was also flying the nest. His trip to Chester the year before was to ask if he might, if he passed his exams, join the family firm and become a solicitor. That was all settled. Rhys was now the senior partner with Emrys as his second-in-command. How two jokesters like Rhys and James would get on was anybody's guess. James said he had decided to go north to give his aging parents a chance to get on with their lives. As a present we paid for him to go to the States to stay with my cousin Chuck and travel around a bit with Brad so in June he disappeared off for a couple of months.
I'd visited the Embassy in London a couple of times to complete the usual formalities, for Safar mainly now, since Sayed had become Ambassador. The second time I saw him he said he was getting very tired with all the work and he never seemed to be able to relax. I suggested that as he had a very trusted staff why didn't he just take off for a weekend now and then and come to Cambridge. I knew he enjoyed family life and was a delightful companion. His aide, Ibrahim, who was always in the room with him, was the young man who had been in Rome with him and was also a cousin of sorts. I knew he couldn't be alone so I invited Ibrahim as well. Ibrahim looked just like an older version of Safar especially and was very stately in his Arab robe and headdress which both he and Sayed wore in the Embassy. He smiled and bowed.
In July I had a 'phone call on the Thursday morning. It was Ibrahim. Would it be possible for His Excellency to visit on Friday and stay until Sunday evening? Of course, was the response. Ibrahim sounded relieved. Two hours later I had a 'phone call from Lachs.
"Thanks for inviting Sayed for the weekend," he said. "There's a big demonstration on Saturday here and we don't want him and one or two other ambassadors around. I've given Ibrahim a map and he'll be driving him. It'll be an old car we're supplying - here's the number. If you see anyone strange around it'll be a couple of my boys, they'll be repairing telephone cables, so to speak. Any problems dial the number Ibrahim gives you. They'll come running!"
Problems? None. An old Morris drew up in the drive in the middle of the afternoon. Two nondescript figures emerged. Sayed in an old linen suit and Ibrahim in slacks and open- necked shirt. Khaled and Safar rushed to meet their father. Both were much taller than he was now. Ibrahim stood back and smiled. Very gravely they shook hands with him. Then it was tea in the garden. Sayed asked where Stephen was and we explained he'd got a month in a London show as part of the line-up in a dance routine. Experience! I said he and Jody would be coming down for Sunday lunch.
No problems over accommodation. Sayed had the big en suite guestroom. Khaled had commandeered Francis's room as his own but gallantly said he would move in with Safar for the weekend. So, Ibrahim was in Khaled and Francis's old room. All nicely sorted.
We had a very tasty supper and sat chatting. Khaled and Safar were gossiping mainly with Sayed, and Anne and I were talking with Ibrahim. I knew he'd taken a degree at Oxford and he turned out to be twenty-eight, married with one son of six who would be coming to England in two years time to begin at prep school. He'd had the same experience as a boy and was very fond of England. Later, when Anne went out to make more coffee, he confided that he'd also had the same experience as Khaled and his, too, had been an arranged marriage with the consummation in his own country before he came back to work permanently at the London Embassy. He'd been picked specially to be Sayed's aide and I could see there was a great rapport between the pair.
No problems? Except that next morning as I was laying up the table at breakfast who should come into the room but Francis and Ibrahim laughing together.
"Dad!" said Francis as soon as he spotted me, "I come home and I nearly get murdered in my own bed." He laughed.
I motioned for them to sit down and poured them both a cup of tea. "So, what happened and why are you here?"
"Oh, Tony's gone to talk at some conference and Grunty's gone off with his girlfriend to her home. I watched some crappy film on the telly last night then thought lonely me would like some home comforts so I cycled over about half twelve. You didn't hear me come in?" I shook my head. "Yeah, I was pretty quiet. I slipped into the bedroom and there was a hump in the bed so I just dropped my clothes on the floor and slid in." He snickered and Ibrahim's cup rattled on the saucer as he put it down. "'Gosh, Cally, you're hot', I said and the next thing I knew I was in a death grip round my neck. I managed to say 'It's only me, Cally', and luckily this oaf here realised I wasn't about to do him in and let go."
'This oaf', no doubt a prince of the royal blood as well, smiled. "Good job I knew who 'Cally' was. I heard you call Khaled that when we were in Rome. You're a lucky man. Travis taught me well!"
I laughed. "So you know 'Neck-breaker' Travis?"
He nodded and laughed too. "Yes, when I got appointed as aide, Mr Cameron sent me up to Garforth for a month for training. That was an experience, but he taught me well, eh, Francis?"
Francis grinned and rubbed his neck. "When I see Mr Arthur again he'll be told exactly what I think!"
Ibrahim patted his arm. "Mr Arthur told me all about a very precocious little boy. You made quite an impression on him. I can see why."
True. On every visit since to Garforth Francis had been reminded of that first time he'd been there.
A bit later in the day Francis cornered me when the others were in the garden. He had a great grin on his face. "Got to tell you, Dad, that Ibrahim's great. I hope Tony doesn't get jealous but Ib's the first guy I've slept with since being with him."
I raised an eyebrow. 'Ib's'? Seemed almost a tem of endearment.
He laughed. "After he'd nearly throttled me we just lay and chatted for ages.... Dad, he's just like me and Tony. Uncle Lachs had told him about us. That marriage of his, it was all arranged just like Cally's and he made sure it was once and once only. He's a lonely soul. Do you think he could come and stay more often?"
"So were you unfaithful to my friend Tony?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Not very much..., just two lonely souls..." He grinned. "....But if you let me stay tonight, who knows!"
To be Continued:..............