3.2: Siblings: the difference in being a schoolboy

Now that I was at Ludgrove, the question arose as to whether Caroline should continue her education with Miss Vigers, or be sent off to boarding-school like myself. Nobody liked Miss Vigers, so a decision was taken to send her to `Mrs Ffyfe's' at Longstowe Hall, which was in vogue at that time as the girls' school with the most fashionable snob-appeal, and once again with an emphasis upon social airs and graces, rather than upon scholastic eminence. She was becoming a schoolgirl in fact, a couple of terms later than I had become a schoolboy. But the age grouping at her place set it as the equivalent of Eton, rather than as a mere preparatory school.

The fate of Miss Vigers was now sealed. Nanny made heavy use of the argument that Chris, (who was now in the process of shedding the name of Pip,) was terrified of the old dragon and would never manage to learn anything at all under her tuition. Far better that he should go to school locally, in Warminster, returning home to Nanny's loving arms each evening, than to suffer so much in the schoolroom here at Sturford. Daphne too was sympathetic to the idea of such an outcome, and it was she who had to make the decisions now that Henry was in the Middle East.

In point of fact Miss Vigers finally cooked her own goose, with the situation unfolding thus. During my second term at Ludgrove, I had written a letter to Daphne querying if Nanny and Miss Vigers were still fighting as bitterly as ever - ending up with a hideous caricature of what I suggested the latter looked like. (I was drawing a whole lot of ugly faces at this time - like the ones I had inserted into the desks of those sleeping in Dorm 8.) Daphne unfortunately left my letter lying on her desk in the drawing-room, where Miss Vigers spotted it, and read it. If she had been wise, she would have kept the fruit of her nosiness to herself, but she was unable to resist the satisfaction of complaining to her employer about the attitudes she encouraged in her children. I had always been the great favourite of Miss Vigers, so she now made it clear just how wounded she felt by the caricature I had drawn.

I heard nothing of the business directly from herself. It was Daphne who warned me about what had happened, when she came down to Ludgrove, to take me out for the day. (It happened regularly once a term, and those boys who received more attention from their mothers than this were regarded, by Ludgrovians, as too cosseted.) She advised me that I had best try to placate Miss Vigers by writing her a letter ending up with an ugly caricature of herself. In this manner the old harridan might conclude that my artistry was really quite harmless, and that it was directed even against those whom I loved the most.

So I did as Mummy suggested. Poor Daphne then had to undergo the unpleasant experience of having Miss Vigers bring my letter for her to read, crowing viciously over what she supposed must rank as my mother's humiliation. It was an instance of course of winning a battle, while losing the war, in that my mother was now that much more eager to side with Nanny once the redundancy issue had been suggested. Although I had already been fully informed of all that had occurred, Miss Vigers requested that I should not be told about her imminent departure until after the event, so that we could spend a last few idyllic days together, on my return from Ludgrove for the Christmas holidays, before she packed her bags and left. The fact that I went along with this hypocritical charade is not much to my credit.

Chris was now signed up locally with the Lord Weymouth School in Warminster: (the one which had been founded by the 1st Viscount, at the instigation of Bishop Ken.) But he still failed to make adequate progress, in that his attitude had perhaps already been soured in that direction. I was finding however, that he furnished a companion in boyishness such as Cal could never provide. And despite my love for her, it did strike me that she was becoming more and more girlish with every additional term that she spent at Mrs Ffyfe's.

Cal was different because she was a girl, and I never really felt myself to be in direct competition with her. Moreover there were whole areas in the relationship which were still beneficial to both of us. It was the elder sister, cum mother game which she played. I would confide in her, in a manner that I would never confide in anyone else. And she would read to me from books which she herself had enjoyed. She was far more into literature, as a subject, than I was.

Cal was apart, and I didn't feel myself to be in rivalry with her. But when it came to Chris, I had always felt confident that he was no real match for me when it came to an assessment of our mother's proportionate affection. I can remember an episode which stands as evidence to that effect.

Daphne was up in the nursery at tea time, chatting with Nanny at the table, whilst Chris and myself were playing with tin soldiers nearby. Although engrossed in our game, I still had half an ear cocked upon their conversation, and I heard Daphne enquire softly which of the two of us Nan preferred. Nan began to explain earnestly that she always felt that Chris was the more in need of protection than Alexander - whereupon they must have observed that I was listening. Daphne caught my eye, and I distinctly heard her softly say: "Well you can have him!"

This told me nothing that I didn't already know, with regard to Daphne's regard for me, but I did feel offended in that I had now learnt where Nanny's preference lay, and I remember tackling her on the subject later - receiving much the same explanation that she had already given. When badgered on the subject, she was apt to say that her preference amongst us was for Caroline, "because she's the only little girl that we have". But it was obvious to us really that her protective instincts were invariably attached to whomever was the youngest of the brood.

Valentine, who was finally obliged to shed the name of Baba, to become Val, (somewhat under protest however, since he appreciated the advantages of being the youngest in the family,) was now beginning to emerge as a personality in his own right. What we didn't greatly appreciate in him was an element of smugness. He was Nanny's favourite, and revelled in that status. Sitting beside her for meals at the nursery table, he waited with a confident little grin on his face until she sliced some extra piece of bacon (or whatever) from her own plate, to place it upon his - theoretically without the rest of us noticing what she had done. But there was strict food rationing for things like bacon, so we invariably did notice, and were fierce in our protests about such favouritism. And Val would irritate us greatly with his constantly repeated catch- phrase: "Let Nanny do as she likes!"

There was something of the criticism in our hearts about Val that he had everything up in the nursery too easy for him; and the nursery was the only environment that he knew. It seemed as if he was developing an attitude that he only had to smile sweetly, and Nanny would come rushing to his assistance. We had the feeling that he ought to learn rapidly that life at school, if not subsequently, would never turn out to be quite so simple as that.

Then came an atrocious example (as we saw it) of how life seemed to be dishing out undeserved rewards to Val. He had just mastered the art of rowing the dinghy on Sturford pond, although he was not permitted to do so unless he had an adult with him. So he persuaded Mrs Sims, the housekeeper, to let him take her for a spin in the boat. He was the first to climb into his seat, and sat there while she attempted to transfer her weight from the foot on the bank, to the foot in the boat. Unfortunately he didn't wait long enough and, on heaving away from the shore, he caused Mrs Sims to perform the splits so that she ended up in the freezing water - without even the ability to swim. Val did attempt to haul her from the water, but she was a solid little lady and his strength proved insufficient. All that he could do was to twine the mooring chain around her neck, and then run off to fetch adult assistance.

He was convinced at the time that we should all be furious with him for what he had done. Having reported where Mrs Sims was to be found, (whether this was above or below the surface of the water,) he made himself very scarce. It took Nanny a good hour to find his hiding-place. He had managed to squeeze himself under Daphne's bed, and was only discovered because his feet could be seen protruding on the far side

What none of us had anticipated was the way everyone who heard about Val's exploits would sing his praises. It seemed to be forgotten that he should never have dumped Mrs Sims in the pond in the first place, and he was now receiving their commendations on rescuing her. I know not how, but it even got into the press, who billed him as a little hero who had saved an elderly lady who couldn't swim from drowning. And then he had fan mail, from other elderly ladies who couldn't swim - some even enclosing money with their letters. There was no justice in the world.

Then came another episode which enhanced the idea that Val had a personality of his own. Once the worst of the blitz had come to an end, (the Battle of Britain having been won,) on rare occasions we were allowed to stay the night up in London, and one such occasion was for the marriage of my Uncle Douglas, Daphne's half-brother. Our family went up to stay overnight at the Savoy hotel. I cannot remember the circumstances, but Val was refusing to do what he had been told to do, and had locked himself in the bathroom so that nobody (not even Nanny) could discuss the matter more forcefully with him. And this situation was prolonged to the point when it became necessary to telephone for the assistance of the house carpenter, to remove the hinges from the door so that Valentine could be extracted from his sanctuary. But when the realisation of such exposure had sunk in, and after the carpenter was already preparing to perform his task, Val simply unlocked the door and rejoined the assembled company - causing us all to feel far more foolish than little Val.

Then came the term that Chris should accompany me back to Ludgrove and, of course, I was greatly excited about that. I would be known as Thynne major for one thing. Having a minor was always regarded as an asset, when it came to a consideration of status, and I played out my new role with some zest - by which I probably mean that I became bossy to an extreme.

I was genuinely concerned however, that my minor should make a good start to his school career. And around this time I was endeavouring to enhance my own image amongst my peer group at Ludgrove by indulging in those activities which were expressly forbidden: night-prowling in particular. This was a matter of getting up in the middle of the night and creeping down to the kitchens to steal food.

There was one individual called Stevenson, who was currently riding on the crest of a wave in popularity, because he had scooped out the middle of a blancmange, due to be served up next day at the Headmaster's table, from underneath, so that his enterprise would go undetected until someone put a spoon into it. But the severe `swishing' that Steve had ultimately received, on being caught in the act of making hideous noises upon the chapel organ, (supposing that such music would be attributed to the school ghost,) did not seem to act as the deterrent to others which had been intended.

There was still a whole group of us who aspired to emulate such daring, and I felt that I was only furnishing the most desirable fraternal influence when introducing Chris, at the outset of his school career, to such activities. So we set out one mid-night, (just four of us,) to raid the kitchens. The main danger to be overcome was that Spook, who was Mr Barber's elderly cocker spaniel, was apt to wake up and start barking - which is precisely what happened on this occasion. We hid ourselves in the music room, trembling at the prospect of instant retribution, and we did hear Mr Barber's slippered feet go padding past the door of the music room to catch red-handed whomever might be discovered in the act of raiding the kitchen.

It was a long wait, with hearts pounding, until the slippered feet came back past us once again, on their way up to Mr Barber's own bedroom. Then we slunk back by another staircase to each his own dormitory, all of us much relieved to have escaped detection. It was only next morning that one of our group confided to me that my minor had displayed the most intelligent reaction. "There was a big puddle where he was hiding. He peed on the carpet." And that way I've no doubt that Spook received the punishment that he deserved.

I was indeed proud of having a minor, and I daresay that my exposition of authority over him may have been evident, at the time, for all to see. I know that Daphne was irritated by it on an occasion when she came down to visit us. As I see it, I was just being schoolboyish at the time - walking a few yards ahead of her with Chris, and displaying (I suppose) just how concerned I was to reveal my independence of spirit, and the new entente between my younger brother and myself.

For whatever reason, Mummy was offended, giving me a petulant lecture about me not seeming to appreciate how she'd come all this way to see me, and I wasn't giving her my full attention. But it was worse than that. She told me that there were men who regarded her as being one of the most beautiful women of her generation. I didn't seem to realise how lucky I was to have her as my mother. I did owe a lot to Daphne, and I was fully Aware of this. But there was an unease now developing within me that things weren't quite right within our relationship.

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