Little Valentine had memories as an adult that we used to bully him; and there may have been some truth in that. But as I remember it, I'd be more inclined to say that we all used to boss him around, while at the same time he maintained an independence of spirit which I respected. But when it came to Christopher, the respect was not really there - despite the fact that I perceived him as a threat to me, arising from Henry's better liking for him. It was a question of a seething incredulity on my side, that anyone could overlook the established differences in scholastic achievement to our credit and pronounce that he was some kind of a superior product to myself. Yet now that he had finally managed to pass into Eton in the bottom (Third) form, and had come to join me at Jaques' tutor's, I did indeed feel protective towards him - even if there were certain pompous overtones about this.

But it would be wrong for me to give a picture of me being better at everything than was Chris. In sporting matters, he showed rather more promise than I had ever done - in games of the football variety. Also in running or sprinting, he was marginally a better performer than I had been at his age. And his performance with a shot gun at clay pigeons, on the few occasions when we were sent by Henry for coaching at Northolt, gave rise to the verdict that he perhaps showed more promise in that field than myself. Despite the fact of remaining the more proficient at most things, I was always acutely anxious about any matter when it might appear that my supremacy over him was threatened.

It was when we were all cooped up within the limited space of our holiday home in Cornwall that tensions between us siblings became the most apparent. We had less space in which to retain our own sense of individual identity. I can remember Chris driving me wild on one occasion. I was in the drawing-room reading a book, while Chris and Val were romping around on the floor. Val had developed the irritating habit around this period of squealing loud and shrill at the top of his voice, as a deterrent to any of us in such mock displays of molestation. But rightly or wrongly, I regarded Chris as the one who was causing this disruption within the room's tranquillity. So I told him to stop "bullying" Val.

My use of that word evidently irritated Chris, who knew quite well that they were only involved in horse- play. What annoyed me considerably however, was to hear him give whispered instructions to Val to continue squealing while they were romping. I regarded this as a challenge to my authority, so I promptly gave him an ultimatum to stop it - or take the consequences. He called my bluff by continuing, so I went over and thumped him a couple of times. And Chris had never been any match for me in the boxing ring. Just briefly however, he did fight back on this occasion. This may well rank as the one and only such confrontation in our lives, and the matter was quickly settled to my satisfaction.

With Caroline the tensions surfaced in a slightly different way. Again it was while we were down at Cowrie. Nanny (who was still in constant attendance over the period of such holidays,) had observed how I was getting increasingly isolated in spirit from the rest of the family, and I was aware how she must have talked to Caroline on the side, urging her to give me some companionship. That as I saw it was the only explanation for her unexpected suggestion that we should play some paper games with each other; for solo card games of patience were the way she habitually kept herself occupied.

We soon fell foul of each other, for Caroline remembered our relationship as one in which I constantly did her bidding - without too much of a fuss or bother. But that was something long past, and I found it distasteful when I perceived how she expected that dominance still to prevail. When I questioned the rules of the game that we were going to play, suggesting that they might be improved by some manner of alteration to them, I suddenly discovered that such debate was not to be permitted. From her point of view, she was putting herself to quite unnecessary trouble in reoffering her companionship to me, and if I wasn't prepared to accept the rules as she dictated them, then the offer was to be withdrawn - which is precisely what happened. It would have involved too much of a climb down on my side then to have concurred. So we went about our separate business, with both of us feeling nettled.

It is possible that I irritated Caroline quite considerably over this period, and that this sense of irritation was shared by the rest of the family. I think they saw me as obstinate and unyielding, although as I see it, I was seeking to retain my sense of identity from suppression. There is another anecdote from these holidays at Cowrie, which might bring this matter into focus.

Henry had driven us all over to Trearnon Bay, to spend the day with our Vivian cousins who were holidaying with our step-grandmother. It was the estate van which he was driving, with plenty of room in the back without many actual seats. For the journey home, I had perched myself in a somewhat uncomfortable position, sitting on the interior casing to one of the rear wheels. Caroline remarked that I had better take a proper seat. Without intending to irritate, I replied that it would be all right. But she suddenly lost patience with me and snapped that I would see for myself pretty soon, and be that on my own head.

This in effect entailed that if I were now to change my place, it would appear that I was finally bending to her will. I did indeed find that the position I had adopted was intensely uncomfortable, and I would dearly have liked to exchange it for another. Yet under the circumstances, I knew that this would have involved a loss of face, so I felt obliged to stick it out for the entire (thirty mile?) journey, trying to give everyone the impression that I had managed to fall asleep on my perch. It may have been to Caroline's chagrin that I succeeded, but I was pleased to note that Henry did manage to perceive some quality in my behaviour in that he whispered "Well done!" in my ear, as we were walking up to the house.

On the occasions when Caroline came down with our parents to take us out for the day from Eton, there was still an undercurrent of friction. There was one occasion when I had failed to book a table in the Windsor hotel of their choice, and I was being given some stick on the matter. I think I was endeavouring to take a martyr's pose, which they all regarded as being a pain in the neck. But Caroline's contribution to the dissent was to whisper hoarsely that I was my own worst enemy: that her ex-schoolfriend, Anne Clifford, was sitting two tables away, and that she'd never recommend me to her two beautiful younger sisters if she noticed how I was behaving. In point of fact I found this debutante logic to be less devastating than Caroline might have hoped.

The truth of the matter is that Caroline had now moved into a different orbit to myself. She was a huge success in the debutante world and, while remaining fairly virginal - as I've been led to believe - she had what we all regarded as a regular boy-friend, in the person of Vivyan Naylor-Leyland. This friendship came to a sad end however, after a train journey when Caroline, in the company of Rose Grimstone, was discussing the relationship in a crowded first class carriage. I know not what was said, but after the remarks they made were referred back to Vivyan, via his parents, the friendship was terminated. The moral of this anecdote must surely be never to make candid remarks within a crowded railway compartment.

Caroline did not seem unduly distressed at this turn of events however, and was now perhaps more seriously attached to David Somerset, the cousin - and heir presumptive - to the Duke of Beaufort, who was responsible for organising many things within the royal household. And this entailed that there were occasions when she would be invited to stay at Windsor Castle. It was on one such occasion that she - or rather the Duke - arranged for a small group of Etonians, including Chris and myself - to come and have tea at the castle. There is a brief account of the visit in one of my letters home.

We were given a marvellous tea. I ate the most, and I won the competition for the best top hat, meaning the one which was the most bashed in. I had to make conversation to both the King and the Queen for about ten minutes each. I couldn't get the King off the subject of corgis. [The royal family had in fact acquired their first in a long line of corgis after seeing the one which my father had owned.] Christopher had intended to get their autographs, but Caroline told him that it wasn't the right thing to do.

The Queen was in fact utterly charming with the whole bunch of us schoolboys, doing her utmost to make us all feel at ease. I have one particularly pleasant memory of her. We were all out in the garden at Windsor Castle and the Queen, while talking to me, suggested that we should move back in the direction of the drawing-room. We strolled ahead but suddenly realised that no one else was following us. It was an awkward moment for a schoolboy to discover himself alone in a strange garden with the Queen, and conversation dried up. But she bridged the silence with perfect grace by picking a sprig from some scented shrub and presenting it to me as a keepsake. By that time the others had caught up with us, and we went upon our way.

Not all of the royal family were quite so tolerant of this intrusion of callow youths from Eton College within their family circle. I distinctly remember seeing Princess Margaret get up and leave the room just as soon as we first arrived. Princess Elizabeth did at least postpone her exit for a minute or so, and then made it look as if she was just going out to fetch something.

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