My parents' greatest friends over this period were Robin and Lady Mary Campbell, who had now come to live near Great Bedwyn, in Wiltshire. They were artistic in their orientation towards life, and intellectual as well. I regarded them as a reinforcement to Daphne's personal attitude, and a restraint upon Henry's materialism. Moreover they were good at opening up any discussion around the dining table so that my own viewpoint could be interjected. I regarded their presence as a stimulant to the precipitation of whatever I might choose to think.

There was a conversation over the dinner table for example, when Robin was disputing with Henry the relative appreciation that should be attributed, in historical retrospection, to the greatest creative artists in comparison with the greatest political figures. Henry's line was to say that the laurels went of course, to the politicians. But Robin insisted on hearing what I might have to say on the subject. I suggested that whereas a politician was invariably working within a team, the creative artist was more an instance of someone out there on his own. So inasmuch that the credit wasn't to be shared, it should be regarded as proportionately greater. And I liked it that Robin should hold my opinion as something to be noted.

I think that Robin clearly perceived how all was not right in my relationship with Henry. I can remember him asking my father about all the heavy capital expenditures which were going on all over the estate at this time; improvements to farms, cottages, the kitchen gardens and all those other matters previously noted - like the dredging of the lakes and the alterations to the general lay-out of the floral gardens at Longleat, not to mention all the refurbishment of the decor inside the house. Henry explained airily that he could do what he liked because the family entail would be broken just as soon as I was twenty-one. So the trustees had permitted him to use some of the entailed capital on the grounds that it would soon be shared out between the two of us. But Robin wanted to know what he would do if I refused to break the entail. This question seemed to take Henry by surprise. He replied that I'd damn well have to break the entail - or live on a pittance until such a time as I changed my mind.

On some occasions I knew that Robin had perceived how Henry's attitude towards myself should be viewed in a critical light. There was an instance for example, when the subject of prayer to God was under discussion at the dinner table. I had stated that I did sometimes pray, while Henry was ridiculing such behaviour as a lot of nonsense. So he went on to ask what I actually said to God when I prayed, going on to ridicule what he imagined I might say with mimicry. "Dear God, please make Daddy give me a lovely big motorbike.... and please let me off from doing any more work in the woods during my holidays!"

I protested that it wasn't at all like this. So what was it like, he wanted to know. I was reluctant to tell him - because he'd just laugh at me. "No, we won't laugh!" he assured me; "I promise you we won't laugh." And after he'd repeated this several times, I dropped my caution and revealed that I sometimes asked God to make me a nicer person. Henry immediately emitted a scornful guffaw, declaring: "Well you deserve to be laughed at, if that's what you get up to!" Robin came to my defence however, reminding Henry that he was breaking his solemn promise to me. I knew in my heart that my own values were far closer to Robin's than they were to my father's.

Henry was someone who had always required something upon which to bestow his faith, but had long since abandoned the convictions of his mother, which had been strictly in line with the principles of Christian Science. Yet he was continually aspiring to find a sense of conviction elsewhere. I could remember the time when it had been bestowed upon Beecham's Pills, which he then avowed were the super-medicament for shaking up the liver and obtaining health and happiness; and he encouraged us all to take them likewise. These were replaced by faith in a quack osteopath down in Cornwall, who eventually lost favour because he started dropping hints that he was Christ reincarnate. Henry no longer had any truck with such divine pretensions. But he was now evolving back towards religion, in a more Eastern (or Hindu) sense, with his mounting faith in the efficacy of horoscopes - as previously described.

I noted however that Robin was apt to scoff at Henry's belief in horoscopes, dismissing them as sheer superstition. And there were differences in their values upon other subjects too. For example there was the time that the Campbells brought a Slavonic (Polish?) Colonel to dinner. I have no recollection of why it was that Henry took such an intense hostility to this man. Perhaps I might conjecture that he arrived without Henry's personal invitation; or that he had had uttered some disparaging remark against Hitler, and against the type of person who supported such ideas. Whatever may have been the reason however, it was evident to me that Henry's attitude was stoked up on alcohol, and he became really offensive. This was but one more occasion when I was given reason to feel ashamed about his attitude. He was making some heavily derisive points, punning on the words Slav and Slave. And the Colonel was just sitting there silently in one corner of the drawing-room, succeeding quite well in insulating himself from my father's gratuitous abuse.

Henry's values in life to one side, the verdict which I was being encouraged to accept in my relationship with him was that I had really been behaving in a reprehensible manner - due to my sulking, or to my `selfishness' or whatever, and that it was up to me to make amends. I had almost come to accept this as being what was necessary: despite an inner suspicion that I was merely being gutless, in my neglect to stand up for myself. My attitude was more to signal to my father that I shared his low opinion of myself, in the manner that I set myself the most menial tasks to perform for his benefit and appreciation.

An example of this was the habit I developed of giving Puddle, the giant poodle, a bath - to cleanse him of all the bits of excreta which were frequently to be seen matted within the fur on his buttocks. I remember it as being a repulsive job, which almost caused me to vomit: so great was the stench. And when performing the task on a second and third occasion, I made the histrionic gesture of wearing a gas-mask. It should be remembered that the washing of a dog had been the stated reason for that beating I had received from Henry. So in a strange way I may have been trying to open his eyes to the fact that such tasks had to be performed by someone; and in these more recent cases, they were tasks for his own benefit - in that he wouldn't be required to foul his own hands in cleansing the buttocks of his wife's dog. It was a duty which I had taken upon myself, unselfishly and unrequested. And at the start, I imagined that my self-abasement was appreciated. But word then came to me - from Donald - that Henry was telling visitors how I was far too mamby-pamby. "He goes and puts on a gas-mask to wash the shit from a dog's arse!" So I desisted from all such endeavours.

I was perhaps sending Henry a message more overtly when I gave him a package of canes, such as were used at Eton for instilling a sense of discipline into the Lower boys, as a Christmas present. It's difficult to recall in exactly what spirit the gift was made, but I think it was a matter of me trying to tell him that I no longer felt humiliated. Or in other words, I could take all that he might ever throw at me - with a grin.

© The Marquess of Bath 1999 Clauses & Disclaimer