The development of my sex life was unsettled slightly, over this period, by the sense that it was getting out- paced by that of Christopher. I had observed with some consternation that, although nearly two years my junior, he was in fact sprouting pubic hair marginally earlier than myself. And his prowess in courtship appeared to display the same precocity. During the Summer holidays at Cowrie, he had been seeing much of a girl called Wendy, who lived locally. They were apt to wander off on the beach together, and be impossible to find for lengthy periods of time. Nanny once asserted to me that Wendy was a thoroughly undesirable playmate for Chris, hinting that she'd seen this for herself when finding them behind a rock together. I knew that Nanny would never divulge to me explicitly what it was that she had seen, but I was aware of feeling faintly indignant that Chris should be tasting of forbidden fruit such as had never yet appeared upon my own plate. At the same time I consoled myself that Nan might be making a fuss about nothing, which is what I rather hoped.

I liked to think that it was a mere matter of chance that opportunities should be presenting themselves to Chris more than to myself. What I was neglecting to perceive however is that Chris had an eye for the opportunities, whereas I might turn away from them because their potential would not occur to me. Or as Henry informed us more bluntly, Chris had sex appeal, whereas I didn't.

This judgement was based upon more than the tittle-tattle about his behaviour with Wendy. It was also noted how Caroline Kirkwood, who gave the impression of being mature socially far ahead of her years, went straight into flirtation with Chris rather than with myself on the occasion when we joined up with the Vivians for a day's outing at Olympia - the fun fair in London which was all the rage over the Christmas season. There must have been something too severe, or just too formal about my general deportment when in the presence of the opposite sex over this period, to explain what I took to be the absence of opportunities.

Then there was our relationship with the two Dunn girls. Serena and Nell were the daughters of Lady Mary (Erskine) Campbell by her former marriage to Sir Philip Dunn, and we used to see quite a bit of them at this time, both down in Cornwall where they had formerly been living, and even more so now that they had come to live at Stocke Farm, near Great Bedwyn in Wiltshire.

I have a vivid recollection of Nell succeeding very well in infuriating Miss Prokinar, our Polish cook at Cowrie, by pretending to think that she was talking about a pink pig, (pronouncing it `peeng peeg') - when in fact the reference was to someone's big peke. Nell drove her frantic with the deliberate miscomprehension, so that Miss Prokinar went to great lengths afterwards in exhorting us to appreciate that neither of the Dunn girls were suitable marital material for either of us. The most natural pairing in terms of our relative proximity in age was for myself with Serena, and Chris with Nell. While I liked and appreciated Serena - for her extrovert vivacity, I had a deeper yearning to be liked by Nell - for reasons of her beauty, and for her sensitivity. And there were times when I felt miserably depressed at the realisation that she so evidently desired to be admired by Chris instead of by myself.

There was one particular occasion when we were over at Stocke for the day, and we had been playing around in their hay-loft. Then Serena had departed for some reason, so that I remained unpaired and just lying there indolently in the hay, although aware that Chris and Nell were also lying there, somewhere just out of sight. I remained quiet, so the assumption must have been that I too had departed. Their conversation became more intimate until it was a mumbling of sweet nothings. I knew that I ought to walk away, or at least to reveal my presence: which I did eventually, after Chris had softly enquired if anyone was there. Yet I had somehow enjoyed the torture of remaining there in secret, if only to clarify to myself how isolated I was from the fulfilment of my real desires. And it did hurt badly, this realisation that I was somehow inferior in the arts of courtship to a younger brother whom I regarded as being no match for me in other matters. There was a burning feeling inside me that our relative worth must, eventually, become apparent for Nell to perceive. But in the meantime, I felt inhibited from revealing to her some intimation of the love that lurked unrequited in my heart.

Her sweetness and sensitivity, a face painted
saintly often in the Renaissance era, steers
a mere inclination to offer what I have
for mutual ravishment and untutored looting.
Is beauty to be courted?
Or that's what I've been told.
Old-fashioned in my cultural education,
I stultify, like a brash probationer, if stood
in the good presence of a nimble nubile maid.
Graded (as I see myself) so high, I cry
with foolish incredulity when I espy
another - brother! - reaping admiration
for graces developed without a demonstration.
I'll feign to be immune from Cupid's dart,
and suffer less within my wounded heart.

I think that Mary may have sussed me out; and quite irrespective of our personalities, she may have decided that, as the heir to Longleat, I might be a spouse to be preferred to any younger brother, for the hand in marriage to her favourite daughter. It could be that some advice of that kind was intimated to Nell. In any case that is my personal explanation for the fact that there was one occasion when Nell's interest did seem briefly, to switch from Chris to myself.

We were all at Longleat, preparing for one of the Christmas parties when the schoolchildren from Horningsham came up for their presents, after a tea party and entertainment by a conjuror. But we had been looking round other parts of the house, and I was sat there with Nell on a settee when she momentarily laid her hand on top of mine. I was overwhelmed with uncertainty as to how I should respond. Uncertain whether she was genuinely giving me encouragement, and whether it was appropriate that I should intrude upon Christopher's own interest in her; but also the uncertainty on how to cope with situations of this kind. My intuitive reaction was to freeze up inside me - and play it safe. I merely asked her coolly why she had done that, and her hand was immediately recoiled in some embarrassment.

My friendship with her elder sister was of an entirely different nature. Serena was full of youthful exuberance and squealing delight in all manner of fun and games. She was gutsy too, and when she joked about the fuss we were all making about the beatings we had received at Eton, I suggested that she submit herself to similar treatment at my hands. The canes were available of course, at Sturford, since I had donated Henry with such a gift. And it was typical of Serena in consenting to such a proposition - for the honour of her female sex, in her rejection of the idea that girls couldn't take it. So in the presence of both Chris and Nell, she bent herself over a chair and accepted four strokes of the cane, only marginally softer than those that were delivered to us at Eton as disciplinary measures. And she took it well, although she informed me several years later that she had resorted to tears, afterwards, within the privacy of her bedroom.

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