I was now beginning to do quite well in a whole variety of fields, and on the river perhaps more prominently than in other fields. My attraction to rowing at the start may have been far more as an indolent pastime, and I did still very much enjoy my occasional trips up-river to Queen's Eyot, where much cider could be consumed - by using the tickets for other people's rations. And I abused that opportunity on more than one occasion.

I mention this because I did display a tendency to seize upon any opportunity to flirt with inebriation, before I came into real trouble on the issue. Various beaks had given me stern stares when perceiving my unsteady gait, or after observing that I had swamped my rigger and was swimming beside it in the river. So there may have been rumours afloat about my conduct in official circles, but they had not yet chosen to do anything about it.

In the meantime I was becoming quite skilled as an oarsman. I was the natural choice to row stroke in m'tutor's Bumping IV that summer, and we did very well in those races. We already had our placing way up near the head of the river, but we managed to bump the boat in front of us on three successive nights, and very nearly succeeded in completing the triumph on the fourth night. By the time we rowed under the final bridge, we were overlapping and moving in for the kill, but just too late to make the bump. But the performance in these races had been good enough for me to be awarded my Lower Boats cap. So prospects were at last looking a little brighter for me.

It meant that I would now be participating within the Procession of Boats on the 4th of June. The afternoon's procession ran smoothly, without the slightest hitch. It was just a question of standing erect in the VIII, with one's oar upright, when the appropriate command was given as we floated past the saluting base where the Headmaster, the Provost and his Fellows were assembled. Before the evening procession however, I was due to dine with Daphne and Caroline, at the Café de Paris near Maidenhead. And I can only suppose it was because the marriage was currently under stress, that Henry was not himself present that day. Instead we were joining the table of Andrew Hartingdon, who was the heir to the Duke of Devonshire. I impressed upon him that it was his solemn duty to get me drunk before I embarked upon that procession, and it would seem that he fulfilled this task quite efficiently - by constantly replenishing my glass with champagne.

I regarded myself as being in a convivial, happy-go-lucky mood when I eventually arrived at the downstream raft, but the fact of me being a good ten minutes late meant that the whole procession was launched behind schedule, and did little to endear me with those who were responsible for organising it. But they permitted my boat to return to the shore so as to collect me. Shortly afterwards however, they were wishing that they hadn't. So was Mallinson, the member of the Eton VIII who was the Captain of Alexandra - the boat in which I was rowing.

Trouble broke out when I retorted to Mallinson's admonition about holding everyone up, that I was going to swamp his boat as we floated past the saluting base. Increasingly fierce remarks were exchanged until Mallinson gave the order that I should be thrown overboard. But the question then arose as to whom should perform this task. So he ordered Drummond major and Mayes-Smith, who were rowing at seven and five respectively - before and behind me - to do whatever might be necessary to achieve this end. But I was after all a pugilist, and a member of the school's Boxing team. It would have entailed a considerable loss of face if I had been seen to tolerate such treatment. So I gave them battle and punches were briefly exchanged.

They desisted largely because there was a call for the Procession of Boats to get started. True to my word however, I did my best to swamp the VIII as we floated past the saluting base. After standing erect with my oar and waiting for the rest of the crew to be on their feet, I collapsed gracefully sidewards, down on the rigger. But these boats were far more stable than they were imagined to be. It wobbled, but it didn't capsize; and the order was promptly given for everyone to resume their seats. There was such a huge roar of applause from the assembled company on the bank however that, even in my state of inebriation, I was aware how my performance was regarded by many as a great success. And Caroline was to tell me later, that she herself had been filled with pride, rushing about while shouting: "It's Alexander! He's the one that's fallen down! He's completely drunk! I'm his sister!"

There were some however, who didn't think it was quite so wonderful. As soon as I stepped ashore, one beak came forward and officially took my name, which was enough to indicate to me that retribution was afoot. But my spirits were still merry, and I participated in the high jinks that were going on around the Burning Bush in front of the School Hall, getting my name taken for the second time - after which I decided that I had best go home to bed.

Not that the tale of my misdoings was quite yet complete. I was lying there tucked up in bed, recalling to myself what I regarded as the hilarious events of the evening. I may well have been uttering loud guffaws. But I felt bewildered when Jaques came bursting through the door, quite evidently expecting to catch me at night with company in my room. Finding me in bed alone however, he could do no more than to point an accusatory finger at me, exclaiming: "You're for it! I just came to warn you that I've received a whole series of complaints that you were drunk during the Procession of Boats. I'll leave you to reflect upon it, but you can expect trouble in the morning."

By this time I was feeling pretty low, but I was feeling even worse in the morning. As a deliberate tone- setter, Jaques addressed the assembled company of m'tutor's before boys' dinner, telling them that they shouldn't judge me too harshly and that it was best if they declined to discuss my disgrace with outsiders. This bewildered me somewhat in that I was still inclined to feel that my behaviour had been unusually entertaining, but I wasn't such a fool as to look anything other than penitent. I felt apprehensive however, fearing that I might either be due for a swiping from the Headmaster, or have my Lower Boats cap withdrawn.

When I was actually summoned to appear upon the Headmaster's bill, I learnt that there was a second offender up on the same charge. This was Marriot, who had apparently fallen off his bicycle due to the influence of drink while riding down to participate in the second Procession of Boats. He too had had his name taken, and it had been decided that we should be given the same punishment - which was somewhat unfair on him, in that he had refrained from making such a public exhibition of himself while inebriated.

Eliot who was then Headmaster, informed me that expulsion had been discussed as the penalty for my misdeeds, but a more lenient view had been taken - due to the favourable reports on my character which had been received, from M'tutor amongst others. It had also been intimated to him that others may have been partially responsible for my misconduct. (I believe that Lord Hartingdon had done me the good service of assuming such a responsibility - at Daphne's urgent request.) So in consideration of all this, the actual punishment meted out to me was extremely mild. I was deprived of all leave - which included the Winchester match and Henley regatta - up to Long-leave, and during these school holidays, I was to perform extra work as set by M'tutor. (This was to copy out two Georgics, as I was to discover.) I was also forbidden to drink at Tap, or at Queen's Eyot for the rest of the half.

Eliot told me that it had been observed how I had been drinking on previous occasions at Queen's Eyot. He said that I should regard the problem as a serious one, in that I might well discover that it became a lot worse. He advised me to take heed before it was too late, since many a promising career had been spoilt for such a reason. Most tactfully, he assured me that my offence would merely be recorded within the black book as rowdy behaviour - instead of drunken behaviour - on the 4th of June. For this would save me, as he pointed out, from going down to posterity with the label of `drunkard' branded on my reputation. Throughout the whole interview, he couldn't have been more charming.

Jaques wrote to Henry to inform him of all that had transpired, finishing it thus.

For my own part, I wrote to Daphne in a spirit that was duly contrite, but also perhaps with a view to diminishing Henry's criticism of herself.

Shortly after this I received a letter from Andrew Hartingdon, enclosing a £5 note. He wrote:

Despite my contrition, it was evident to me from the start that a controversial issue was involved as to whether I should be berated, or applauded, for my performance on the 4th of June. It was made apparent to me by the majority of my peer group at Eton that there had been considerable entertainment value in what I had done, and my popularity as a school personality soared to an unprecedented height. I became one of the people that other boys would point out to their visiting friends, as I passed them in the street. And I noted how it was now with a smile of affection, rather than the former sneer that was considered the due of any school tart.

In any case, my standing as a wet-bob seems to have been unaffected, as can be seen from the following excerpt from a letter.

I have no precise record of how they fared in the competition, but I do remember that they did very well - with the resultant credit to myself as their coach. And all this activity entailed that I had no time to indulge myself in my former entomological pursuits. This interest now went into eclipse for quite some time.

The second of my big achievements over this period was in my studies for the all-important School Certificate - under the Matriculation system of that time. I had been accustomed to obtaining First class honours on most occasions in my trials' results, but I had somehow never inspired a faith in my teachers that I might excel myself when it came to the Certificate. Henry had even seen fit, after consultation with the Stanley cousins who had come to stay at Sturford during the previous holidays, to offer me £10 for every Credit that I obtained, and £20 for every Distinction - provided that I was prepared to pay him £10 for each failure to obtain even a Pass in any subject. It finally landed him with a debt to pay me £120.

I don't think the incentives effected my effort in any way at all, but I did obtain Distinctions in Latin, English language, English literature, and Divinity - the latter three being all subjects for which we had been left to our own devices in their preparation. And I obtained Credits in Greek, Mathematics, History and French, with a mere Pass in Additional Maths. It should be noted however that Science had been one of my stronger subjects, but I had been mistakenly advised to take the Additional Maths instead - due to the fact that so much revision work was involved in Science, whereas Mathematics required very little, and it was thought in any case that I should secure a Credit in either subject. We were not encouraged to take Art incidentally, for the School Certificate at Eton. It wasn't regarded as being sufficiently academic as a subject, I suppose.

There was another activity into which I was initiated during the Summer holidays, and that was going abroad - on my own, which was in contrast to the holidays in my childhood when I was merely accompanying my parents. It was my own idea to go off on an exchange visit to some French family, and I think it was Henry's old governess, Miss Farr, who suggested that the [J] family might be suitable. Letters were exchanged, and it was arranged that I should go over Paris, and then accompany them for a fortnight, down to the maternal grandmother's house on the sea, near Trouville in Normandy. And during my absence, the task of entertaining their son Jean-Louis, fell to Christopher.

Much did not go right within this experiment, although our visits were probably educational to each of us. Our expectations were perhaps very different from the start. The [J] family were far more protective towards their offspring than anything I had experienced at home, and the father accompanied Jean-Louis on the flight to bring him over to us. The expectation was that either Henry, or Daphne, would return the favour when our visits came to an end, but my parents neglected to volunteer any such gesture in that such travel arrangements would have been all too tedious.

Mr [J] exemplified much of Frenchmen that the British see in caricature. From his rubbery face with large frog- like eyes, to his ill-fitting suits, to his flirtatious humour and his addiction to recounting jokey stories in execrable English, he appeared to my eyes as the typical Frenchman; and I assumed for that reason that everyone must find him loveable to boot. We had a couple of hours to kill after I had been handed over to his care, and I made the mistake of taking him to a cinema where Donald Duck films were being shown. I found these cartoons very funny but, whenever I laughed, he asked me in a loud whisper to translate what Donald had just said - which was problematic for so unskilled a linguist. It didn't take me long to learn that I must refrain from laughing and watch these antics with a straight face.

When we got to Paris, I discovered that Mme [J] was attractive, but just slightly coy and too femininely genteel. She did not have a head for heights, and declined to accompany me when I went up the Eiffel Tower. What astounded me however was to find that she was still waiting there to collect me when I finally came down, a good hour later, even though their house in Paris was only a little distance away, and I remembered well how to find it. But in their responsible way of thinking, she wouldn't dream of letting me walk home unaccompanied.

They were also concerned to invite an elderly French Count to dinner with us one evening, to impress on me - if I understood the manoeuvre correctly - that they too moved in aristocratic circles. But it was a mismatch in that we really didn't have anything to say to one another, and I was aware how I embarrassed my hosts by the choice of some of the phrases that I uttered. When I was hot, I remarked: "Je suis couvert de sueur." At the end of the meal, I stated: "Maintenant je suis plein." And when the subject of French literature cropped up, I was at fault in suggesting that the correct pronunciation of Proust was `Proot' - which I've since been told means `Fart' - thus falling into the trap which had been prepared for my father, during a dinner conversation at Sturford many years previously, by Uncle Oliver and the Stanley cousins. Mr [J] took me to one side after we had left the table to explain why it might be best if I refrained from these linguistic errors.

Once I had accompanied them down to the maternal grandmother's house near Trouville, I found myself incorporated within a large family clan, where Mme [J]'s three sisters had their own broods in holiday residence. But I felt persecuted by the extent to which they all took it upon themselves to be conversing with me, when all I wanted was to find excuses to go wandering off on my own, through fields and woodlands. Their attentiveness, and the need to converse with them in French was such that I developed severe headaches, and even an earache; and then they embarrassed me by insisting that a doctor should be summoned. I wasn't accustomed to all this cosseting, and I felt most foolish.

They had worries too. Henry had insisted that I pack what he regarded as a complete gentleman's wardrobe, including a dinner jacket. Mr [J] on the other hand had sent Jean-Louis to Sturford with little more than the casual clothes in which he arrived. Indeed, he would require no more than that. But they inferred from the fact of me turning up so well equipped with changes of attire, that my own family had grander expectations for my visit than those which I found. The embarrassment on either side was clearly there beneath the surface.

There was also a problem in that none of these French children were really close to my own age. There was Emil at twenty years old, who was already pursuing girls, whilst his younger brother, the twelve year old Jean- Pierre was still playing with his toys. Next in seniority were a couple of pretty girls, Murielle and Annette, who were both too young for me (at that time,) despite the overtly coquettish tone of conversation with which the younger sister regaled me. She brought me out in bouts of blushing on several occasions, for I was quite unaccustomed to such juvenile brazenness in Britain; and it embarrassed me greatly to find that I was displaying an erection quite noticeably, when down on the beach, beneath the flimsy cotton of my boxing shorts.

Humour was a difficult area from the very start - as I should have appreciated when I was watching Donald Duck with Mr [J]. But it also became apparent that there must be gaping holes in what I was capable of finding mirthful, on occasions when they were collectively attempting to explain to me some joke. I recall one most painful experience when Jean-Pierre's mother was trying to get me to understand the humour in calling him le Capitaine du Balais. The meaning of the word balais required translation - as `brush', or `broom'. Yet why should they wish to call him the Captain of the Brush? They indicated to me his tussled hair, but I still didn't laugh. They explained to me about boats, and there being Captains of boats. I still didn't comprehend. I wondered if a pun could be involved - on the words balais and ballet. But I had no idea if there was any such personage as "le Capitaine du Ballet" in that area of entertainment. I remained looking solemn and I could feel my headache returning. Jean-Pierre's mother turned to the others and softly remarked: "Il n'est pas trés intelligent!" - which I understood perfectly and felt most offended.

Before my departure, Daphne had asked me to send them some saucy French postcards. So I took the opportunity of buying some when we were down in the town. Daphne had intended that I send her something in the variety that we bought when on holiday in Cornwall, full of red faced ladies with bulging bums and bosoms. But what I saw in the shops of Trouville were far more scatological: even coprophagous. So I posted a selection of these back home, and was to hear later that they were regarded as being beyond the pale. But they were shown to Jean-Louis who was with them at Sturford, with some ribald queries as to whether this was truly representative of French humour.

The situation then rebounded against me in that he wrote home revealing the kind of postcards that I was sending my parents. And although they never tackled me directly upon the subject, I was aware how Emil now seemed to suppose that my humour - if it existed at all - must be linked to scatology. So he endeavoured to enlarge my vocabulary by telling me some foul words that I strictly mustn't say. And I did promise that I wouldn't utter any of them in front of the older generation.

One of these words was roquet - or dog-shit. But I found myself uttering it quite unintentionally. I was trying to describe an old lady sitting in a rocking chair to them, and I was simulating the movements that she would be making, while guessing what the French verb for `to rock' might be. I kept saying: "Rock- er?.... Rock-er?" But of course that sounded precisely like roquet: especially when I was going through the motions of what looked like someone constipated endeavouring to defecate. And then I noticed in the general silence how Emil was looking aghast - and the penny dropped. Seldom have I found myself blushing so feverishly.

I returned home from this visit to France feeling mentally exhausted. The whole family had been enormously hospitable to me, and they had encouraged me by saying that my standard in French had improved greatly. Not that this was to be reflected in my work back at school. But I had indeed made some progress in my ability to distinguish the words that were being uttered in that language. And more important than that, I had oriented myself in some degree towards the rest of humanity beyond the Channel. I had taken my first step towards becoming a European as opposed to a mere Brit.

When back at Sturford, I was told how Jean-Louis had encountered problems of a reverse kind, in that he was all too eager to engage anyone in English conversation, about all the most serious matters of the day - such as the political and economic situation. It was Henry who was always endeavouring to hide himself away, to save himself from having to think too much. Chris too was held to be at fault for shirking what was stated to be his responsibility in keeping Jean-Louis well entertained. It sounds as if Daphne and Caroline were the only ones to make much of an effort to converse with him, and even then it had to be brief. He probably obtained an impression that the English are very much wrapped up into themselves, without making an effort to communicate their thoughts or to discuss them with others.

For myself, there was now the usual turn of work in the woods for me to perform. The French had found it very odd that my father should send me out to work, when on holiday from school. But this whole business of exchange visits was perhaps for us to learn to appreciate each other's oddities. As far as I am concerned in any case, the fortnight had furnished me with a bundle of memories which have survived.

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