8.4: Parents: maintaining an authoritarian upbringing

Henry's attitude towards a daughter had always been utterly different from his attitude towards any of his sons. Caroline had never been disciplined in the manner that we had been. And now that she was an adult, who was virtually engaged to be married to someone who would be a Duke someday, he always gave her as much liberty as she might desire. As far as daughters are capable of fulfilling a father's ambitions, it might be said that Caroline had done just this for him.

With the boys, there was always some basic impatience in his outlook which reflected an idea that we weren't really developing in accordance with his textbook expectations. He was apt to take for granted the areas where our conformity might be just as good as he desired, while his critical concern focused upon aspects where he expected improvement. And there was a certain irritability in his demeanour towards us, which amounted in effect to keeping us at a distance. He did not feel that empathy, or even tenderness, were appropriate qualities within a father/son relationship.

A savour of his attitude towards me might be conveyed by quoting in full a letter which he wrote to me at the end of the Michaelmas half - giving me my instructions for coming up to London.

His letters to me were now invariably dictated to his secretary, which accentuated the impersonal character of his communications. I also resented it somewhat that he should thus be making his coolness towards me so manifestly public, by conveying it to me in a letter that had been typed thus, by this third party. For these purposes, a handwritten note would have been less injurious to my pride.

But I swallowed my sense of resentment about all this, because I knew it to be in character with the patterns of conduct Henry had set. No one else - not even my schoolmasters - saw fit to dictate my movements in this fashion. But Henry never sensed how the warmth was lacking from his behaviour. Indeed, I had heard him telling Robin Campbell over the course of a dinner conversation, that affection wasn't really important in a father-son relationship. What was important, by his standards, was that a son should respect his father. Everyone took it for granted that such a respect was in my heart - as indeed it was. I liked the idea that I might grow to be even more like him in personality, as I grew older. But it would have helped greatly if there had been some notion in his head about the need for a father to feel respect for his son.

There were occasions when the subject of parental relationships cropped up at Eton, and I was made aware how my friends formed the impression that Henry must be an utter martinet. I can remember John Ganzoni remarking that he could never have stood for such parade ground discipline within the home environment. We always thought that he was a bit of a cosseted child. But it made me feel faintly ineffective, to know that I endured such discipline submissively, whereas others might have revolted long ago.

And there were those who visited Sturford who saw all too clearly that there was trouble brewing. For Henry delighted in showing off to his visitors just how much he was in command of the home environment - as if the obedience in us that he could put on display to them, would accredit him with their admiration: much as credit might accrue to a ringmaster, in proportion to the obedience of his performing dogs. But I can remember Robin remarking to him: "You'd better watch out, Henry. One day the boot will be on the other foot!"

In point of fact, the friendship between Robin and Henry was now on the wane. The explanation furnished for me by my father, at the time, was that Robin was far too arty in his whole attitude to life. Perhaps this was stated as a mild discouragement to myself, in case I was contemplating development in such a direction. Or perhaps it was a cover story concealing the fact that the Campbells may have been assisting Daphne in the development of her relationship with Xan Fielding. But in any case, there were now far fewer occasions when they came to visit us at Sturford.

I wasn't really aware if any of the relationships in which Henry and Daphne indulged were fully consummated. There was much uncertainty in my mind as to the extent that any married couples might be unfaithful to one another. I did know that Henry no longer shared Daphne's bedroom. But there was always the possibility that the explanation might be that they were simply too old for such sexual games. An absence of understanding concerning how humans actually behave was quite prevalent throughout my contemporaries at Eton - even when it came to assessing the behaviour within their own families.

As far as I was concerned, Xan Fielding had been one of the more interesting guests at Sturford. His background as a former secret agent during the war years, in both Crete and in France, attributed him with glamour in my eyes. And he had a certain literary reputation, to boot, which elevated his conversation above the banality which often prevailed at the Sturford dining-room table. I looked forward to his visits. But they were rare nowadays, although it was known to us that Daphne had been on a visit to Crete with him - assisting him in his research, as we were told.

I don't think it ever occurred to me that Virginia Tennant was Henry's rather special friend. After all she was married to David Tennant, Lord Glenconner's younger brother, and I always thought of them as a couple. I had encountered them but rarely. The very first occasion that I set my eyes upon Virginia, I had in fact noted how she was looking at me intently, from a slinky pose on the sofa - with her head drooping forward on her shoulders. It had struck me that she was most attractive. And I noted it too when Henry told me how she got a pretty rough time from her husband, whom he portrayed as a drunk.

Never once did it occur to me that the marriage might soon break up. We were all of us well inured to the way they were apt to quarrel. Indeed, Christopher once told me how he sometimes listened at the door which partitioned their side of the house from ours, and knew how they were sometimes screaming at one another. But I didn't suppose that such behaviour was by any means exceptional in married life. I supposed that they were by now so well accustomed to one another as marital partners that nothing could disrupt that situation. I don't think that we children felt any real worries on that score.

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