It was during the Easter holidays that I passed my driving test for a motorcycle. And it didn't take me long to have my first accident, although fortunately not a serious one. I was just entering Shrewton from the direction of Stonehenge, where at that time there was a sharp curve to the right on a steep downward slope. I must have been approaching it too fast, so I failed to get round the bend. I came off and went rolling down the road, taking most of the initial impact on my outstretched right hand, which was just slightly cut. But my unprotected head went unscathed.

The accident took place in the vicinity of a fine manor house, where I knocked on the door to ask if I could use their phone. The resident was a certain Mr Smith, who readily phoned Sturford for someone to come to my assistance. And it wasn't long before Donald arrived. We left my dented motorbike for subsequent collection from the manor house, although I discovered later that the damage had been minimal. And Henry's verdict upon the whole business was that the accident would probably do me the world of good, in that a hard knock teaches one - more effectively than any other lesson - to drive with greater caution.

Jaques's attitude towards me at this time can perhaps best be summarised by quoting from his school report on me, at the end of the previous half.

On returning to Eton for the Summer half of 1950, the big question mark concerned whether I'd manage to match my achievements in the boxing ring with similar achievements upon the river. And I succeeded very well in that area. It all started with the Lower VIII's, which I refer to in a letter home.

In the event, we were defeated in the first round by the crew which eventually won: a crew that was stroked by Jocelyn Stevens. But we then easily defeated the other crew, and on this basis were placed third. I was therefore quite astounded when I received a note from Macmillan, the Captain of Boats, telling me that I had been awarded my Lower Boat Choices - which was regarded as a very great honour indeed amongst wet bobs. And it was virtually automatic that I must then also be awarded my Upper Boats when it came to the 4th of June. Out of the four crews, only three Lower Boat Choices caps were awarded. And it was intimated to me that my excellence had been judged largely by observing which oarsman in any crew consistently made the deepest puddle with his blade - even after a prolonged paddle. But I was also regarded as a neat and stylish oarsman, and as a potential stroke for one of the Eton VIII's; an idea which was perhaps enhanced by my reputation as a courageous loser when under pressure in the boxing ring.

I then discovered that I was put to row at 2 in the VIII, but not for very long however. After two outings, I was dropped and set to row at stroke in the 3rd VIII. Macmillan told me not to feel discouraged by the fact that I had been dropped to the 3rd, rather than to the 2nd VIII. He explained that the latter was being picked as a heavy-weight crew, with any lighter oarsmen for the former. And Brocklebank who was coaching the VIII, also took it upon himself to give me words of encouragement, urging me to think about staying on until the next Summer, when I would have put on sufficient weight for serious consideration to be picked to row for Eton. And he showed me a photograph of my grandfather, George Vivian, when he himself was rowing at 2 for Eton - with a weight that was recorded, like my own, as being under 10 stone. But in my case, the heaviness of the others in the crew precluded my own inclusion this year.

The story wasn't complete however, for the 3rd VIII got together very quickly as a crew, and we were soon putting up better times over the same distances than the 2nd VIII. We were then matched against them in a short race, and we beat them. So the following day there was a big reshuffle, with some of the lighter and more vigorous oarsmen - including myself - promoted, whilst the heavier members of the other crew were demoted to take our places. Once again I found myself rowing at 2, with Jocelyn retaining his former position as stroke. And it soon transpired that we were an exceptionally fast crew with good staying power.

On returning to Eton, we were made to pace the VIII and, on the two occasions when a proper race was involved, we beat them. If there had been sufficient time before Henley regatta, there would doubtless have been another big reshuffle between the two crews. But there wasn't time for this. Or it may have been judged an unfair solution for any demoted oarsmen, in that they would have missed out on the opportunity to row for Eton, even in the humbler capacity as members of the 2nd VIII - now that the Marlowe regatta had already been held. So no changes were in fact made.

All these activities upon the river meant that I was still keeping myself very much in the public eye, in matters of school prestige. And there was my prowess as a painter which furnished me with additional charisma, of a very different kind. I felt very much at home within the drawing schools, where I knew that my work was held in high regard. There was always a focus of interest upon whatever I might be painting, since I was more innovative than anyone else at Eton over this period.

Wilfrid Blunt felt that I had made such strides of progress, as a result of him arranging for me to view that exhibition of the Impressionists at Burlington House, that he now invited me to come up to London with him for a first ever viewing of the paintings in the Tate Gallery. And at the end of the day, he asked me which artist's work had impressed me the most. I replied that it was a portrait of a woman by the German painter, Schmidt-Rotluff. This horrified Blunt, who detested the painting. He told me that he thought he perceived the direction in which my development as an artist might now be taking, and he regretted it. But he accepted that it might be a necessary step for my personal sense of evolution in art.

I was also reading a book called A Primer of Modern Art by Seldon Cheyney, an American author. Blunt had his reservations about this too - because it treated the works of the German Expressionists on a par with the French school. Photographs of paintings by Franz Marc impressed me enormously. And over the course of this half, my style veered in that direction. By the conservative standards of art, such as it was taught at Eton, my paintings of this period were indeed most enterprising - even if they caused my teachers to look askance. I was not to be discouraged however, and was spending a great deal of my spare time in the drawing schools.

Perhaps I should quote from the previous half's report that was, on this occasion, written by the other art teacher then at Eton. This was Oliver Thomas - who did in fact give me considerable encouragement, without always approving of the way in which I was developing.

As I write, the school drawing prize is still in progress..... I can safely say he is unlikely to win. [I tied for 2nd place in the final results.] Nevertheless he is the most interesting (though as yet undeveloped) draughtsman in the school, and should not be deterred by failure to win Drawing Prizes. The best advice I can give, I think, is that he should continue to try and perfect his own particular approach to drawing and painting, regardless of what Mr Blunt or myself might say, or of what he might read in any book. Eventually he will find the need for a new aim; then he must change his course, and naturally I hope that something we may say, or might have said, will be helpful to him. In general the most interesting artists work out their own salvation, and this he seems very ready to do. His progress has been rapid.

I took it as a mark of respect for my potential as an artist that, when Mr Howarth summoned me to account for a name-carving on my desk, which I had made a few halves previously during periods of inattention in my French class, he refrained from making me pay to have it removed - a custom which had recently been initiated so as to deter such vandalism - saying that it could stay there intact, since it struck him as being a work of art. I felt most gratified by his judgement.

My literary ambitions had been given a bit of a boost, the previous half, by Graham-Campbell during his sessions of Private Business, for he had set our group the task of learning how to write short stories. I wrote one for him called The Grudge, which was a vast improvement on things that I had previously composed, (and I shall be quoting excerpts from it in the Siblings section of this chapter.) But let it suffice for me to say at this juncture, that the commendations it received encouraged me to agree to what Adam Fergusson had been suggesting, that I should apply to join him in the Praed Society - named after one of Eton's less known poets - where Etonians of any literary ambition meet several times a half, to read to each other the essays, poems or stories which they have authored. And Clive Hardcastle was another of my friends who was urging me to join their group.

It wasn't that I attended many meetings of the Praed Society, but it was important for me in that it furnished a specific goal for my creative writing - which is to say the production of items that I could read to this group, or publish in their magazine which went by the name of Parade. My own contribution for the edition which came out in time for sale on the 4th of June was that short story which I had written for Graham-Campbell. This was the first occasion that I had the pleasure of seeing something that I had written in print.

A savour of the values which I held at this time comes over when reading my letters home which describe the house debates in which I participated - although I never felt at ease when required to express myself verbally. Also indicative are the surviving essays which I wrote for Graham-Campbell over this period. But it would not seem that my views had yet come together in coherent shape. In all such matters, I was doing little more than to formulate my opinions in a manner that registered a cautious attempt at edging back towards a more liberal position - from the extremity of illiberalism such as Henry's own values might dictate. There was seldom any radical departure from his position, and I was more concerned perhaps, with the presentation of what I should believe so that it was couched in patches of purple prose, than with coming to grips with anything controversial in his creed.

In a debate on the issue whether sports are given too much emphasis in an Eton education, I took the conventional line that they are character-building, and that the only way of ensuring that we submit ourselves to their discipline is to keep them compulsory. Then in an essay on the subject of the colour bar, I evidently accept the premise that the average white man is more intelligent than the average black, but I argue that this is no reason why a negro should not be offered equality in opportunity. And on the subject of war, I reason that the distress it causes may be outbalanced by the acceleration to inventive genius which it engenders.

It is only on the subject of art versus science - in a debate on that issue - do I seem determinedly to be setting my face against what Henry might believe, but in support of a position that Daphne might take. I am distrustful of the intentions of scientists, arguing that the quality of life will be improved by taking our inspiration for life's standards from our artists, instead. But I display little ability in the marshalling of facts, or in general argumentation. There was much imprecision in all that I believed. And in reality I was far happier not to be required to define my position on any subject with what might amount to a degree of clarity.

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