There was the Diamond Jubilee. All ironclads in the harbour fired salute guns. The Victory moored off the Gosport side of the harbour, and all ships, all windows of the houses either side of the harbour were gay with bunting. At night all ships were outlined with lights and into the sky sped rockets. And the children were carried upstairs to the top floor, up the ladder to the skylight, and so to the roof, from which this fairy scene could be viewed.
An open cab would be hired to take the family to the Haslar Wall, to see the old Victoria and Albert steaming out from harbour, and on board was the great Queen, who was never seen by the family who waved and cheered across the mile or so of water. Time passed, a long long time, and one evening the boys were taken to a children’s party. Like all parties, it was a joyful event, until abruptly a shadow fell and the voices stilled, and all the children were sent home. News had come of the Queen’s death, and the awful solemnity of it entered childish minds not yet able to encompass the fact of death.
The two boys attended a school but a short distance from the rail crossing where the branch line entered the naval victualling yard. They saw the soldiers standing at this crossing and watched the engine appear from the great gates to the yard, then the few carriages, and the draped coffin seen through the windows of one.
The passing of that funeral train marked the end of an era for Arker-Willum, for whom era was to follow era throughout life.
3
To relieve pressure on the home front, Arker-Willum went to live with his grandparents and an unmarried aunt.
Their house was spacious, and had a secluded front lawn, a carriage driveway bordered by beech trees, and a rear garden, where around a central lawn were espaliered apple trees. Near the back wall of brick grew a fine russet apple tree, and beyond the wall lay a new world–the green playing fields of the new barracks occupied by the Royal Marines.
Grandfather Upfield, as many of his generation and class, was stern yet generous, and like his peers the motto by which he lived was ‘My word is my bond’. He was tall and lean and upright. He wore a white square-cut beard and his grey eyes could be penetrating. When setting out to attend business, or a meeting of the town council, invariably he wore a frock-coat and a tall grey hat.
Grandmother was vivacious, intensely practical, and she possessed the gift of diplomacy which maintained her position as ruler of the family without her husband ever suspecting it.
At this time their youngest daughter was unmarried, and her tasks were to assist the old people, watch over the small nephew and supervise two domestics. She was gay, yet could be tight-mouthed, for in her were all the attributes of her parents. She was a great ally to her mother in managing father.
Without fail the family walked the full mile to the Alverstoke church, passing along the elm-lined road, then taking the high-hedged lane crossing farm land to the outer township of Alverstoke. Crocuses heralded the spring, may trees blossomed and the new leaves were delightful to chew. Finally the blackberries bloomed and the fruit was ever enticing. To the child, Lovers’ Lane was always fairyland inhabited by gnomes and elves.
On one occasion as they returned from church, this sylvan world was utterly shattered. Grandfather abruptly began a tirade about the household expenses.
“That milk account!” exploded the old gentleman. “Surely we do not use all that milk?”
“Ratty checked it,” replied grandmother. “Beside, we have Arker-Willum with us. He has to have as much milk as possible. You know very well he is chesty, and the doctor . . .”
“All right! All right! We’ll pass that. But tell me, how did we come to burn three tons of coal, when Mathews sawed up that storm-blown elm? I don’t understand it. It must stop. We have to reduce our spending in conformity with our income.”
“I quite agree,” gently spoke grandmother. “What did you think of Mr. Watson’s reading of the Second Lesson?”
“We will confine ourselves to finance and discuss our spiritual reaction to the new curate at a more appropriate time. We shall certainly have to dispense with Millie.” Millie! Why, Millie was the child’s favourite of the two domestics. “George will have to be told to work only three days a week. The expenses must be brought down.”
“Very well. We’ll do all we can,” came the soft sweet voice of the woman who obeyed.
So it went on all the way home. A tacit silence engulfed the family throughout dinner. Arker-Willum was warned to be seen but not heard, and to leave not one tiny scrap on his plate.
Following the enormous dinner, grandmother retired to her room, and grandfather stalked to the back garden, where he reclined in a chair in the shade of the great apple tree, draped a silk handkerchief over his face, and relaxed. After the chores were done, the domestics retired to their room, and the aunt chose the scripture stories to be read by the nephew.
About half-past three the house came back to normal. Cook prepared afternoon tea in the semi-basement kitchen, and grandmother appeared and went into conference with the aunt. A folded table was taken out and silently put up beside grandfather. Chairs were brought, the aunt set down the tray of tea-things, and grandmother began to pour. “Wake up, Father. Tea is waiting,” she said, and off came the silk handkerchief, and upright sat the martinet. “H’m! Tea! Time has flown, to be sure. What have you been up to, Arker-WilIum?”
“Reading about David, Grandpa.” “Indeed. Quite a hero, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” replied the boy, just a shade doubtful that grandfather’s approbation of David was quite one hundred per cent.
Grandfather sighed, sipped his tea, ate a cake. He said: “Astonishing how time flies. It will soon be your birthday again, Arker-Willum. Soon the stormy winds will blow, and what will the robin do then, poor thing? Yes, before we realise it, the summer will have flown. We must take advantage of what remains of fit. We shall go to Scotland this year.”
So to Scotland they went for five weeks–trains and carriages, mountains and valleys. Edinburgh and the Highlands. Trips on the lochs. And those terrible ogres, expenses and bad trade, were
left behind in the old oak chest.
Arker-Willum was taxed one tea-time with leaving sugar in his teacup. Out came the old cliché: ‘Waste not, want not’. Grandfather promised one penny a week if Arker-Willum dispensed with sugar in his tea. That suited the boy, but the aunt protested that sugar was essential. Grandfather agreed, and then pointed out that the tuppence a week pocket money was doubtless spent on sugar in the form of sweets. He had a good ally. Never since that offer did Arker-Willum take sugar in his tea or coffee, and in later years when he volunteered to wash dishes in a world minus domestic help, discovery of wasted sugar in a tea-cup always annoyed him.
CHAPTER TWO
OFF TO GAOL
I
Those early years spent with the grandparents were to exert a lasting influence over the man-to-be. Young Arthur William met his brothers only when at school, which was then Bond’s Academy, and situated about a mile nearer the centre of Gosport. School was seldom continuous save during the summer, for there were long periods when the boy was confined to his room with bronchitis.
Home discipline, if not quite so rigid, was decidedly beneficial. School homework to be done without aid, and without rebellion. A time to rise and a time to go off to bed. And there were periods when quietness was imposed should grandfather be unwell, or grandmother confined to her room.
Rules obeyed, life was good. Affection was bestowed generously, and the threatened spoiling by the old people was capably balanced by the forethought of the aunt. The boy received every possible advantage. He was the eldest son of the eldest son, and they dreamed dreams for and of him.
Disraeli was dead. Gladstone