not much fun. He is a really dull fellow,’ but on his arrival at John’s home his initial reluctance quickly disappeared.
‘Lucky chap,’ Oliver told John. ‘Smashing garden and big house, cook and gardener too. Lovely grub that cook serves up. I live in suburbia in a semi-detached house and would change places with you any day. I could get rid of that pest of a brother who’s always breaking my toys. No squawking baby sister either. It’s so peaceful here. I love the lake. Have you got a boat? Elizabethan house, isn’t it?’
He was going to enjoy himself after all. He looked with envy at the moat filled with murky brown water that surrounded the house. It conjured up pictures in his boyish mind about the films he had seen depicting Robin Hood – fighting, drawbridges and moats in which the actors fell and died dreadful deaths, arrows often protruding from their backs. A narrow stone bridge now linked the house with the rest of the large garden, drawbridges being a thing of the medieval past, but Oliver thought it was wonderful. He fancied himself as a modern day Robin Hood. His thick fair hair surrounded his head like a halo and he was convinced his vivid blue eyes were a legacy from some prestigious Saxon ancestor. The old ice house intrigued him. He had visions of illicit carcasses of deer being stashed there. The antiques and pictures of men and women in Edwardian clothes that adorned the wall above the large oak staircase in the hall interested him. He had never seen anything like them before. He loved history and was surrounded by objects in a house and grounds that stirred his vivid imagination.
John could not reply. He nodded mutely and turned away. He couldn’t answer his questions or tell him what a barren and miserable place he thought he lived in. Oliver would not understand. Nobody had told him who the stuffy looking men and women in Edwardian clothes were and he did not care about them or the history of his home. John longed to change places with Oliver. He had a mother and father as well as a small brother and baby sister, although he did not seem to love them, especially the brother. He, on the other hand, would appreciate them. It was not fair. His own house and his opulent surroundings oozed money but what good was that without love? He could not understand why pieces of paper and filthy coins should be allowed to determine people’s lives. Having money and a large opulent house did not make a person feel good inside.
There were no other relatives to spoil John, doting aunts or uncles, and he turned to his studies for solace and mental sustenance. He learned to play a number of card games and complicated chess moves; he quite liked solitaire, too. It was not, he discovered, necessary to depend on others for his hobbies and he soon learned how to be independent and rely on himself for amusement. Many indulgent hours were spent arranging his collection of foreign stamps in books. Any attempt to interest his father in his efforts fell upon stony ground. ‘Look at these Dad,’ he would say to his father, ‘aren’t they interesting?’ or ‘Are those worth much? Are they a bargain? Have I spent my pocket money wisely?’ He thought the latter at least would impress his father. After all making money was his father’s chief interest.
‘Will you play chess with me Dad? Please.’ ‘That’s a silly game,’ his father would reply. He really had no idea how to play chess and he did not have the time to learn such a tedious hobby. Stamp collecting, what rot. Business games, in his opinion, would do more to improve John’s mind. The boy would be better employed reading about the business world, stocks and shares, as soon as he was able to appreciate such things.
Jack Lacey rarely held any lengthy conversation with his son. He considered him to be too young to be a decent companion. In his opinion a grunt or two was all the boy merited. Jack had a habit of wiping his face with his hands as
‘Lucky chap,’ Oliver told John. ‘Smashing garden and big house, cook and gardener too. Lovely grub that cook serves up. I live in suburbia in a semi-detached house and would change places with you any day. I could get rid of that pest of a brother who’s always breaking my toys. No squawking baby sister either. It’s so peaceful here. I love the lake. Have you got a boat? Elizabethan house, isn’t it?’
He was going to enjoy himself after all. He looked with envy at the moat filled with murky brown water that surrounded the house. It conjured up pictures in his boyish mind about the films he had seen depicting Robin Hood – fighting, drawbridges and moats in which the actors fell and died dreadful deaths, arrows often protruding from their backs. A narrow stone bridge now linked the house with the rest of the large garden, drawbridges being a thing of the medieval past, but Oliver thought it was wonderful. He fancied himself as a modern day Robin Hood. His thick fair hair surrounded his head like a halo and he was convinced his vivid blue eyes were a legacy from some prestigious Saxon ancestor. The old ice house intrigued him. He had visions of illicit carcasses of deer being stashed there. The antiques and pictures of men and women in Edwardian clothes that adorned the wall above the large oak staircase in the hall interested him. He had never seen anything like them before. He loved history and was surrounded by objects in a house and grounds that stirred his vivid imagination.
John could not reply. He nodded mutely and turned away. He couldn’t answer his questions or tell him what a barren and miserable place he thought he lived in. Oliver would not understand. Nobody had told him who the stuffy looking men and women in Edwardian clothes were and he did not care about them or the history of his home. John longed to change places with Oliver. He had a mother and father as well as a small brother and baby sister, although he did not seem to love them, especially the brother. He, on the other hand, would appreciate them. It was not fair. His own house and his opulent surroundings oozed money but what good was that without love? He could not understand why pieces of paper and filthy coins should be allowed to determine people’s lives. Having money and a large opulent house did not make a person feel good inside.
There were no other relatives to spoil John, doting aunts or uncles, and he turned to his studies for solace and mental sustenance. He learned to play a number of card games and complicated chess moves; he quite liked solitaire, too. It was not, he discovered, necessary to depend on others for his hobbies and he soon learned how to be independent and rely on himself for amusement. Many indulgent hours were spent arranging his collection of foreign stamps in books. Any attempt to interest his father in his efforts fell upon stony ground. ‘Look at these Dad,’ he would say to his father, ‘aren’t they interesting?’ or ‘Are those worth much? Are they a bargain? Have I spent my pocket money wisely?’ He thought the latter at least would impress his father. After all making money was his father’s chief interest.
‘Will you play chess with me Dad? Please.’ ‘That’s a silly game,’ his father would reply. He really had no idea how to play chess and he did not have the time to learn such a tedious hobby. Stamp collecting, what rot. Business games, in his opinion, would do more to improve John’s mind. The boy would be better employed reading about the business world, stocks and shares, as soon as he was able to appreciate such things.
Jack Lacey rarely held any lengthy conversation with his son. He considered him to be too young to be a decent companion. In his opinion a grunt or two was all the boy merited. Jack had a habit of wiping his face with his hands as
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