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Authors: Chris Priestley
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others.'
'Don't be silly, Herbert,.' said his mother. 'I think it is very thoughtful of them. The rabbit will be delicious and look, here's a plum pie and there's some honey. You must be sure to thank them in your sermon. They do not have so very much, Herbert. This is very generous.'
'What on earth is all this?' said Robert's father, peeping suspiciously under a layer of muslin and into a wicker basket.
'I rather think they are offerings,.' said a voice behind them. Robert, along with his parents, turned at the sound of the voice to find a tall man in his forties standing in the doorway, hat in hand, dressed in a tweed suit, a wide grin shining out from under a thick black moustache that curved up to meet his sideburns.
The man introduced himself as Arthur Trewain, the local doctor.
'I live on the other side of the village. I was just passing and thought I ought to say hello.'
Robert's father stepped towards him and shook his hand.
'Reverend Sackville - Herbert Sackville. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr Trewain,.' he said. 'May I introduce my wife?'
'Mrs Sackville,.' said the doctor, taking her outstretched hand. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.' He turned and looked at Robert, whom his father clearly had no intention of introducing.
'And this must be your son,.' he said.
'Yes,.' said his mother. 'This is Robert.'
'How do you do, Robert,.' said Dr Trewain, holding out a hand, which Robert took and shook. 'I expect you shall find us a little dull. There are no suitable boys for you to play with, I'm afraid. Young David Linklater is about your age, but he is in London for the rest of the holidays.'
Robert said that he would be quite all right - there were only two weeks left of the holidays and then he would be back at school. Dr Trewain smiled, nodded and then retreated backwards out of the door, saying that he should really let them unpack. 'If you need anything,.' he said as he replaced his hat. 'Please do not hesitate to ask.'
'Perhaps you might like to come to dinner?' said Robert's father.
'I would like that very much,.' said the doctor.
'Of course, you must,.' said Robert's mother. 'And is there a Mrs Trewain, may I ask?'
'You may,.' said Dr Trewain. 'But there is not, sadly. I have never found anyone willing to take me on. The life of a doctor's wife is not to everyone's taste.'
'Nor the life of a vicar's,.' said Reverend Sackville with a smile and a sigh. 'I count myself very lucky indeed to have such a wife as Elizabeth.'
'And so you should,.' said Mrs Sackville with a laugh. 'What do you say to coming over on Friday evening?'
'I would be honoured,.' said the doctor.
The next few days moved horribly slowly and Robert counted the hours until he was to return to school - to escape, to be himself. He longed for the company of other boys. He felt uncomfortable about the village and not just because he was a newcomer.
Being the vicar's son was a burden he had shouldered all his life, but it became no easier to bear for all its familiarity. It was as if, by being the son of a man of the cloth, he was expected to behave as if it were a family business he was about to inherit.
But Robert had no interest in following his father into the Church. He wanted to live his own life, to steer his own course. Besides, though he could never, never have brought himself to tell his father, the fact was he simply did not believe in the God his father had pledged his life to serve.
Dr Trewain certainly seemed to be right about the dullness of the village. There were no 'suitable' children to play with, and even the unsuitable ones seemed disinclined to visit the vicarage or its environs. So Robert moved listlessly about the garden, regressing into some of his old amusements: looking for nests among the shrubs and hunting for bugs among the terracotta pots and edging stones of the drive.
But he was always drawn back to the rear of the house - to its permanent and dreamy twilight. Perhaps the very fact that it was
'Don't be silly, Herbert,.' said his mother. 'I think it is very thoughtful of them. The rabbit will be delicious and look, here's a plum pie and there's some honey. You must be sure to thank them in your sermon. They do not have so very much, Herbert. This is very generous.'
'What on earth is all this?' said Robert's father, peeping suspiciously under a layer of muslin and into a wicker basket.
'I rather think they are offerings,.' said a voice behind them. Robert, along with his parents, turned at the sound of the voice to find a tall man in his forties standing in the doorway, hat in hand, dressed in a tweed suit, a wide grin shining out from under a thick black moustache that curved up to meet his sideburns.
The man introduced himself as Arthur Trewain, the local doctor.
'I live on the other side of the village. I was just passing and thought I ought to say hello.'
Robert's father stepped towards him and shook his hand.
'Reverend Sackville - Herbert Sackville. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr Trewain,.' he said. 'May I introduce my wife?'
'Mrs Sackville,.' said the doctor, taking her outstretched hand. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.' He turned and looked at Robert, whom his father clearly had no intention of introducing.
'And this must be your son,.' he said.
'Yes,.' said his mother. 'This is Robert.'
'How do you do, Robert,.' said Dr Trewain, holding out a hand, which Robert took and shook. 'I expect you shall find us a little dull. There are no suitable boys for you to play with, I'm afraid. Young David Linklater is about your age, but he is in London for the rest of the holidays.'
Robert said that he would be quite all right - there were only two weeks left of the holidays and then he would be back at school. Dr Trewain smiled, nodded and then retreated backwards out of the door, saying that he should really let them unpack. 'If you need anything,.' he said as he replaced his hat. 'Please do not hesitate to ask.'
'Perhaps you might like to come to dinner?' said Robert's father.
'I would like that very much,.' said the doctor.
'Of course, you must,.' said Robert's mother. 'And is there a Mrs Trewain, may I ask?'
'You may,.' said Dr Trewain. 'But there is not, sadly. I have never found anyone willing to take me on. The life of a doctor's wife is not to everyone's taste.'
'Nor the life of a vicar's,.' said Reverend Sackville with a smile and a sigh. 'I count myself very lucky indeed to have such a wife as Elizabeth.'
'And so you should,.' said Mrs Sackville with a laugh. 'What do you say to coming over on Friday evening?'
'I would be honoured,.' said the doctor.
The next few days moved horribly slowly and Robert counted the hours until he was to return to school - to escape, to be himself. He longed for the company of other boys. He felt uncomfortable about the village and not just because he was a newcomer.
Being the vicar's son was a burden he had shouldered all his life, but it became no easier to bear for all its familiarity. It was as if, by being the son of a man of the cloth, he was expected to behave as if it were a family business he was about to inherit.
But Robert had no interest in following his father into the Church. He wanted to live his own life, to steer his own course. Besides, though he could never, never have brought himself to tell his father, the fact was he simply did not believe in the God his father had pledged his life to serve.
Dr Trewain certainly seemed to be right about the dullness of the village. There were no 'suitable' children to play with, and even the unsuitable ones seemed disinclined to visit the vicarage or its environs. So Robert moved listlessly about the garden, regressing into some of his old amusements: looking for nests among the shrubs and hunting for bugs among the terracotta pots and edging stones of the drive.
But he was always drawn back to the rear of the house - to its permanent and dreamy twilight. Perhaps the very fact that it was
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