EMMA BARRINGTON
1932-1939
44
I’ll never forget the first time I saw him.
He came to tea at the Manor House to celebrate my brother’s twelfth birthday. He was so quiet and reserved that I wondered how he could possibly be Giles’s best friend. The other one, Deakins, was really strange. He never stopped eating and hardly said a word all afternoon.
And then Harry spoke, a soft, gentle voice that made you want to listen. The birthday party had apparently been going swimmingly until my father burst into the room, and then he hardly spoke again. I’d never known my father to be so offhand with anyone, and I couldn’t understand why he should behave in that way towards a complete stranger. But even more inexplicable was Papa’s reaction when he asked Harry when his birthday was. How could such an innocuous question bring on such an extreme reaction? A moment later my father got up and left the room, without even saying goodbye to Giles and his guests. I could see that Mama was embarrassed by his behaviour, although she poured another cup of tea and pretended not to notice.
A few minutes later, my brother and his two friends left to go back to school. He turned and smiled at me before leaving, but just like my mother, I pretended not to notice. But when the front door closed I stood by the drawing-room window and watched as the car disappeared down the driveway and out of sight. I thought I saw him looking out of the back window, but I couldn’t be sure.
After they had left, Mama went straight to my father’s study and I could hear raised voices, which had recently become more and more common. When she came back out, she smiled at me as if nothing unusual had happened.
‘What’s the name of Giles’s best friend?’ I asked.
‘Harry Clifton,’ she replied.
The next time I saw Harry Clifton was at the Advent carol service at St Mary Redcliffe. He sang O Little Town of Bethlehem, and my best friend, Jessica Braithwaite, accused me of swooning as if he was the new Bing Crosby. I didn’t bother to deny it. I saw him chatting to Giles after the service and I would have liked to congratulate him, but Papa seemed to be in a hurry to get home. As we left, I saw his nanny giving him a huge hug.
I was also at St Mary Redcliffe the evening his voice broke, but at the time I didn’t understand why so many heads were turning and some members of the congregation began to whisper among themselves. All I know is that I never heard him sing again.
When Giles was driven to the grammar school on his first day, I begged my mother to let me go along, but only because I wanted to meet Harry. But my father wouldn’t hear of it, and despite my bursting into controlled tears, they still left me standing on the top step with my younger sister Grace. I knew Papa was cross about Giles not being offered a place at Eton, something I still don’t understand, because a lot of boys more stupid than my brother passed the exam. Mama didn’t seem to mind which school Giles went to, whereas I was delighted he was going to Bristol Grammar, because it meant I’d have a better chance of seeing Harry again.
In fact I must have seen him at least a dozen times during the next three years, but he was never able to recall any of those occasions, until we met up in Rome.
The family were all staying at our villa in Tuscany that summer when Giles took me to one side and said he needed to ask my advice. He only ever did that when he wanted something. But this time it turned out to be something I wanted just as much as he did.
‘So what are you expecting me to do this time?’ I asked.
‘I need an excuse to go into Rome tomorrow,’ he said, ‘because I’m meant to be meeting up with Harry.’
‘Harry who?’ I said, feigning indifference.
‘Harry Clifton, stupid. He’s on a school trip to Rome and I promised to get away and spend the day with him.’ He didn’t need to spell out that Papa wouldn’t have approved. ‘All you have to do,’ he continued, ‘is ask Mama if she could take you to Rome for the day.’
‘But she’ll need to know why I want to go into Rome.’
‘Tell her you’ve always wanted to visit the Villa Borghese.’
‘Why the Villa Borghese?’
‘Because that’s where Harry will be at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘But what happens if Mama agrees to take me? Then you’ll be stymied.’
‘She won’t. They’re having lunch with the Hendersons in Arezzo tomorrow, so I’ll volunteer to be your chaperone.’
‘And what do I get in exchange?’ I demanded, as I didn’t want Giles to know how keen I was to see Harry.
‘My gramophone,’ he said.
‘For keeps, or just to borrow?’
Giles didn’t speak for some time. ‘For ever,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Hand it over now,’ I said, ‘or you can forget it.’ To my surprise he did.
I was even more amazed when, the next day, my mother fell for his little ploy. Giles didn’t even have to offer to act as my chaperone; Papa insisted that he accompany me. My deceitful brother made a show of protesting, but finally gave in.
I rose early the following morning and spent some considerable time thinking about what I should wear. It would have to be fairly conservative if my mother wasn’t to become suspicious, but on the other hand I wanted to make sure Harry noticed me.
While we were on the train to Rome, I disappeared into the lavatory and put on a pair of mother’s silk stockings and just a touch of lipstick, not enough for Giles to notice.
Once we’d checked into our hotel, Giles wanted to leave immediately for the Villa Borghese. So did I.
As we walked through the gardens and up towards the villa, a soldier turned to look at me. It was the first time that had happened, and I could feel my cheeks reddening.
No sooner had we entered the gallery than Giles went off in search of Harry. I hung back, pretending to take a great deal of interest in the paintings and statues. I needed to make an entrance.
When I eventually caught up with them, I found Harry chatting to my brother, although Giles wasn’t even pretending to listen to him as he was clearly besotted by the tour guide. If he’d asked me, I could have told him he didn’t have a chance. But older brothers rarely listen to their sisters when it comes to women; I would have advised him to comment on her shoes, which made me quite envious. Men think the Italians are only famous for designing cars. One exception to this rule is Captain Tarrant, who knows exactly how to treat a lady. My brother could learn a lot from him. Giles simply regarded me as his gauche little sister, not that he would have known what the word gauche meant.
I picked my moment, then strolled across and waited for Giles to introduce us. Imagine my surprise when Harry invited me to join him for dinner that night. My only thought was that I hadn’t packed a suitable evening dress. Over dinner, I discovered that my brother had paid Harry a thousand lira to take me off his hands, but he had refused until Giles also agreed to part with his Caruso recording. I told Harry he’d got the records and I’d got the gramophone. He didn’t catch on.
As we crossed the road on the way back to the hotel, he held my hand for the first time, and when we reached the other side, I didn’t let go. I could tell it was the first time Harry had held a girl’s hand, because he was so nervous he was sweating.
I tried to make it easy for him to kiss me when we got back to my hotel, but he just shook hands and said good night as if we were old chums. I hinted that perhaps we might bump into each other again once we were back in Bristol. This time he responded more positively, and even suggested the most romantic location for our next date: the city’s central library. He explained that it was somewhere Giles would never come across us. I happily agreed.
It was just after ten when Harry left and I went up to my room. A few minutes later I heard Giles unlocking his bedroom door. I had to smile. His evening with Caterina can’t have been worth a Caruso recording and a gramophone.
When the family returned to Chew Valley a couple of weeks later, there were three letters waiting for me on the hall table, each with the same handwriting on the envelope. If my father noticed, he said nothing.
During the next month, Harry and I spent many happy hours together in the city library without anyone becoming suspicious, not least because he’d discovered a room where no one was likely to find us, even Deakins.
Once term began and we weren’t able to see each other as often, I quickly became aware just how much I missed Harry. We wrote every other day, and tried to grab a few hours together at the weekends. And that’s how it might have continued, had it not been for the unwitting intervention of Dr Paget.
Over coffee at Carwardine’s one Saturday morning, Harry, who had become quite bold, told me that his English master had persuaded Miss Webb to allow her girls to take part in the Bristol Grammar School play that year. By the time the auditions were held three weeks later, I knew the part of Juliet by heart. Poor innocent Dr Paget couldn’t believe his luck.
Rehearsals meant not only that the two of us could be together for three afternoons a week, but that we were allowed to play the parts of young lovers. By the time the curtain went up on the first night, we were no longer acting.
The first two performances went so well that I couldn’t wait for my parents to attend the closing night, although I didn’t tell my father I was playing Juliet as I wanted it to be a surprise. It wasn’t long after my first entrance that I became distracted by someone noisily leaving the auditorium. But Dr Paget had told us on several occasions never to look into the audience, it broke the spell, so I had no idea who had left so publicly. I prayed it wasn’t my father, but when he didn’t come backstage after the performance I realized my prayer had not been answered. What made it worse was my certainty that his little outburst was aimed at Harry, although I still didn’t know why.
When we returned home that night, Giles and I sat on the stairs and listened to my parents having another row. But it was different this time, because I’d never heard my father be so unkind to Mama. When I could bear it no longer, I went to my room and locked myself in.
I was lying on my bed, thinking about Harry, when I heard a gentle knock on the door. When I opened it, my mother made no attempt to hide the fact that she’d been crying, and told me to pack a small suitcase because we would be leaving shortly. A taxi drove us to the station and we arrived just in time to catch the milk train to London. During the journey, I wrote to Harry to let him know what had happened and where he could get in touch with me. I posted the letter in a box on King’s Cross station before we boarded another train for Edinburgh.
Imagine my surprise when the following evening Harry and my brother turned up at Mulgelrie Castle, just in time for dinner. We spent an unexpected and glorious nine days in Scotland together. I didn’t ever want to return to Chew Valley, even though my father had rung and apologized unreservedly for the way he’d behaved on the night of the play.
But I knew that eventually we would have to go home. I promised Harry on one of our long morning walks that I would try to find out the reason for my father’s continued hostility towards him.
When we arrived back at the Manor House, Papa could not have been more conciliatory. He tried to explain why he had treated Harry so badly over the years, and my mother and Giles seemed to accept his explanation. But I wasn’t convinced he had told us the whole story.
What made things even more difficult for me was that he forbade me to tell Harry the truth about how his father had died, as his mother was adamant that it should remain a family secret. I had a feeling that Mrs Clifton knew the real reason my father didn’t approve of Harry and me being together, although I would have liked to tell them both that nothing and no one could keep us apart. However, it all came to a head in a way I could never have predicted.
I was just as impatient as Harry to find out if he’d been offered a place at Oxford, and we arranged to meet outside the library on the morning after he received the telegram letting him know the result.
I was a few minutes late that Friday morning, and when I saw him sitting on the top step, head in hands, I knew he must have failed.