Date: Sat, 20 Mar 2004 16:27:18 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdins Awakening:  Part 98

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws
of your country or district please desist.  If you are a bigot or
prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking
literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to
yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.

This is a very long tale.  It unfolds over a good number of years.  What is
true, is true: what is not is otherwise.

			    ALADDIN'S AWAKENING

				    By

				   Joel


			  CHAPTER 59 (Continued)

			  Vignettes From My Life

			  23:   1970 (Continued)

Next morning at breakfast Sayed just shook his head and smiled at me when
the pair entered chattering away together quite oblivious to others in the
room.  On spotting Sayed Ibrahim made a very courtly bow.  "Your
Excellency, greetings.  I am sorry I am late but I was detained."

     Jody and Stephen turned up well in time for lunch.  Jody was in the
corps de ballet still but was hoping with extra training he was having to
audition for a couple of roles in forthcoming productions.  Stephen said it
was money for old rope dancing in the show, great fun though, and Grandpa
said he'd got the nicest legs on stage.  The legs were on full show on this
hot day as Stephen had changed into James's old green running shorts and we
could all agree with Grandpa.  I looked at Ibrahim who was almost licking
his lips.  But, although I knew that Stephen was not averse to mutual
comfort, I didn't think he was fully inclined that way.  Francis must have
sensed it too.  He looked at Ibrahim, smiled and shook his head slightly.
Ibrahim nodded.  Message received.

                              *
     Whatever had transpired between Francis and Ibrahim meant he visited
quite frequently staying, generally, at Tony and Francis's house.  If Sayed
was visiting then Ibrahim stayed with us and the ubiquitous 'phone
repairers were quietly in the background.  Tony said everything was quite
open between them.  He had made his commitment now to Francis but he
realised Francis could be tempted but as long as he knew it didn't worry
him.  He was often away so the arrangement seemed to work perfectly.

                              *
     Just before term began in Cambridge in October I was awoken about two
thirty in the morning by the 'phone ringing by the bed.  It was Lachs.
Very quickly he explained he'd just heard that Audrey, Courtney and Penny
had perished in a plane crash just outside Seattle.  It was Courtney's
private plane and he'd been advised not to fly because of impending bad
weather.  But, he'd insisted it was safe and that was that.  Would I meet
him at the ballet school before the newspapers arrived so we could talk to
Stephen?  Both Khaled and Safar had also heard the 'phone and came along to
our bedroom.  They both said they wanted to come with me and Anne said it
would be best for them to be with me and she would stay at home because, no
doubt, Stephen's uncle Antony would 'phone from the States as soon as he
heard the news.

     We set out in the car for London and then on to the ballet school and
got there just before six a.m.  Lachs was there with the plain-clothes
Marine as his driver.  The porter had been told and one of the matrons was
waiting for us.

     I went into Stephen's room with Safar while the others waited outside.
He was very puzzled when Safar gently woke him.  I told him very quietly
about the tragedy and both Safar and I hugged him.  He was very composed.
He'd never known his mother, or his sister, and had only seen Courtney, or
his mother, on the cinema screen.  It was no loss to him.  It was only if
the newspapers made any connections.  The three boys then sat with him as
Lachs and I discussed tactics if any nosey journalist should come sniffing.
We listened to the seven o'clock news and there was a bare mention of the
plane crash.  Nothing more.
  In fact, no-one made any connections.  Audrey's divorce was far enough
back in the newspaper files for it to have been forgotten.  In all the
publicity and newspaper articles since in their countless thousands there
had never been a mention of a son, only of the daughter.

     Only Antony had ever kept in touch and he was now living permanently
in Los Angeles.  He alone from that family remembered Stephen's birthdays
and on the occasions he had visited England had visited us.  He was always
very apologetic about his sister but he had also been rejected by her.
Francis had shown me one day some time ago one of the tabloids he'd picked
up in the Junior Common Room detailing a so-called 'orgy' which Audrey and
Courtney had hosted.  Whether it was journalistic rubbish or truth we were
not to know but Antony did say on more than one occasion that he thought
the pair and their friends hit the bottle and did drugs.  Francis said no
way would he show Stephen the article.

     Stephen heard many months later that the only legacy he would be
getting was just under thirty thousand dollars.  All the enormous sums of
money the pair had earned as quite well-known film stars had been frittered
away and that was all that was left.  I think hearing about the money upset
Stephen more than the news of the plane crash.  He didn't want the money.
It came from someone who had rejected him entirely.  Lachs arranged for it
to be put in a long-term investment as a pension for many years ahead when
he could accept it.

                              *

     On Sunday December the twenty-seventh just as we were about to sit
down for lunch there was a 'phone call for Khaled.  It was Sayed.  He had
just heard of the birth of Khaled's son, to be named Iyad.  He would come
to see Khaled the next day and stay for a few days if he may.  Khaled's
face was a picture when he came back in to tell us.  He burst into tears
and rushed to Anne.  "My son," he cried, "What can I do?"  The other lads
crowded round him, full of smiles and congratulations.  Anne waved them
back.  "You must wait until he's old enough to come to visit you.  You know
he'll always be welcome here."  The others then hugged him and said the
first thing he had to do was 'phone James and tell him.


                         24.  1971

     The year passed quite peacefully.  In May Khaled had his finals and
finished with a good First as well.  He was relieved as he'd found the last
year's work quite difficult.  No worries.  Almost immediately he joined the
staff of a finance house with a base in Cambridge and carried on living
with us.  Francis and Grunty were now fully fledged doctors having passed
everything most satisfactorily.  They were staying on at Addenbrookes as
housemen and Grunty was going to specialise, as his father had, in
developmental studies.  Francis thought he would continue in general
medicine.

     It was Safar's turn to depart.  Again, a law unto himself, like James.
In his quiet determined way he'd gone for an interview at King's, had
impressed the music faculty with his piano and flute playing and had been
accepted for a joint degree in Music and French.  He passed his A levels
easily so in October he moved quarters to the college.  However, I saw him
regularly as I gave him extra tuition in French, but in my college room.
  As with the others he was banned from home during term time.  As with the
others, though, washing seemed to get through the cordon.  When he came
home at Christmas I fished out from an unclaimed pile of shirts, socks, a
rugger shirt and underpants, all in rather small size, a bright blue
jockstrap.  He claimed the lot with no compunction and grabbed the
jockstrap from me saying all the team had had them dyed as they were
convinced it was their lucky colour.  Not much luck, he admitted, they'd
lost the last match 21, 6.


                         25.  1972

     Stephen would be eighteen in April so would be finishing his training
in the Summer.  He was now five feet eight and was beautifully
proportioned.  He said that he was practising very hard for the Easter
performance as all the representatives from the theatres and ballet
companies would be there.  His reports had always been consistently good
and each praised not only his technique but also the way in which he
interpreted any role he was given to dance.

     We had the usual invitation to the performance and a large contingent
from the family assembled to see what he was going to do.  Whatever it was
had been prepared in great secrecy - at least as far as the family was
concerned.  We arrived all agog and scanned the programme.  There was the
usual 'class' demonstration by the youngsters then several solo or group
dances with, strangely, the big extravaganza for the whole school at the
end of the first part.  The second part was, again, solos, pas de deux and
some short ensembles and then the last piece was baldly announced as
'L'Apres Midi d'un Faun' interpreted by Stephen Cameron Thomson.

     We had been ushered into the front row and I was sitting between Anne
and James.  James had wheedled a couple of days off from work in Chester as
he had said he wasn't going to miss seeing his little brother in his tutu.
At least that's what he informed Stephen before the afternoon started.

     As usual the whole series of performances were superb.  Lisa had a
very interesting pas de deux with a very accomplished young man.  Stephen
did appear as one of a pair of Chinese mandarins in the extravaganza.
There was much chat during the interval about the strange way the programme
had been designed.  Usually, the big 'show' was at the end.  What was this?
A solo dance?  I heard several very elegantly turned out ladies, who looked
like retired ballerinas, discussing the second half quite avidly and there
was Ma chatting up someone I found out as we sat down was the ballet critic
of the Times.  She said he had told her there was a fair sprinkling of
theatre and ballet group representatives around.

     What was also interesting was that it seemed that all the performers
from the first half had joined the audience.  Most were still in their
costumes and two of the older boys had squeezed themselves into the second
row behind us.  They, too, were whispering avidly and I heard Stephen's
name mentioned several times.  They were obviously friends of his.  Each of
the dances in the second half drew great applause.  I heard one boy say to
his neighbour it was 'a damn good year'.  It certainly was.  Then we
reached the last item.  An expectant hush fell over the audience.  The lad
behind whispered to his mate, 'This is it!'.

     As the first eerie notes of the flute sounded so the curtain rose to
reveal a grassy knoll.  Two statuesque figures dressed as nymphs were at
the back of the stage, but, draped on the knoll was a strange creature.
Short golden hair with a golden circlet, a golden body, with trunk and legs
encased in dappled tights with a short, brown, curved tail.  The faun was
asleep.  At the first chord within the orchestra it began to stir.  To
gradually stretch.  Silence, then it stretched again as the horn and flute
intertwined.  For ten minutes we watched the most sensuous dancing one
could ever imagine.  Once awake the faun explored around, spying on the
pair of nymphs, catching butterflies with movements so controlled you could
almost see them darting about.  There were gentle leaps and then as the
music swelled at points there were more daring leaps.  The two nymphs moved
very slowly as if bathing but did not detract from the solo figure in front
of them.  One could feel the sultriness of that perfect afternoon as the
faun picked handfuls of the gleaming sunlight, soared with imaginary birds,
its legs scissoring, and pursued small creatures twisting and turning,
then, for the last two minutes of the exquisite music, gradually, tired
from his exertions, went into repose again.  But how does a faun end an
afternoon of bliss?  As the flute exchanged melodies with the violins so
the faun began to caress himself.  Beginning by stroking his back but then
just as the oboe took over the air it became perfectly clear what the faun
really loved caressing although we only had a back view as he lay
contentedly back on the knoll.  To the final harp and strings chords the
faun's buttocks gave four sensual twitches.  The music ended and the
curtain dropped.

     There must have been almost ten seconds of absolute silence and a
collective gasp followed by such a storm of applause.  We had witnessed
something truly beautiful and sensational.  People began to stand, clapping
as loudly as they could.  The two lads behind remained seated but others
were up and shouting out 'Bravo'.  I went to stand but James put out a
restraining hand.

     "Don't stand up, Dad, please. I can't!" He just about gasped out.

     I looked him.  He was red-faced and had a glazed look in his eyes.

     He looked at me, slowly closed his eyes, and opened them again.  The
curtain rose to reveal the single standing figure of Stephen.  The applause
was deafening.  James leaned over to me and whispered "I did shoot a load
that time.  What did he do?"

     There had been a real gasp from both the lads behind us, too.

     I turned and looked at the two boys.  I closed my eyes slightly and
nodded towards James.  They both nodded.  Neither of them were able to
stand up.  Truth to tell I had a hardon as well and I defied any male,
straight, gay, bi-sexual, hermaphrodite, whatever, to have sat through that
performance without experiencing the sheer sensuousness of it in a very
positive way.

     Stephen took his bows with an impassive face until one of the small
girls shyly brought him a bunch of flowers.  His face lit up into that
Stephen smile.  I looked at James.  Tears were coursing down his cheeks.
"That's my brother," he whispered.  Stephen took four curtain calls and the
applause was still going on.

     "I need to go to the lav, Dad," whispered James again.  "Will you walk
there with me before anybody stops to talk to us."

     The boys in the row behind were still in their costumes.  Luckily,
tunics and hose.  One leaned over and tapped James on the shoulder.
"Happened to us, too.  He's a star!"

     He smiled, turned and said, so proudly, "That's my brother!"

     People were too busy talking to each other to notice a lad and his
father closely followed by two costumed boys.  They smiled at James as they
went through a door at the side of the stage.  They would need to clean up,
too.  I had a pee as James went into a stall.  I heard plenty of toilet
paper being torn off.  Having finished I sauntered back out.  There was a
large group congregated round Stephen who now had a cloak round his
shoulders so he didn't get cold.  Lachs and Flea were talking animatedly
with him and then he was commandeered by three men with notebooks with Anne
standing by him - one I recognised as being the chap Ma had been talking to
earlier.  Ma was sitting with Pa at the end of the row with Jody between
them.  Jody looked so happy.  He beckoned me.

     "I don't think anyone here has ever seen anything like it.  Nureyev
will have to watch out in a year or two!  God!  I couldn't have done that!"

     Ma said she had never seen anything so beautifully executed.  Pa just
had a dazed look.  I looked round for Francis and the others.  They were in
a group surrounding Lisa and a bevy of nymphs, shepherdesses and assorted
others, mostly female.  Francis came over and sat by me and Ma.

     "That was really something, wasn't it.  Tony's talking to a big-shot
from the Royal Ballet over there."  He waggled his eyebrows.  "He knows him
well.  I heard him say he'll be offered a contract if he'll accept."  He
looked around.  "Where's James?"

     "Problems of a delicate nature," I said quietly.

     "I am not surprised," he said emphatically and grinned.  "I had to
grit my teeth and think of Patagonia myself!  I think those two lads behind
us had problems, too!"

     We had been sitting for a while and Anne had left Stephen to come and
sit with us.

     "There'll be things in the papers tomorrow.  Times, Telegraph and
Guardian all asking questions just now.  Stephen's taking it all with such
coolness."

     Time passed as so many people wanted to say something to Stephen and
the two ballet lads, now dressed in shirts and slacks, came up to us.  "Are
you Stephen's mum?" one of them asked Anne.  She said she was.  "He's so
good," he breathed, "Please tell him, he'll just think we're joking.  We're
friends.  I'm Barry and this is Dave."  He smiled.  "He's a great lad!"

     At long last Stephen managed to get away.  He came over and stood in
front of Anne and me and put a hand out for each to hold.  "I don't think I
could run a mile like James, or pass all those exams like Francis, but I
can dance.  Thanks for everything, that was for you!"  He smiled that open,
sweet smile.  "And Uncle Lachs....," He always referred to his father like
that.  "....has made a reservation at the Cumberland Hotel for us all for
dinner tonight.  Got to go and change."  He scurried off, a golden, dappled
faun, only stopping to tell the two ballet lads they were invited as well.

     Stephen accepted the contract and Jody soon joined him within the
Royal Ballet company.  They shared a room at the London flat.  Stephen told
me he wasn't gay as everyone assumed as he lived with Jody.  Jody was, but
other than being with Stephen, did not seem to have any entanglements.
Stephen said Jody had instructed him to tell me this.  I said I'd guessed
it long ago and he could tell me himself when he next saw me.  Stephen
laughed and said that was exactly what he'd told Jody.  Anyway, they were
very good friends, but - and he said it with that twinkle - they could act
the parts if necessary.  I added the unsaid, 'frequently'.  The other bit
of information, which again I had guessed, was that Buck and Fabien were
the two boys Stephen had mentioned as sleeping together and were the ones
who had helped Jody come to terms with his gayness.  The news was that both
wanted to be together and were moving to Canada to Montreal in the same
company.

     Of course, our other big celebration was that on Easter Saturday,
April the First of all days, Grunty married Valerie Michaels and a great
time was had by all.  Francis was his best man and Lisa and Caroline were
bridesmaids.  Caroline got married the next weekend to an aspiring actor,
Garth Ravendale, she'd met when doing a stint behind the scenes at the ADC
theatre in Cambridge, so the festivities were duplicated.


                         26.  1973

     The year opened with sad news, Uncle Dick, the eldest of the three
brothers, had a heart attack and died.  I went with Francis and James to
the funeral.  It was a big affair as he was a well-known figure.  My three
cousins and their families were there.  Gareth was putting on weight.  He
was now on the board as head of production of a large engineering works.
He was complaining that our manufacturing base was disappearing fast.  The
steel industry that Uncle Dick had worked for was moribund and the pits
were closing fast.  His son, Graham, another 'gret dark cousin', had
completed a BSc and was working for a PhD in Plasma Technology.  After
three minutes I was dazed by the technicalities and the apparent future
usefulness so was glad we were interrupted by his sister, Amanda, who told
him to stop boring the pants off everybody.  She was just like Auntie Faye,
vivacious and lively and extremely pretty.  She had obtained a BSc in
Psychology and was now training to be a clinical psychologist.  Neither of
the kids had followed mum into a medical degree.

     Rhys was there with his son, Richard, named after his grandfather.
Under the circumstances Rhys was as lively as ever.  He gave his usual good
report on James who had settled down well and was very popular with
clients.  "And what about the stunner he's got for a girl friend?"  This
was news for Francis and me.  He'd certainly kept that quiet!  We were told
she was the daughter of a prosperous farmer who was a client of the firm
and Richard's comment was "She's a bit of alright!".  Richard also intended
to join the family firm because he was at Pa's old university, Manchester,
reading Law.

     Simon, that over-developed, truculent nearly-sixteen-year-old was now
an even taller, most self-possessed twenty-year-old.  He was in his second
year, also at Manchester, and the two second cousins shared a flat.  He was
reading his planned subject, Biology, and was off next summer on a
collecting trip in some remote part of Peru.  He had a prominent piece of
sticking plaster on his forehead and a bandage round two fingers on his
left hand.  "Had a bit of a barney in the scrum," he explained.  Another
foolish boy, playing rough games!

     As soon as James came back to Francis and me, where we were talking to
Gareth and his daughter Amanda, Francis asked him immediately about the
girlfriend we knew nothing about.

     "What's her name?" he asked, "And how long has this been going on?"

     "Her name's Diane and I'll murder Richie when I get hold of him, I bet
he told you!"

     "More, more!" demanded his brother.

     James wrinkled his nose.  "She's OK.  I like her." He grinned at me.
"Just have to wait and see."

     He certainly wasn't going to disclose more.

     A bit later he cornered me and I thought I would have heard a bit
more.
  No, he had other news.

     "Dad, you know that name crossed out in Piers' diary at the time of
one of the vicar's sermons things." he started without preamble.

     I thought back.  Yes, I knew the name.  How could I forget as it was
connected with one of Tom's strange outbursts.  "Yes, it was Gordon Thomas,
wasn't it?"

     He smiled and nodded.  "Thought so," he said, "Funny coincidence.
I've just had to deal with a Will and estate for someone who's just died.
His name was Gordon Thomas.  Major Gordon Thomas, late of the Indian Army
and an old boy of that school.  He was seventy-three so that would be
right, too."  He looked at me, carefully.  "He wasn't very nice."  He
paused.  "When I tell you that, there were some peculiar stories about him
which I heard when I had to visit the village he lived in.  He had a big
house in the village but that had gone to rack and ruin.  I was told he'd
been at odds with half the village over disputes about land he said he
owned and he was banned from the local pub.  There were other stories, too
He had one son who wanted nothing to do with him because as he said to me
his father had been cruel and intolerant of him as a kid and he used to get
beaten regularly for no reason so he'd left home as soon as possible.  So
it was all rather awkward.
  I got the general impression he'd been a thoroughly nasty character."  He
waited a moment.  "What happened at Ulvescott?"

     I was in a quandary.  But I suppose I could tell my lawyer son the
truth.  We went into another room in the hotel where we had congregated
after the funeral.

     "I'll tell you the whole story, James, but it is between us."

     He nodded.  I then went through the whole story of how Tom on two
occasions seemed to be acting in another's character.  His second sight.  I
said he'd tried to rape me.  James started back at that.  I assured him
nothing happened and Tom seemed to have no recollection about it.  I said
about finding the entry about Gordon and how his name had ben crossed out
and I guessed he'd tried to rape Piers.  James nodded gravely.  I went on
to tell him about the second occasion when Tom seemed to have acted out
being Miles.
  I said the names were Thomas and Buchan, the second being pretty close to
Tom's surname.  I said Tom had also found the black market stuff and knew
where the dog was and his mother had said he'd shown he had the second
sight on other occasions.

     I think James was quite relieved to hear this.

     "Dad, I have to tell you this.  Uncle Tom made a correct prediction
for me.  It was after Great-Granddad died they came for a weekend.  I
remember it now quite clearly, I think I was about fourteen at the time.  I
was in the kitchen and Uncle Tom came in and put his hand on my head.
'You're going to be as good a lawyer as Granddad Thomson'.
  I didn't think anymore about that until I was actually at Caius and the
first case we dealt with was something about Buchanan versus Buchanan.
That was odd, too, as the lecturer said he wasn't sure why he had chosen
that example.  As soon as he said that I remembered that hand.  I knew then
I had to do well."

                         *

     Just before Easter I had to go to Kerslake to see the firm of
solicitors there who were dealing with the leasing out of Ulvescott Manor
to the American university.  As a trustee they needed my signature on
documents and Tony was in the States having been summoned there by his
uncle who said he was not well.

     I arranged to stay with Tom and his wife Betty.  He was now a
Superintendent and in charge of policing in the Kerslake area.  Their son
Alistair was home too.  He was at St Andrew's University in Scotland in his
first year reading Art History and was quite a talented artist.  I asked
him if he was going to join the police.  He was a big lad, like his dad,
but he said he didn't think so, but it was an option.

     Both Tom and I had plenty to chat about and Alistair sat quite
transfixed as we reminisced about schooldays and I caught up with all the
pals I had left behind.  A couple had come to his professional notice and
he said that Danny Ross had been unfortunate in his marriage and the police
had been called more than once to deal with domestic rows.

     I asked him about Duncan.  I hadn't seen Duncan and Mary since their
wedding and had only seen their son, Rory, in photographs which arrived
with Christmas cards.  He was a month younger than Alistair.  Alistair said
his uncle, who he saw quite regularly as he spent weekends with them, was
now the headmaster of a grammar school on the outskirts of Edinburgh and
Rory seemed to be having a career in a pop group as a lead guitarist.
Alistair laughed and said he was tattooed all over and made out to be a
real tough character.  He said the tattoos were fake and that Rory had told
him he was going to make as much money as he could then he would do what he
wanted.

     What he wanted, according to Tom, had never been divulged and his
brother was getting a bit fed up with being labelled the 'father of the
Bannockburn star'.  Bannockburn was apparently the name of the pop group
and it meant the group had quite a following among the Scottish Nationalist
students and its fame hadn't fully migrated South of the border.  Alistair
laughed and said it was all a big con as Rory and his mates just settled on
the name more as a joke.  It meant they had to keep up the pretense and a
big hit in their show was when they came on dressed in their kilts and in
one raucous number bared their bums at the English.  I said I remember
having seen a review of one of their concerts but had never heard any of
their music.  Alistair beetled off and came back with their latest single.

     "Mum's fed up with hearing it so you can have it," he said handing me
it with a grin.

     His father shook his head.  "Play it soft though or the neighbours'll
complain!"

     We were still chatting when Alistair said he was going to his bed as
he was playing for the Kerslake team the next day.  Betty said we weren't
to talk too long but she was going to bed as well.  When they'd gone Tom
poured another snifter of whisky for us both and I said James had told me
about the prediction.  Tom said he didn't remember it and often if he had a
thought he had to write it down or it would be lost.  I plunged in and
asked him if he remembered that visit to Ulvescott.  He smiled and said he
remembered bits.  He patted me on the leg.  "When that lad was there," he
said.  Then looked puzzled.  "I said that, but I don't know why?"

     "That lad was there," I said, "It was Piers.  He's watched over us
all.
  Even when you were Gordon Thomas."

     "Gordon Thomas," he mused, "I know that name.  It's been at the back
of my mind for years and I've never known why."

     I told him the whole tale - of what he had tried to do, how he had
seemingly forgotten.

     "I didn't hurt you, Jacko, did I?" he asked quite contritely.

     I said he hadn't.  He had stopped but then he had become Miles the
next time.

     "You've cleared up two of my niggling memories," he said.  "I wished
I'd had the courage to ask you before.  It's odd that second sight has been
very useful over the years.  I've solved a few cases without knowing why,"
he smiled.  "If I tell you this and show you something it's confidential
and I would value your advice on it."

     I said, "Anything".

     He went into his den and brought out three largish photograph albums.
He put them on the table but didn't open them.

     "I'd better tell you a bit before you look at them." He grinned.
"After what we've been through together I know what trust is.  I just need
to know what to do with them.  It's like this.  At the beginning of
February I was in my office when I heard one of the sergeants saying to a
constable he'd just had a call saying old Bertie Prosser, you know, who
used to be Mayor, had been found dead.  It was odd...," here he smiled,
"....I don't know why, but I said I would go along as well.  I said as he
had been Mayor it was probably politic if a senior officer went along.  I
know the sergeant looked at me rather strangely but off I went with the
constable in tow.  We got to the house.  It's one of those big ones on
Cathedral Row."  I nodded.  I'd run up there many times and my experience
with Henry Gale was in one of the side roads.  "He had a sort of
housekeeper and she'd found him in a chair in the study and she'd 'phoned
for an ambulance and the police.  We got there just as the doctor was
coming out with the ambulance men.  He said the old boy was dead and it
looked like natural causes.  Guess who the doctor was?  You know him."

     I said I didn't know but it could have been Cleggy's brother who had
taken over the practice.

     Tom shook his head.  "No, it was Benno, you know, Benno Crabbe, he's
in the Clegg practice with Cleggy's brother." Oh, I remembered now.  Cleggy
had told me that years ago.  "Anyway, I went in and told the constable to
take a statement from the housekeeper.  I went into the study and the old
boy was still there.  But it was odd.  I knew I had to look in a cupboard.
It was locked but I found Benno or the ambulance men, had emptied his
pockets and there was bunch of keys on the desk.  I opened the cupboard and
found these, plus some other rather interesting books including a copy of
yours."  He looked at me and nearly burst out laughing.  "By the way, Betty
was most intrigued with that copy you sent me!"  I had sent a signed copy
of 'Audacity' to him with the inscription 'To the memory of a youth well
spent'.  I had thought it contained sufficient of a double entendre for Tom
to appreciate all the times we'd spent together.....  "By the way, Alistair
has read it, of course, and was very quiet the next day.  He said 'Did
Uncle Jacko write that?"  I said of course he did and all he said was
'Ow'."

     Another youth helped to nighttime fantasies, no doubt!

     "Anyway, seeing that made me curious about the albums.  Have a look."

     We stood by the table and I opened the first one.  It was more 'Wooow'
than 'Ow'.  There was page after page of mounted photographs, all
beautifully photographed in a sepia brown, all of nude youths each holding
some item of sports equipment.

     "That first volume dates from 1930 to 1940.  There are one hundred and
sixty photos in this one," said Tom as I turned the pages.  "I've
identified most of them as there are either initials or first names
underneath and they are all boys who lived here and, I guess, attended that
gym old Prosser ran.  Mostly there are two of each, sometimes only one and
rarely three or four."  He laughed.  "Look at this one."  It was a thin lad
of about seventeen holding a cricket bat, looking very serious and showing
off a short length almost hidden in a great tangle of pubic hair.  I shook
my head.  "Taken in 1935.  He's a vicar now down near Margate now.  And
this one...," he turned a couple of pages.  "Same year.  He's a high-up
Civil Servant down in London at the Ministry of Labour."  This one was a
stocky lad, same sort of age, standing legs apart, showing off a
well-developed cock and this time very sparse hair around it.  He had a
pair of rugger boots slung round his neck and had a cheeky grin on his
face.  The second photo of him was slightly more of a side view while he
gave the camera a wink.

     We continued turning the pages.  Tom noting several including the
owner of a restaurant now in Kerslake and two employees at the City Council
offices.  He giggled as he got near the end.  "This one is 1939.  He's just
retired.  He was one of my sergeants.  Has his own security firm now."
This one was a tall, imperious looking youth with well-developed pectorals
and muscular thighs holding two heavy barbells which showed off very hard-
looking biceps.  His major attribute was a pair of low-hanging bollocks
which were particularly prominent in the second photo, again more of a
slanted side view.  In fact there were four views of him.  Obviously a
prime photographic subject.

     Tom pushed aside that first volume and opened the second.  "This is
from 1940 to 1950.  There's about a hundred in here and we know quite a
few."

     "But two from 1941, numbers 176 and 177 are missing," I said.

     He looked really astounded.  "How do you know?  Surely they're not
you?
  You'd've been too young!"

     I shook my head.  "Not me.  But I saw them.  And I'm not likely to
forget them."

     I then told him about finding the two photos in Chris Gardiner's chest
of drawers along with all the others and how they were burned when he came
home on leave.

     He whistled.  "Yeah, there are two blank spaces.  I wondered about
that."  He laughed.  "Chris is my dentist.  I saw him last week when I went
for a check-up."  He nudged me.  "Was he well-equipped - he's got five
sons?"

     "Not like his brother-in-law Matt!"

     He laughed again.  "Matt the Tassel we used to call him in our class.
I liked Matt.  We had lots of fun together, didn't we.  How is he?"

     I said the last I'd heard he and Jamie were coining it in with their
yacht hire business in the south of France and Tony and Francis had taken
Pa down last summer for a fortnight's holiday on one of their boats.  I
said I thought from what Pa had said he was mesmerized by the sight of so
much bronzed, bare flesh of the young crew and he just wondered which Navy
they'd served in.  Tom snickered.  "Sounds as if Matt is enjoying himself!"

     As we turned the pages I recognised more and more of the lads.  I'd
seen Chris but here were photos of the others in his snapshots, now much
more professionally photographed.  Huggy's son, Vaughan, was there.  One
could see the likeness.
  No wonder he was shipped off as he had extremely well-developed equipment
which any High School girl would drool over.  He had a most self-satisfied
grin on his face and in a sequence of five photos went from four or so
inches of droopiness to a near seven inches of full tumescence.

     "There aren't many with hardons," Tom said, "mostly a bit later as you
will see.  But have a look at the next two lots."

     These were two sequences of thirteen photos each.  The first was of
Chris Prosser, the second of Johnny, his brother.  From the pencilled
captions they both showed the full developmental sequence of the boys from
the age of twelve and a half up to eighteen.  Both Chris and Johnny were
big and brawny, Chris especially as he had outweighed his opponents in the
boxing tournaments.  Both lads were almost doubles in their development.
At twelve and twelve and a half they had identical, uncircumcised snails
and small ridged sacs.  In the second photo for each here was a hint of
hair, but pale.  At thirteen the snails were uncurling and the balls
lowering with strands of black hair just forming a slight moustache above.
>From then things developed fast.  By fifteen both had thick sausages with
a bush of hair above and pendulous knackers below to go with their
increasing height, girth and muscularity.  That was how I remembered Johnny
in the showers at the time.  Then, at seventeen, both had pricks which had
thickened and lengthened more with those magnificent balls which each
possessed hanging below.  I remembered particularly Chris's balls, walloped
in the boxing match and tended by a young SJAB member.  I told Tom about
that incident.  He laughed and said no damage had been done.  Chris had
three daughters.

     As the later 1940's photos came in view so did many more familiar
lads.
  In sequence I recognised Cliff Bates, Martin Coombs, Brian Marsh, Henry
Gale, Paul Wright and the arch-wanker himself, Billy Clarke.  It was odd
seeing these, immortalised as it were at seventeen or so.

     I pointed to Billy's two photos.  "Head of some TV production company
now.  He and Ma are great pals.  He and Roddy escort her to the theatre and
so on when Pa doesn't want to go."

     Of course, that set off questioning on Tom's part.  Who was Roddy?
Etc.  etc...  I explained they'd been in the Army together and lived
together now.  Tom got the message.

     The next pages showed Tom Rankin and Andy Symes.  I wasn't surprised
about them but then there was Jim McDonald who always seemed a rather weedy
character when he was in the Second Year Sixth and I was in the First.  My!
As he never seemed to play games I never knew what he had tucked in his
undies.  Matt, old boy, you had a rival!  Coupled with a very serious look
on his face and a smattering of hair on his chest and a black trail from
his stomach down to a prominent covering to his lower regions there
depended a long, thin snake with a long floppy foreskin which gave him a
couple more inches than all the others seen so far.  I pointed to it.

     "Wonder what that was upright?" I mused.

     Tom laughed.  "I did see it once!"  He snickered.  "He was roped in
when I was playing before I left.  The others were ribbing him about his
cock and it just went up and up of its own accord.  Must have been well
over seven inches but that...." he pointed at the drooping foreskin in the
second photo, "....gives a wrong impression.  It was about the same length
up as hanging."

     From then on the roll call continued.  Tom's old 5K was very well
represented as well as six of my old form, 5S other than Johnny Prosser.
Most seemed to have been in the Cadets and Tom reminded me they were
encouraged to toughen themselves up by attendance at the gym.  There were
others, too.  I had noted some of the Catholic boxers and rugger players.
There was Sean and, My Oh My!, Pat O'Halloran, fists up and his
well-remembered cock dangling.  What a roll-call!

     The next few pages reminded me of some of the initials in Cleggy and
Nobbo's article.  Here were CD, Chris Dickens and PM, Paul Marsh.  Both at
seventeen with very well-developed equipment with both carrying baseball
bats of all things.  There was even the circumcised cock, plump like its
owner, of Lionel Jacobs.  Probably sent to the gym, like Mike had been, to
get some muscle on him.  Oh, my God!  Almost the last in that book were
five of my six rugger lads, Beckett, Clowes, Fisher, Hawks and Hunter.  Oh,
my God!  Beckett, with the non-appearing Mark Collins, was now on the
science staff of the old school!

     The third volume was thinner and finished in 1952.  I asked Tom why?

     He smiled and tapped the last photo.  "This one's the photographer's
nephew, Wesley Stanhope.  Well-built lad, eh?"

     I started.  I had completely forgotten to ask Tom who had taken the
photos.  I remembered wondering who had taken Chris's at the time.  They
were evidently professionally done from the quality and, at the time, I had
mentally compared them with the studio portrait of my mother and father.
Stanhope?  Of course!  Stanhope's was the city's most prominent
photographic shop.  Stanhope?  I tried to visualise the owner.  A thick-set
man as far as I could remember.  Then, Billy's diary.  Nobbo said there
were initials.  I think I remembered P, probably R and almost certainly S.
P for Prosser.  S for Stanhope.  I blurted all this out to Tom.  He put a
hand on my arm.

     "Hold it, Jacko," he said very calmly, "Tell me all that later.  I'll
explain what happened in 1952 first."

     We sat down again and he poured more whisky.  "Slainte!" he said,
raising his glass, "To old friendships, the new generation, and confusion
to our enemies!"

     I raised my glass, too.  Tom looked at me and winked.  We were both
remembering those adolescent times together when our great friendship
crystallised.

     "Anyway," he went on, "In 1952 Reggie Stanhope died.  He was found in
his developing room and the verdict was accidental death.  He'd been
experimenting with some process using a cyanide salt and the coroner said
he must have inadvertently got some in the cup of coffee found by him.
When I was home on leave Dad told me about this at the time and said it
sounded very fishy and he thought he'd done it deliberately.  He never
elaborated on it but when I took over as Inspector that Sergeant I told you
about was just retiring.  He didn't say anything about his photo but he let
on that Stanhope had had a business in supplying 'gentlemen', as he put it,
with risque photos of various sorts.  I assumed he meant female ones but
Sergeant....."  He winced.  "Oh, I nearly told you his name!
  Well, he said just before Stanhope died there was a complaint, later
withdrawn, by his nephew that he'd been assaulted at the gym by a couple of
men he couldn't, or wouldn't, identify.  The Sergeant said that three weeks
after Stanhope died the lad, Wesley, went off to Australia and there had
been a withdrawal from Stanhope's reserve account of ten thousand pounds a
month earlier.  My guess is it was a pay-off and when Stanhope realised he
could be black-mailed for more he topped himself."

     I then told the whole tale about Nobbo finding Billy's extra cash and
decoding the diary entries and his belief that Billy was 'selling his
arse'.

     "I'm not surprised," Tom said.  "There's been plenty of rumours.  That
other initial is probably for Vic Rogers.  He moved away from Kerslake in
1949 and was arrested in Hull a couple of years later and jailed for five
years for assaulting two of his teen-age assistants at the clothes-shop he
ran."  He laughed.  "Probably didn't get them in the right mood.  In fact,
I've found out since he ran a string of rent-boys here during the war for
visiting troops.  His boys were cheaper than the local pros and I've heard
he nearly got lynched by some of them because he was under-cutting them."
He laughed.  "It's amazing what some of these old biddies tell you when
they're bought in.  The one who told me that was sixty if a day and still
had a string of clients."

     He reminisced a bit more about some of the cases he'd had to deal
with.
  Some quite sordid and two were murders, both of which he was instrumental
in solving.  He said, with a grin, with outside help.  Then we got on to
family life.  He said I must have had great patience in dealing with my
tribe.  I told him about Francis and his hard work towards his medical
career.  He knew he was now living with Tony.  He was rather amused at
James's scrapes.

     "I know Alistair's not a virgin," he said.  "I doubt if many of his
friends are as well.  All their girl-friends are on the Pill and Ali's been
quite open about it.  He says he's got a steady up in Scotland and they'll
probably get married, or at least live together, when they've finished
their degrees.  Modern times!"  He looked at me confidentially.  "Not that
he hasn't experimented the other way."  He grinned.  "He and a friend, Phil
Brown's son... you remember Phil, he was a couple of years ahead of
us... well, his son Wayne and Ali were thick as thieves all through school.
I discovered the pair of them in bed one wet and windy afternoon indulging
in a rather intimate activity..." He smiled.  "...such as others we know
well have enjoyed to the very full.  I'm afraid Ali is rather vocal at
times and he certainly was that afternoon having just given Wayne the
benefit of his seventeen year old implement!"  He snickered.  "He still
doesn't know Dad spied on them through the crack of the half open door."

     "Amazing what father's see," I said, holding out my glass for a
refill, "I saw my son Francis receiving similar treatment from his best
friend.  He was also vocal on the receiving end.  And the times I've heard
squeals and squawks from behind closed doors is nobody's business."

     The whisky was beginning to loosen both our tongues.  I related about
finding the manuscript of the 'secret' book and how I'd discovered the
relationship with my French 'cousin' Daniel and how the birthmark seemed to
have confirmed it.  Tom's only comment was that I was always a randy
bugger, which was true in more ways than one.  We giggled almost
uncontrolledly over the time Dunc had been upended and I'd made sure, in
the only way possible, that his kilt didn't get soiled.  I then said about
the Nobbo and Cleggy article and told him he had a minor place somewhere in
medical history.  He was miffed when I said he wasn't identified at all by
initials but if I remembered correctly he was average in output.

     "Yeah, I remember that quite well.  Being me I got muddled about the
measuring to begin with but after about the third attempt I was OK."  He
laughed.  "Most enjoyable that experiment.  Couldn't feel guilty at all,
could I.  Doing it for medical research!"  I think I was 3.4 ccs near
enough.  I remember Nobbo said I was average."

     I said they'd gone on and collected data from thirty lads in all.  Tom
nodded.  "Yep, I knew the Fosters were in it and then there was Geoff Wells
and Dave Noonan, I knew that because we three were all in the Boys' Brigade
and I guess Niggy Mann and Jimmy Marples were as well as they use to sit
together and were always looking at bits of paper and giggling.  Of course,
I left at the end of that year so I wouldn't know about who was in the rest
if they were younger."

     I said Chris Dickens and Paul Marsh were two of the younger ones and
we both knew them but I guessed the pair must have made full use of the
upcoming Fifth Years when I was in the Sixth.

     Tom giggled, "Upcoming, good description."

     It was then we decided to go to bed.  He slapped me on the back at the
bottom of the stairs.  "Wouldn't have missed those years for worlds, eh?
Same for you?"

     I said it was so for me.

     He then said he didn't know what to do with the albums.  Should he
destroy them?  I said they were probably a valuable archive for a
researcher such as Professor Gibson.  All the photos had been taken at the
same distance from the camera and all with the same pedestal by the side of
the subject.  It wouldn't take much to work out comparable sizes.  I said I
thought he'd already built in a yardstick.  In fact the pedestal was marked
off with a black line at what was probably six inch intervals and the
pedestal must have been exactly thirty- six inches high.  "Trust you to
spot that," was Tom's response.  I said I would take the albums and give
them to Harold Gibson with the proviso that if he didn't want them he
should destroy them and, if any were published, then the head should be
obscured..  In fact, Harold was very pleased to have them and made some
comment that they would supplement Tanner's work quite well as this showed
a large number of lads all within a month or so in age and the two
sequences would be most useful for teaching purposes.  So, unknown to them,
generations of Kerslake boys would be useful to medical teaching, just as a
generation of Kerslake boys had provided evidence of their output as well.

     Tom had to go off to give some briefing in the morning so I was alone
in the living- room, Betty having gone shopping, when Alistair made his
appearance bearing a large plate of cereal.

     "Can I ask you something?" he began almost apologetically.  I nodded.
I had just solved two clues in the Times crossword and wanted a pen to
write in the answers.  "It's about that book."  He grinned.  "You're quite
famous as far as students go.  At least your book does the rounds."

     I said as long as students bought their own copies I didn't mind but
passing it around depleted my royalties.

     He laughed.  "Don't worry.  I've seen three different copies in the
past few months."  He got confidential.  "I don't know how to ask you this,
but....,"

     ".....Do boys do all those things?"  I said, "Is that your question?
Well the short answer is, yes.  And as far as I know many do with some
regularity.  I've had a good number of letters asking the same question and
almost the same number from people telling me what they got up to as
youngsters."

     He looked most relieved.

     "Confessions?" I asked.

     "Of course," he grinned.  "Guilty as charged.  I've got a steady
girlfriend and we have..., You know...," I nodded.  "....But I've done all
three with pals at school."  He grinned even more.  "Don't know which I
prefer most."  He snickered.  "At least boys know how you feel.  You'd
better add me to your statistics!"

     I said he was no different from my lot.  He nodded.  I realised then
his visit when fourteen for that weekend must have opened his eyes, if not
other parts of his anatomy, to boyish pleasures.  Yep.  He'd been in with
Stephen and Safar in their room.  Stephen the same age and Safar two years
older.

     "By the way," he continued, "I saw that notice about Stephen in the
Times.  He sounds good.  I liked him and that Safar.  He's at King's isn't
he?"

     I said he'd be in his final year soon.

     "You won't tell Dad," he said.  "He's so strict."

     I laughed.  "Your Dad probably knows more than you guess and I can
tell you he's not strict at all.  He's only interested in your welfare.  It
wouldn't hurt if you had a heart to heart talk with him.  He won't bite.  I
know him too well."

     He looked pensive.  "I wouldn't know where to start..."

     "...Start by telling him you couldn't imagine not having him for a
dad...."  He smiled and nodded.  "...Then tell him a bit more about your
girlfriend....."  "Fiona..."  "Yes, he told me that you have been quite
open about things...."  He nodded.  "I know he knows you've read my book so
you could say I was your downfall over other things."

     He shook his head.  "Not my downfall.  It made things much clearer
about how I and, I think my friends, felt about each other.  It's odd.
Boys are supposed to be so hetero and macho and not show emotion when I
know when I've been alone with a friend we've really been very happy.  It's
true.  I just wonder why we can't just accept it all."

     "I've got friends I couldn't imagine not having," I said, "And we've
shared that happiness together.  It's not uncommon.  I think it's a bit
like a network of shared friendship between so many males.  Few will admit
it but many treasure it and keep silent."

     "Dad?"

     I nodded.  He smiled.  I had a thought.

     "Look, why don't you come back with me tomorrow?  You can stay as long
as you like - but Easter Monday your Dad and Mum are coming to stay until
Tuesday.  They can bring you home.  Anne's sister Maureen - Maureen Parker,
will be coming this week."  He nodded.  Maureen had just published a
well-reviewed book on the Pre-Raphaelites which would probably enhance
their rather faded popularity.  "Tim's conducting a couple of concerts in
the Guildhall on Thursday and Saturday and if you can stand Beethoven and
Brahms you can come to those as well.  Khaled's at home and Safar will be
there as well and I can't guarantee who else will poke their noses in.
Easter Sunday I expect Stephen and Jody will come and Tim and Maureen will
be off after lunch."

     "Please, Oh, please!" he enthused.  "I could go to the Fitzwilliam,
too.  There are a couple of paintings there I want to look at."  He looked
rather coyly at me - all nineteen years.  "And there's that rather valuable
painting you have."  He grinned.  "I could make a special study of Manet
for my dissertation, couldn't I?"

     "How did you remember that?"

     "Safar told me it's the most beautiful thing he knew and we looked at
it for ages when I came and stayed."

     "He's never told me that."

     "He said if he ever felt sad he just went and looked at that painting
and he felt all right again."

     I smiled.  My gentle, deep Safar.  Nothing will ever surprise me.

     "OK," I said, "You're booked in.  Make certain you have clean undies
or your Mum won't let you travel."

     He laughed.  "Mum's are all the same!  All my friends say that's the
last thing their mother's ask them before they go anywhere!"

     Tom laughed when he came back and said he would be glad to see the
back of him for a week.  Alistair said he'd only been home three days and
he was being chucked out again.  If his father didn't want him could he
come and join my lot?  I said he'd better judge that after the week was
out.

     Tom and I went to see him play that afternoon.  Among the sprinkling
of spectators I recognised three from the old school, now come to watch
their own sons play, Alec Fry, Chris Nelson and Jimmy Marples.  Oh ho!  Two
of those had photos in the albums and at least one was in Nobbo and
Cleggy's sample!  Afterwards we went into the clubhouse and while waiting
for the lads to appear from the baths we stood, pints in hands, looking at
the photographs displayed on the wall.  Alec was explaining, as an
ex-Captain of the Club, that they'd found a load of old photos and had them
framed and put up.  Tom pointed to one labelled 1932.  "That's my Dad.
Bloody hell, he looked a bruiser then!  One of my old constables said he
was known as 'Basher Buchanan'."

     I looked more closely.  "Oh my God, there's Pa!"  I said, pointing at
the mustachioed, grinning figure next to 'Basher'.  "That's my father!"

     Alec was not to be outdone.  "Well, that one's my dad and that's my
Uncle Artie.  They were both on the wing.  Unfortunately Uncle Artie was in
a Japanese prisoner of war camp and never came back."  We moved along the
row of photos.  "That's his son Philip there." He looked at me. "He was at
our school.  He was First Year when I was in the Fifth.  He lectures at
Newcastle now, Chemical Engineering."  He sniffed.  "That's where that son
of mine is at, doing bio-chemistry.  But, great lad is Philip.  He moved in
with us as his mum couldn't deal with the loss."  He grinned at me.  "He's
the little brother I never had!"

     The boys straggled in carrying their bags of dirty clobber and we all
congregated in the bar and downed several pints of beer each and
reminisced, with the sons dutifully standing listening to the oldsters -
standing dutifully as the wallets opened to buy more beer!  - before they
sloped off to join in the rather raucous renderings of the same old Rugby
songs.  The four of us found seats in a quieter area and sent Tom off for
another round.  It was interesting.  None of the fathers, other than me,
had gone to university, but all the sons were at home for Easter, all four
scattered, at St Andrews, Newcastle, Bristol and Birmingham.  Although the
fathers hadn't taken any form of higher education they had all done more
than well.  With Tom soon to be promoted Chief Superintendent there was
Alec, the manager and part-owner of a furniture warehouse, the remembered
rather dashing Jimmy Marples had a big car dealership and Chris was running
his father's old established building business.

     Three more pints later and an interim visit from Gordon, Alec's son,
for a replenishment to his finances, and Chris was getting very
confidential.  They'd all been amazed when they found out I had six sons,
real, adopted or surrogate.  "Fuck me," said Chris, "I don't know how
you've come through that.  Jeff hasn't been too bad but young Robin, he's
sixteen and his brains are between his legs.  Bloody hell, I feel like
bashing his head in sometimes except he's six foot already.  I can't think
I was like that when I was his age.  Bloody pop groups and the succession
of girls.  All we had was the bugle band in the Cadets and Sergeant Moss
telling us if we didn't keep away from girls and keep our dicks in our
drawers we'd catch the pox....  We were too scared to do anything but have
a feel and you were bloody lucky to get that far."  He leaned over even
more confidentially.  "But we had each other.  Must say the friends I made
then have stayed friends."

     Oh.  Chris had his photos in the book.  Stocky Chris with a good-sized
tool.  I wondered which of his friends had held that?  I remembered he and
Freddy Cross were great buddies.  Both Cadets - and, of course, the next
pair of photos in the book were of Freddy, with the same bugle on its
lanyard as Chris had in his.

     "How's Freddy?" I asked, flying a kite.

     He looked at me closely.  Then his face crinkled in a grin.  I had hit
the target.  He knew that I had suspected something, it was true - but mine
was only a guess!  "He's fine," he said.  "He and his wife's got a place in
Spain so we go out with them for holidays.  That is, if we can prise young
bollock-brain from his latest conquest."

     The elder of the two, not-so-bollock-brained Jeff, came across with an
empty glass.  He made some comment about singing was thirsty work and went
off with a five-pound note and a grateful grin on his face.

     Chris downed the rest of his pint.  Looked at us and went over to the
bar for another round.  Jimmy took the final swig of his and burped
contentedly as he set the glass down.  He looked over to check that Chris
was stocking up with five more pints and turned to me.

     "That book of yours."  That book of mine kept cropping up.  I knew
sales were good, my six-monthly royalties showed that, but the sum was
never anywhere near that of Ma's.  Still she did have at least a dozen of
her books still in print.  Now here was Jimmy, whose only reading matter I
assumed would be Glass's Guide or What Car, mentioning 'that book'.  He
grinned.  "That son of mine..."  He nodded towards the mob of singers who
were going through the third or fourth rendition of 'Swing Low Sweet
Chariot' with, each time, a more exaggerated version of the obscene set of
gestures which accompanied it.  "....That son of mine has it on his
bookshelf at home next to the Hobbit.  Hobbit and hobby in alphabetical
order, eh?  Daren't tell him that.  He's in your line.  He's doing French
at Birmingham."

     The hobbyist was the next one to come across pleading thirst.  Two
five pound notes were passed across with the instruction to get the others
theirs and come back.  He did so and came across with a pint pot and a
puzzled look on his face.  What did father want?

     "You don't know Doctor Thomson do you, Paul?"

     The lad still looked a bit puzzled but stuck out a hand and we shook.

     "He wrote that book you're always putting down when anyone comes near
your room!"

     Not only puzzled but startled.  I thought I'd better put him out of
his misery as a blush started to diffuse his cheeks....

     "Do you know Francis Thornley?" I asked.

     "He's my tutor...," he said.  He paused.  "....And are you Jacques
Thomson 'cause Dr Thornley's quoted you several times.....?"

     "....And you've read the book?"

     The blush was more than apparent now.  He looked at his father.  "We
all have," he whispered.

     As there was a spare seat next to me and the others were now chatting
amongst themselves I motioned to him to sit down.  We then spoke in French
for the next quarter of an hour.  He was good.  He'd spent four summers
with a French family in Tours and was very fluent and had decided to read
French which he was enjoying greatly and was coming up to the third term of
his first year.  I told him Francis Thornley and I had been undergraduates
together.  He was most enthusiastic about his work and was about to go to
France for an intercalated year in September as an English assistant at a
boys' Lycee.  I said Alistair was coming to stay, why didn't he come and
keep him company and we could discuss any of the topics he had dealt with
ready for his exams when he got back after Easter.  He was very pleased.
He said Alistair was a great pal, he'd known him since Junior School.  He
was so taken with the idea that when he went to speak to his father he
started in French.  I got a thumbs-up from Jimmy when it was sorted out.
Paul then went off with two more fivers to tell Alistair and buy more beer
for the singers who were getting rather less musical and more and more
maudlin.

     We collected Alistair after he'd downed one more pint and walked back
to Tom and Betty's.  It wouldn't do for the local Super to be caught
driving after about nine pints of best bitter.  Alistair was limping
slightly and was complaining that he had a couple of bruises and a wound
where someone's boot had raked him which he showed his mother as soon as we
arrived home.  She clucked and told him to rub some arnica in and put a bit
of plaster on the scratch and not complain, he wasn't six any more.
Alistair gave me a wry smile and I smiled back rather drunkenly.  After
supper when Betty went upstairs for some reason Alistair said he couldn't
imagine not having Tom as his Dad.  As I'd heard the same opening from my
sons, and had prompted him, I lurched towards the loo to relieve myself of
what seemed like another five pints of best bitter.  When I returned
several minutes later after the longest piss I'd had for ages Alistair was
just saying something about his pal Wayne.  Tom's eyes were closed.  He
wasn't asleep though.

     "You'd be surprised what I know about you and the lovely Wayne," he
murmured, "No need to tell me.  If you haven't been round the houses with
your pals then you're not very adventurous.  And when you see that cousin
of yours give him the same treatment!  Your Uncle says he's too uptight for
his own good!"

     Alistair looked at me, shook his head and murmured, "Dads!"

     Before I left for Cambridge next day with the two lads Tom told me
that although Rory was supposed to be a hell-raiser it was all show, just
like his fake tattoos.  There were certain indications which led Dunc to
believe....  I laughed and said I supposed Alistair was being set up to
find out.  He nodded and smiled.  Superintendents of Police are 'gae
canny', as his old mother would have said!

                    27.  James Again!

     When I got home Anne was laughing.  James had 'phoned that morning,
all breathless, would we mind if he got engaged.......?  Oh, James!

     The lads were welcomed whole-heartedly.  We put them in the small
spare room as Khaled had so much clobber in his and Francis's old room and
we couldn't really move him out as he was a fixture, and as for Safar's
room - nothing of his or Stephen's or Jody's had ever been thrown away.  I
think Paul was rather taken aback with all the ramifications of having a
large family and a constant stream of friends.  Tim and Maureen arrived the
next day and Alistair was in his element.  He'd brought some of his
sketches and she did a careful crit on them and she, Anne and Alistair
disappeared off to the Fitzwilliam for some intensive tutorials.  Tim made
me play duets with him - in memory of Ashburn House - and I didn't do too
badly.  He was now an associate conductor at the Royal Opera House and was
travelling here there and everywhere in Europe.  He said he really wanted
to settle down with an orchestra for a period of time and the opera house
appointment was ideal.  He said that brother John and Myf were still
scraping for a living and had part-time posts as well at the Royal Academy
where their son and daughter were junior exhibitioners.  He wondered if
there might be a Parker String Quartet soon.  A very musical family.

     I and Safar took Paul for a tour of the colleges.  He gaped when he
saw my room overlooking the Backs and the usual jaw-dropping when he saw
the fan-vaulted ceiling in King's College chapel.  It never failed!  Safar
showed him his 'kennel' as he called it.  A well appointed room overlooking
the quadrangle to which he would be returning to complete his second year.
Again much impressed.

     I had turfed out several sets of notes and copies of some articles I
thought might be useful and after supper each evening we spent time going
over things.  There was no doubt, he was bright.  I would write to Francis
suggesting he be nurtured!

     My own Francis was also in evidence.  He was full of James's
announcement and wondered when he could afford enough to get married.  I
reminded him that the three of them had old Mr Zemper's money tucked away.
Francis said he'd forgotten all about it and would get Cally to find out
how much he was worth now.  He grinned when I called him a mercenary toad.
He did spend a bit of money - mine - taking the lads with Cally and Safar
out for a meal.  Rather liquid from the sounds as the five of them returned
around midnight.  Plenty of rather too loud, SHHHs.

     My inheritance from Paul Zemper was inspected inch by inch by Alistair
with a running commentary by Maureen.  And Safar took Alistair along on
Thursday afternoon to hear the orchestra rehearse before the first concert.
I could see Alistair and Safar becoming friends.  They were very much alike
in temperament.

     Sunday lunch was a riot.  Stephen and Jody turned up and both had much
to tell.  Tim had already said that Stephen, especially, was being groomed
for advancement in the company and Jody wasn't far behind.  Both were
dancing in minor roles for a new production in October and they were trying
out their parts already.  Not only that but Tim would be conducting.  He
warned them they'd better behave themselves or he'd do what Thomas Beecham
did.  He said the old boy had been annoyed by the dancers at rehearsal one
day so during the evening's performance he'd gradually upped the tempo for
one dance and when the sweating dancers finished he turned to the leader of
the orchestra and said in a loud voice "That made the little buggers hop!"

     I think both the lads were rather overwhelmed by Jody and his
flamboyant ways, much more in evidence now but they saw most of it was just
show.  Stephen was the calming influence except when the subject of James's
proposed engagement came up.  After supper when the lads were sitting
gawping as story after story of the London theatre scene was retold, mainly
by the supreme actor Jody, and Anne had retired to bed, the subject of
James came up again.  Stephen said he was very pleased brother James was
going to tie the knot as he needed a knot tying in any case but he,
personally, was proud to have engineered spontaneous emissions in at least
six known acquaintances including James.  Again tongues had been loosened
by several glasses - of wine this time - so the story of James's and the
various ballet boys' discomfiture was retold much to general amusement.  I
think that loosened up any remaining inhibitions.  As far as I could
ascertain, as I soon followed Anne up to bed telling the boys to switch
lights out before ascending, the spare room wasn't slept in that night.
Alistair must have bunked in with Safar and the two ballet stars, with Paul
in with Cally and Francis who also stayed the night.  Whether 'the book'
came under discussion I didn't enquire but Paul and Alistair were
exchanging meaningful glances all morning.

     As well as Tom and Betty Buchanan turning up on Easter Monday so did a
rather tired Tony.  He'd got fed-up with Uncle Lester and his 'malade
imaginaire' and had flown home on the spur of the moment.  Of course, he
didn't know Tom would be there so Easter Monday was riotous as well.  I
don't think either Alistair or Paul knew what had hit them.  In fact, one
tale that Tony had was that Uncle Lester wanted his art collection
catalogued and he didn't want any American to do it, it was too valuable
and they'd only whip half his possessions away.  Why he was getting so
vindictive Tony said he didn't know but Tony was the blue-eyed boy and he
would help.  He'd catalogued the Garforth Library why couldn't he come and
sort out the pictures?

     Tony said the old boy had quite a collection.  He had three houses, in
Hollywood, San Francisco and in Florida.  Each of which was fully
furnished, kept on the go and had pictures in.  Of course, having heard
that Alistair was keen on art, a solution.  Alistair and Paul could go out,
all expenses paid for a couple of months in the summer and at least list
everything.  Paul needn't worry about practising his French as Lester had a
French chef who followed him around.  The boys were even more open-mouthed
at this.  After they had said they would be interested and went off back to
Kerslake with Tom and Betty that evening I said did they realise the sort
of menage that Lester ran.  Tony smiled and said that Lester did little
work now so the entourage was down to about four or five but he was sure
the boys would find it all most agreeable.  I said what if the lads took
fright.  Tony just said in his experience no lad ever took fright if
treated right.

     Three weeks later all was arranged.  The lads would fly out as soon as
they finished the year in June and come back end of August.  All expenses
paid and a bonus if the work was completed.  Tony said there were bonuses
included especially as two of the present group of little helpers were
quite well-hung.  He just wrinkled his nose when I said he shouldn't judge
everyone by his own tastes.  "Boys are boys," he said, "If its dangling
they'll grab it!"

                         *

     Two months after the first there was another breathless 'phone call.
I had answered but James demanded to speak to Mum.  Mum listened
impassively.  "Right, Saturday, August the Fourth, Chester Cathedral,
eleven thirty.  Your father's here...."  There were a few moments silence
from Anne and an excited buzz from the 'phone.  "....You can tell him
yourself, coward!"  She handed me the 'phone.

     "What is it?" I asked, guessing straight away.

     "Dad," he sounded rather hesitant, "I think I've caught the Thomson
bug."

     "What you mean is that Diane has caught something which will be
permanent."

     "Dad!"

     "When is it due?"

     "End of November."

     "A virulent infection, then?"

     He giggled.  "First exposure and it was caught!"

     It was my turn.  "James!"

     "Can't help it, Dad, you should know that!  Think Francis and then
think James!"

     "I am perfectly aware of what happened in the past!...  Well,
congratulations and are we going to see you both before the day?"

     "Dad, it's only six weeks before the wedding.  I need lists of all you
want to attend.  Dad, will you ask Francis to be my best man?  I daren't,
he'll only laugh and say nasty things..., please Dad!"

     "Chicken," I said, "Ask your brother yourself.  He's had to wipe your
backside for you so he's not likely to refuse giving you away!"

     "Dad, he's best man not the bride's father!"

     "And what does the bride's father say?"

     "He's a farmer and it's unrepeatable, but favourable!"  He laughed.
"You're not angry with me, are you Dad?  I can tell you it was the most
wonderful experience I've ever had..."

     "I thought that was at Stephen's performance?"

     "Dad!  You know what I mean!"

     "I know you, so we'll be there supporting the poor unfortunate girl
who we have still to meet."

     "Dad, I'm sorry, but I'm James!"

     "Yes we are well aware of that!"

     "If we come down this weekend will that do?"

     "If you don't, Diane won't know how to cope on August the Fourth!"

     "Dad!"  There was a hurried conversation at the other end.  Diane must
have been there listening.  "Diane sends her love and we'll see you late
Friday night and can I speak to Mum now?"

                              *

     We'd seen a couple of photos of Diane but they didn't convey the true,
wonderful nature of the girl who arrived, rather apprehensively, on Friday
evening.  Over Saturday and Sunday she met and was rather overwhelmed by
all the family and friends who wanted to see who was taking on the
responsibility of looking after James.  I knew as soon as I saw them
together they were well-matched.  She was a no nonsense, farming-stock
Northerner.  He wouldn't be under her thumb but he would have to behave
himself.  There was also no discussion.  Anne and I put them together in
the big en suite bedroom.  He had told Anne they were living together in
his flat.  His brothers were so happy for him.  Francis was there to greet
him with Safar and Khaled in tow.  Stephen and Jody came down for Sunday
and Grunty and Valerie and their new-born son, Nathan Francis, not yet a
month old, came along during the afternoon.

                              *

     About three weeks after the two lads departed on their cataloguing
expedition I had a letter from Alistair with a couple of photos enclosed.
One showed Alistair and Paul standing either side of a rather
familiar-looking painting and smiling broadly.  The second showed them,
quite a bit paler then the four muscle-bound hunks, all in well-packed
skimpy swimming trunks, all standing in a row by the side of an immense
blue-water swimming pool.  The short note informed me that the collection
so far dealt with was stupendous, did I like the Hockney?  One of four!
The four others in the other photo were the last of Mr March's assistants.
Two were also extras in the next gladiatorial epic and two were artists.  I
was left to work out who was whom!  They were 'working out' with the lads
each day as well as listing all the pictures and would be moving on to the
next house at the weekend.

                              *
     We altered our holiday arrangements around as we had planned to go to
Rome to see Mike in July.  We would now be going in September but we had to
get the wedding over first!  What an affair that was.  The guest list
looked very unwieldy and Ma and Aunt Della said they would contribute
towards the cost as the expense for the Harts, although quite well- off,
would be a burden as they had two other younger daughters to marry off at
some time.  The daughters, with Lisa, were bridesmaids and Julia and
Caroline were matrons of honour.  Ludo Wilkinson, back from teaching the
origins of their language to the heathen, as Pa said, conducted the wedding
service.  A cleverly designed dress hid the fact that Diane was quite a few
months pregnant and all us 'senior' members of the family were in morning
suits.

     Both Johann and Daniel came, with wives and assorted children and the
big surprise was four of the Italians, Silvio and Bruno with the two
youngest, Julio and Domenico.  Silvio was with a very svelte wife whose
dress was so sleek and glamourous it turned everybody's heads.  Bruno was
the one now with a beard and was studying philosophy and looked suitably
studious and radical.  The youngest two were also studying hard but neither
had made up their minds what to specialise in.  The two missing ones were
unable to come as priapic Giovanni was in training as a priest and fully
intending to take over his now very aged great- great-uncle's parish as
soon as he was ordained.  Antonio had decided at the age of eighteen to
enter a monastery and was happy there contemplating the infinite.  I was
particularly pleased to see the now Professor Walter Suess from one of the
northern universities where he had gone after spending his time in
Cambridge.  He brought greetings from his brothers who were sorry not to
come, but, 'pressure of business in the holiday season'.

     There were people there from all stages of James's and Diane's life.
Her school friends and friends from University as well as a great
assortment of relatives.  His four other brothers were prominent and
although Sayed couldn't be there, Ibrahim was.  He sat between Francis and
Tony in the front pew with the other brothers there as well.  Lachs and
Andrew sat with us with Andrew shaking his head and saying 'It's
wonderful'.  James was a particularly favourite 'nephew'.  James gathered
in many people from my and Anne's life.  Old Mrs Palfrey was there,
unfortunately the ascetic looking archaeologist had passed away, but
Luscious Lucius, himself looking more like his father attended with Jem,
Sam, Nick and Davy.  I just wondered who was looking after the Americans at
Ulvescott.  The roll-call went on and on.  Garforth, Chester,
Cambridge......

     At the reception Francis, as best man, gave a superb speech.  In
theatrical terms he had us rolling in the aisles.  James sat and took all
the stories stoically and was nudged by a near hysterical Diane several
times.  So James was effectively given away!  He'd come along to our room
in Uncle Edward's house where we were staying before we left for the
Cathedral.

     "I can't say anything much.  But thanks for everything!"  He hugged
both of us

     Rory's band, 'Bannockburn', were good.  They livened up the reception
no end, even though Duncan had stipulated no baring of their extremities
under pain of letting the local farming lads attending have a go at them.
I heard him say to Rory he thought they were all expert at castrating the
lambs so wouldn't be averse to trying out their skills on four young Scots
who blasphemed about the English.  I wondered if that was how Duncan
controlled the young wild Scots in his school?  I heard from Francis later
that Rory was applying for a place at Emmanuel and was coming to stay with
him and Tony for the interviews.  Francis said that the Scottish thistle
tattoo on Rory's thigh was real as it didn't wash off like the rest.  All
said with the usual raised eyebrow.

     James and Diane went off to somewhere exotic and not too taxing for
their honeymoon.  We went off to Rome taking Safar and Khaled who relived
that first visit they had made.  We found Mike to be as over-worked and as
convivial as ever and the Quirinale Hotel - expenses paid by an unknown
benefactor! - was excellent.  We visited the parish twice, bearing the
usual gifts.  One of the older boys was now the curate and both Khaled and
Safar were roped in to play games.  Mike said he had high hopes of Giovanni
who was, as he put it, a reformed character.  One other memorable moment of
that visit was meeting the sun- tanned figure in white of Father Vince
Hare, on leave from his work in Africa.  He was being sent back to Rome to
teach trainee priests, many from the African countries.

     At the reception Francis had given me a letter, plus more photos, he'd
received from Alistair.  Just that one meeting had formed a friendship.

          Dear Francis,

               Tell your father we are almost finished the second house.
If it's genuine we've
     found a Picasso!  Only a sketch on a scrap of paper.  Mr March says he
can't
     remember how he got it but he thinks it's OK.  Each picture has
actually got a label
     anyway - or most of them have, so we have photographed the lot.
Contrary to what it
     may appear in the enclosed photos we are working hard.
                 In the one that's got 1 on the back, there's Tracy, on the
left.  They call him
     'Beef' as in 'beef on the hoof' for obvious reasons.  He's been here
since he was
     eighteen.  He's been in several movies in the background.  Nothing
between the ears
     but a real old-fashioned Southern gentleman as Duke, the next one
says.
  He's from
     Texas and everything's big there - as you no doubt can see. He and
Paul go running
     each morning.  The big blond is from Minnesota and is Neils.  He's
quite an artist and
     I get on very well with him.  At least we speak the same language -
artistically, I
     mean.  Nicholas is French, paints incessantly, and acts as Mr March's
valet - whatever
     that entails.  He and Paul chatter away all the time and Paul is
learning 'haut cuisine'
     and an extended vocabulary from Monsieur Thierry the chef.  He's
seventy-five and a
     real fire-ball.  He chucked two pans and a long skewer at the Costa
Rican kitchen lad
     yesterday.  Lad and Tracy seem very close as Tracy is always hanging
about the
     kitchen.  Paul watched the altercation yesterday which finished up
with Monsieur
     bellowing out 'et va t'faire enculer chez les Grecs' and then saw
Tracy at the door and
     added 'et votr'ami vous carrer dans l'oignon!'  I think that sums up
the household
     adequately.  Almost!  Mr March is charming.  The boys - they're all
twenty-one or
     twenty-two - dote on him.  We are all great friends now!

          The other photos show us in and out of the pool.  Honestly, we
are working
     otherwise!  That is when other things don't intervene.

     I'll come and see you as soon as we get back.
               Till then,
                    Alistair.

     Francis smiled when I gave him the envelope back.  "Do you think the
pair will come back with their egos intact?" I asked.

     "Egos?"

     "You know what I mean - will they know their onions?"

                              *
     Term, as usual, started and Anne and I were up to our necks in work.
Academics are usually thought to have an easy life, long holidays and
survive by tutoring a few students on a Wednesday afternoon, which breaks
up both weekends.  But, with administration and other college duties, I was
being roped in for many extra-curricular activities.  The plus side was
that, in general, I had a pleasant group of colleagues and, I think, we got
on well.  Anne was now Chairman, as she insisted on being called, much to
the disgust of the 'sisterhood', of her faculty group and had more
post-graduate students than she could possibly cope with easily.  She
coped.  Safar started his final year.  He'd taken his LRAM in flute at
Easter and had passed extremely well.  As he was particularly pally with
one of the organ scholars at another college he thought he might try for
the ARCO sometime.  When Georgie and Beth came to visit, he and Beth had
disappeared for hours doing an organ crawl around the colleges.

     On Friday November the second the 'phone rang at six a..m.  It was an
almost incoherent James.

     "Dad!  Dad!  They've arrived!  Dad!  They're boys, identical!  Three
weeks premature...  Tell Mum!  I want to speak to Mum!  Oh Dad!..."


To be Continued:.........................