Early days

Patrick Leigh Fermor

The reviewer of a recent autobiography took the author to task for omitting all mention of his childhood. The reader, he maintained, was entitled at the very least to `a few quickening touches about hearth and home. He must be steeped for a moment in the setting and the period'. A few lines might be enough; but they had to be there. These thoughts gave rise to these open- ings for half a dozen imaginary autobio- graphies, followed by two attempts at historical narrative.

... Mum filled the tea-pot and stirred in the Mazawattee. There was meat-paste, tongue, H.P. sauce, bloaters, mackerel, beetroot and a cucumber — yippee! — and while Dad was turning on the five o'clock news, I stuck the tea-cosy on my head and rushed out to put the wind up pasty Mildred over the garden fence ...'

* * *

... "You're looking cheerful, Papa," I said, putting on another log. The candle- light played in the cut-glass decanter; it was reflected. in the lapels of his damson- coloured smoking-jacket and in the gold wire of his crested green slippers. High in the dome, a draught stirred an old Garter banner and ruffled the tattered silk of flags captured at the Boyne, Aughrim, Assaye, Culloden and Rork's Drift. "They've nab- bed a couple of poachers at Scratcher's Bot- tom", he said, lifting his glass, "and it's my turn on the Bench ..."

... "I'll be late for the W.I.!" wailed the mater, piling boxes of slides in her bicycle- basket. "There goes the short bell!", my pater shouted back, as his head and shoulders were swallowed up in his surplice. "And after Evensong", he went on, re- emerging, "there's a Confirmation class and then the church-wardens." Back in the rectory, I started writing in the last pages of my exercise book: Lucky Boy 5-4, Bronx Cheer 11-2, Fruitcake 10-1, Bushman's Fancy 11-4, Banzai 5-4, Frigga's Gloom 22-2, Jojo 14-1, Trixy Tim 100-30, Pot- walloper 9-2 ...'

* * *

.. I struck the last note of the concerto and the applause broke over me like a wave. But I felt older than the hills and I had to be almost carried through the heaped flowers and the young women with their autograph albums. 0, to be with people my own age for a change! I was tired, tired. Tonight, thank heavens, was a private anniversary. Back in the Savoy glowed the beloved, lined features of my parents; I had known the faces round the table all my life; and when The Spectator 18 December 1981 my mother straightened my sash and lifted me level with the cake-to blow out the five candles, my youth seemed to come flooding back ... '

"Luigino's late," sighed MuntillY: wedging another black and orange vortios` cushion behind her bin led head. (Or was it Ramon, or Chuck, or Tassilo?) Beyond the taffrail and the blancoed lifebelts, thje headlamps of Hispanos, Lagondas an

u

Isotto Fraschinis whizzed by on the lower corniche. "Put the needle back to the beginning of that divine 'Hutch' record, r0 precious," she said, "and I'll give you the cherry out of my Side-car ..."

Drusilla reached for the Omega; workshop dish and took another Crest. sandwich. She was the most indulgent mothers. "A very amusing piece of ton's on Vauvenargues," Warren moan in his high voice, slipping the Spedatoa back in the canterbury; my father vase quick reader. "Get down his We-14°11,s

s" „if et

Maximes, will you, dear boy? Sixth ,„ Fu pa u, bf oiaxse da and the Memoirs mw oe rns the of f m de Boigne. Phyllida will hold the steps • • '

* * *

... "Got all the doings, Ma?" Pa brushed aside the crumbs and stood up. "It's illsoar peter job up at Finchley. Back breakfast. Fuses, jelly, dets, blow-lartIP ilk that's right, love — glass-cutter, jam' t0,1k,king." I slipped the jemmy into his doc- , bag. "Ta, Les," he said, patting my L7:1. Here's a couple of tenners to spend. k slippy before they get the serial tiltibers out.,,

* * * I saw the stalks and the stones heaping I

bill3trall round me. I knew I was doing wrong; pii; couldn't stop. Suddenly — Ouch! iiat pain! I gave the slim trunk a nasty (laOuch again! What was that, glinting c grass? Placed there by Satan? Ouch! Ct,N-0? Crac Sl k! ash! Crack! Crack! L'K! Crack! I was aghast. There lay the -"t cherry tree in Mount Vernon ... '

* * *

As children we lived with out mother 1it,11r snug little home in the Latian hills. bro;hwas perfect except for my pest of a ,..`get. He was more than usually odious meal-[Imes and one day he kicked me t out and kept the lot for himself. 117 it,her growled. Why did she put up with hh_11,get even with him, I thought; and her ril;ia wet tongue swept consolingly along spine.