Date: Sun, 07 Mar 2004 20:21:41 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aladdins Awakening:  Part 96

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 58

		      Vignettes from my Life (Cont.)


		  18.                      Later in 1967

     The trip to see Stephen and the rest of the ballet school perform at
the end of their Spring Term was a delight.  In the end he wasn't scheduled
for a solo performance but was the partner in a simple, exquisitely danced,
pas de deux with Lisa and was one of the line of young males in the final
extravaganza dominated by Buck and Fabien who had the main male roles
supporting two very accomplished young ladies.  In that, Jody also stood
out as the Court Jester, doing some quite athletic leaps and rolls
brandishing his Jester's beribboned stick.

     Afterwards while we were waiting to leave having hefted out one
already packed bag Stephen came along the corridor carrying newly washed
tights, socks and inevitable dance- belts.  Jody, similarly laden was a few
paces behind him and went into his room.  James rushed forward to
congratulate Stephen but was almost brushed aside with a curt, 'Hold these,
please'.

     "Dad, Buck and Fabien are coming to stay for Easter, but I'm worried
about Jody.  His mum and dad have split up and he's supposed to go to stay
with his grandmother in Ireland but she doesn't approve of him being a
dancer so could he come and stay with us?  I'll pay for his keep."

     All said in one breath and very sincerely and concerned.  Stephen, Oh,
Stephen, what could we say?  Stephen did have Johann's grandfather's money.
That was tucked away safely until he was twenty-one but he had a share of
the interest before it was re-invested.  He insisted on buying his own
clothes and dancing requirements but that left a tidy sum accruing in his
bank account.

     Anne stepped in.  "Of course Jody can come.  You're not paying.  He's
our guest.  Go and tell him."

     The grateful look on Jody's face when he came from his room said it
all.  He had been a lost soul for several months, only relieving the
tension by the fanatical way in which he trained.  I was not to know this
at the time but with that simple statement by Anne we gained another
surrogate son.  Fabien and Buck grinned from ear to ear when they heard the
news.  Buck told me some days later that Jody Fuller might be a showman but
he had real potential.

     So, our family ebbed and flowed.  It had increased today as it were,
by the drop of a hat.  In fact, Jody had already shown his skill earlier in
the program with a spirited dance from de Falla's "Three-Cornered Hat".
For a lad of just on sixteen it had been danced with panache and fire.

     James immediately took over Jody and helped him pack and after Anne
had squared everything about his potential whereabouts over Easter we set
off home.  It meant a bit of rearrangement once we got home but Anne was a
past master at accommodating sudden guests.  Francis was shifted out of his
room and put with Fabien and Buck in the large, en suite, guest room.  She
knew and I knew that those three were going to be inseparable over the
holiday anyway.  I thought of the joke which went round the college quite
frequently, "How do you separate the men from the boys in the Clare Choir?"
"With a crowbar!".  James, with Jody and the ever-present Khaled were in
Francis's old room and Stephen and Safar would share his and James' room.

     Khaled and Safar were going to move in anyway as Marion had accepted a
three year post dealing with cosmological mysteries at Princeton and Ludo
was going to exercise his expertise in Anglo-Saxon and Old English, as he
said, with the linguistically challenged graduates there.  "When they can
read Beowulf like a native I shall know they've arrived."  I pointed out
that Americans were not all ex-Mayflower expatriates but were mostly the
'huddled masses' from here, there and everywhere.  "Jacko, old lad, you
take everything too seriously!"  Grunty was missing, too.  His father had
taken him off to the States for a flying visit as Professor Gibson was
receiving an honorary degree from some illustrious academic establishment
there.

                              *
     I was more than busy over the Easter vac as I was correcting the last
draft of 'Audacity' and Anne was the same with hers.  The boys entertained
themselves.  The four lads did 'class' every morning starting dead on nine
o'clock with Francis as ardent watcher and tape recorder manipulator.  In
the afternoons they went with Francis, Khaled and Safar to the school
boathouse to do torso, leg and arm strengthening exercises.  As Buck and
Fabien had both been promised places in ballet companies in their own
countries after finishing in the summer they were very keen on keeping as
fit as possible.  James had his A Level exams as soon as school returned so
he worked most of the time with the lad who used to be teased, Jeremy Vine.
For some reason, only known to himself, dear James had chosen a disparate
set of three subjects to take.  Pure Maths, English and History.  Jeremy
was a straight, in that sense, Sciences student.  Their only meeting point
was the Pure Maths and as Jeremy was a whizz at maths James worked well
with him.

     The dance lads worked hard and from the piles of tights, tee-shirts,
dance-belts, socks, underpants, bed-sheets and towels, which kept the
washing-machine busy most days, they and the others were keeping busy and
enjoying their stay immensely in all sorts of ways.

     The only problem was what was to happen to Jody.  His parents had no
other children, She had been a dancer in the West End and now ran a
restaurant.  He was a trumpet player in theatre orchestras and dance-bands.
That was how they had met, dancer and musician; the combination must have
seemed ideal.  But, mother desperately wanted Jody to be a dancer.  Father
didn't.  A couple of days after he'd arrived Francis told me Jody had
opened his heart to him and said his father had called him a 'bloody little
pouf' from when he started having lessons at the age of six.  Father was
often away from home and liked his drink.  At the end of the Christmas
holidays there had been an unholy row and he'd thrown all Jody's dance
clothes out of the bedroom window and told him to find a proper job.  His
mother had bundled him off back to school a few days early and the next
thing he knew they'd separated and his mother said she didn't want him
either as her boyfriend, of whom Jody knew nothing, didn't want him around.

     What could I do?  I contacted Lachs and a few days later a van
appeared early in the morning with all Jody's possessions and signed and
sealed statements from both mother and father making me and Anne his
guardians. A note from Lachs had already said all Jody's fees were being
paid and there would be something for his keep.  I didn't enquire but I
guessed Sayed's hand was there somewhere.  Jody's possessions were unloaded
by two rather tough- looking young men in overalls.  I guessed they were
part of Lachs' group and when they were having tea and sandwiches in the
kitchen I heard one call the other one 'Sarge'.  They were more than amused
when the kitchen was invaded by four very stately young men who had
finished 'class' and wanted drinks and sustenance.  Even very male young
Marines took in all the details and I saw a knowing look flash between the
pair and the younger of the duo's tongue flicked between his lips several
times as he surveyed the group with no pretence at averting his eyes.

     We had told Jody and the boys the night before what was going to
happen and the lads nearly went mad.  Jody was hugged, patted on the back,
congratulated by everyone with Safar solemnly saying that now he was one of
the family he had better start mucking in and the first thing he could do
was help clear the table.  So life in our family started for him.

     Stephen was overjoyed at having another best friend around.  He would
be thirteen a couple of weeks after Easter but, with Safar being nearly
fifteen and Jody sixteen in a week or so, I wondered how he would fit in.
There had been a special bond between Safar and Stephen from very early on.
They were both studious, somewhat serious, but always ready to counter the
wit and wisdom of James in particular.  They both loved playing the flute.
Safar was now more than equal to Stephen who said arrangements were being
made for him to have lessons from one of the Opera House players.  Uncle
John - as he called John Parker, was arranging it.  Safar had also learned
to play the piano.  Marion was a more than competent pianist and he'd been
having lessons for a couple of years now from a friend of hers.

     I knew Safar missed Stephen while he was away.  They kept up a
correspondence of post-cards and sent jokes and things heard back and
forth.  Safar was also growing fast.  Although the others still called him
'Midge' he was now as tall as Khaled, two years his senior, just over five
foot six, so both were now taller than their father!

     Stephen seemed to have come to terms with being away from his family
for these long periods at school.  However, I remembered how his father had
told me so many years ago there had been a lack in his life, a certain
feeling of loss, not quite knowing who he was.  With him it was possibly
engendered by his father's death as well as he was of an age to have missed
him.  He had admitted to me all those years ago that even though he had
good friends at school and a loving mother he didn't really have much
family life.  It was also strange.  Both Lachs and Flea had never had any
permanent relationships in their adult lives.  Lachs' marriage to Audrey
should have been ideal but that had collapsed, I felt, through no fault of
his own.  However, with the break-up, Lachs' ability to bond with another
seemed to have collapsed as well.  He had never revealed any other liaison.
On his last visit, as we sat talking late at night, he admitted he threw
himself entirely into his work.  He only felt fulfilled when he was working
flat out and only felt fully relaxed when he was in Cambridge with us.

     Flea's escapades with married ladies was well-known.  I knew of four
at least and he had stayed with us on more than one occasion while licking
his wounds.  On one occasion we were awoken at four in the morning with him
begging sanctuary - with that irrepressible grin on his face - as an irate
husband had arrived home unexpectedly from a business trip and almost found
him and his wife sleeping the sleep of the just after, as he put it.
They'd just woken in time and it was a mad scramble for him to get out of
the back door.
  Clad only in hastily donned trousers and jacket, no shirt, he'd escaped
in his sports car hotly pursued by the gentleman in question in a much
larger car.  Only by dint of swerving off into by-roads did he get away and
ended up in Cambridge pleading for his old pal to save him from a fate
worse than death.  His only excuse was that you don't often get five feet
five's with a dick like a horse and that's what the ladies liked.  Having
seen said dick on many occasions I said it must have been a very small
horse.  I grinned to myself.  I well knew that the six and a half inch
sturdy erection on him looked huge.  He said he couldn't help it.  He'd
never been short of offers.  I knew he had had a very powerful sex drive.
Teenagers who could come six times in the course of a night must have.
Lachs did, too, perhaps not quite to the same extent, but powerful and
profound.  I wondered if his son had inherited that power and profundity.
It was there in his dancing I was sure.  Still, at thirteen, he still had
to develop and find out.

     I was cogitating on all this sitting in my study looking out into the
garden when Francis knocked on the door and wanted to know if I was busy.

     "I had a letter from Silvio this morning," he began with no preamble.
"He wants to come to England at the end of July for a language course and
there's one he likes in Cambridge and he needs somewhere to stay."

     It sounded very much like an arranged job.  More than one letter I
guessed, back and forth.  I looked at Francis.  Puppy-dog eyes weren't in
it.  I tried to keep a straight face.  Here was my eldest son, probably
wanking, sucking and shagging and being wanked, sucked and shagged by two
of the hottest young studs imaginable, now trying to arrange more of the
same with an over-sexed Italian stallion.  No, not an over-hung stallion.
James' chart had noted in purple pencil for Silvio that there was no change
in length of six inches and one tenth, and in brown pencil appropriately
for Bruno, he was stuck at six inches, over the time they'd been at least
wanking together on the previous visit.  I was slightly mistaken about the
extent of the request.  He took a deep breath.

     "And could Bruno come, too?  Silvio says he needs to improve his
English as well."

     "And the rest of them?  The other four?"  If the present company
cluttered up the washer with spunk-stained bed-sheets what would it be like
with at least four of the Italian mob spraying their teenage seed as well
and, given the accelerated rate that the Italian boys seemed to develop, it
would probably be five.  Oh no, Fabien and Buck would be in their own homes
giving their mothers extra work, so two down, but that still left nine or
ten.

     Francis shook his head.  "No, Mama is going to take them to the new
villa that's almost finished on the coast.  I think the place is called
Rapallo.  He says they are more interested in being by the sea and perhaps
we could all go there next year."

       Bribery?  I said he'd better consult his Mum.  He said she had said
it was up to me.  Puppy-dog eyes again.  Even at nearly nineteen he could
still act the wanting seven-year-old!

     "Yes," I said, "But you're responsible for them.  I don't want them
here on some flimsy pretext.  Last thing I want is for Mama to find out
they've spent their time and her money just sniffing around, chatting up
girls.  So, first thing you do is check out the language school.  Make sure
it's a good one, there are some ropey ones about.  See if they have
qualified teachers. There are quite a few of our students teach for them
and I wouldn't trust half of them."

     Puppy-dog eyes became more alert.  Dad was almost agreeing!

     "I'll start this afternoon.  James and Khaled can take the others to
the boathouse."

     Amazing what the prospect of....  No, I mustn't be unkind.  There was
a genuine friendship between the lads.  So, that was that.  Two days later
he had done the rounds.  Yes, the one chosen was OK.  They used
school-teachers on holiday, earning extra pennies, and only had students
for conversation.  If they attended mornings only it would be cheaper and
he would deal with conversation in the afternoons and James could help.  By
the way, he said, with a crafty look, they asked if we could take up to
half-a-dozen more teenage lads as they were short of suitable families for
the students.  I picked up the nearest book and he retreated quickly before
I could throw it at him.

     Actually, Francis hadn't been going to the boathouse every afternoon
he had been reading ready for the new term.  He didn't go into detail but
he said he was enjoying the course.  Bit smelly was his comment to me when
I asked how the dissection work was going.  James, of course at the dinner
table and to the horror of the other lads, wanted to know which bit of the
body he and Grunty had got up to?  Was it anything interesting?  And was it
male or female?  A sharp look from Anne shut him up.

     As it was, neither he nor Grunty seemed to have any problems with the
course.  We saw nothing of them as stipulated during term time.  At least,
no physical bodies, but I saw Mrs Pring ironing a shirt of his one
afternoon so I guessed washing was smuggled in and out.  I thought of that
other pair, Nobbo and Cleggy.  Two others with ambition and now fully
fledged clinical lecturers in their chosen specialties in their respective
London hospitals.  Both had produced sprogs as well.  Isabella looked as if
she might foal as often as one of her favourite mares.  They had four
youngsters already, two boys and two girls, interleaved.  Cleggy was
content with his two boys.  Content!  The last time they had visited us
they were just like dad.  Holy Terrors!  But then, I wondered just how many
other children the pair had sired.  Nobbo had told me they had masturbated
for money weekly during their second and third years as students.  So, six
terms of ten weeks, give or take a wank or two added up to quite a total of
possible pregnancies.  I'd read that some women who underwent such
treatment needed more than one insertion of the vital fluid.  But, even so,
the prospect of all those possible Cleggys and Nobbos - now in their middle
to late teens - was quite something.  Nobbo had said anonymity was
guaranteed, but what if there was a knock on the door and "Daddy!".

     We heard both of our books had been accepted.  Ma also 'phoned to say
her latest and another shocker by Aunt Della would be out for the Christmas
market.  I just wondered where two ladies of advancing years got their
ideas!  Ma did say she would exchange one of hers for the two of ours.
Cheek!  Anyway, having checked my draft once more for the ninety-ninth time
I wondered what she would make of passages such as:

     '......and so the young bronzed Mars, stripped and ready for the fray,
kneeling, caressed that smooth well-muscled thigh of young James whose
friendship now he valued more having been chastised so cruelly for that
moment of ill-temper.  Good-natured James who had worried long for causing
such a hurt to his fine friend now thought to have some sport with him.
Thus, he, standing over him smiled down knowing that young god was his to
do as he would will.  That unsuspecting youth stared up at his quiet
smiling face and spoke soft and humbly. You are as marble fine and I would
kiss you awake like that sweet Endymion who slept and was aroused from
slumber by fair Selene each night.  No fair Selene am I as you can see but
I will wake your ardour none the less and we will pass this night in
sweetest bliss before you sleep again.

     So saying, he bent his head and with the softest lips, fluttering like
those iridescent wings of the poor creature they had released, caught
against the casement light the morn before, kissed from sculptured toe to
ankle trim then up the chiselled shank to swelling thigh where full long
his prize rose swiftly ere his kisses reached that rose-budded stem.

     His Endymion, so awoken, knew the wanton god was his and called with
soft voice, come lie with me and gain your prize.  I am the hostage to your
desires, do with me as you will for you, young Mars, shall husband all
those spoils of war and take my seed as Ares your other self and share
those gifts.  But Lusty Will hath said he would battle with you as well so
we three shall pass this night and you and he shall vie for each small
portion of my fate.

     The artful youth raised but one finger and to this signal call the
second of his conquests rose from his couch and smiling joined the pair.  I
think my friend your warlike name belies your softer self for in melle sunt
linguae sitae vostrae. [For your words overflow with honey: Plautus
Truculentus] I would not vie with thee but let us share such joy that this
most cunning James has brought for us.  We three shall pledge that through
this night all spoils are for us equally.  Come let your broadsword plunge
between my lips while you taste that sweet honeydew from your Endymion's
staff.  He hath the wish from two nights ago to take my butcher's steel and
sharpen once again that tongue which with wit and pun enlivens all our
merry discourse.  Come, I am ready, and with no further word the trio set
themselves upon the bed and laved and sucked until all had shared the
other's seed........'

     Ouch!  I may be thirty-seven but re-reading any parts of the tale were
uplifting!  Still, if this was a bit racy then the first draft of the first
two chapters of Tony's 'growing-up' book were even more forthright.  No
hiding behind sweet euphemisms.  In the opening chapter a thinly disguised
hero 'Paul' succumbs to the wiles of a slightly older boy, 'Charles', which
was certainly the nom-d'emprunt, or nom-de-guerre, or whatever, of Big Jim
Chater.  I hadn't had the opportunity to inspect more closely that lengthy
tool of his I'd seen in action but the description of every vein, every
tiny mole and every fold of his foreskin gave a pretty good idea for
identifying it even on a dark night.  As 'Paul's Odyssey' itself unfolded I
guessed I would appear at the present rate of seductions and experiences in
about chapter ninety-eight!

     We said goodbye to Buck and Fabien.  They had one more term to go and
then return to their homes and the companies to which they had been
appointed.  As they boarded the train at Cambridge station with Jody,
Stephen and Lisa in tow, Francis flung his arms around each of the boys in
turn and kissed Lisa and looked a real lost soul on the way home.  Even
James kept his mouth shut and didn't make one of his usual comments.  He
didn't know I'd overheard him the day before saying to Francis he was going
to miss Fuck and Baby-One but not so much as Francis would.  Francis
ignored it as I came into the room but I guessed the little Newark would be
dealt with in due course.

     James's exams came and went.  He said he winced a bit at a couple of
the Pure Maths questions but Jeremy had tackled them as well and got the
same solution.  English Literature was a doddle in his opinion and, thanks
to Mum, he thought he'd done OK on the History papers.  Please could I go
and stay with Grandma and Gramps at Ulvescott for a couple of weeks to wind
down?  Can Jerry come, too?  Be back for Sports Day was the command.
Khaled was miffed.  He still had schoolwork to do so one weekend I took him
and Safar up to the London flat as their father was over for a visit.  The
visit was rather important as he was going to be appointed pretty soon as
Ambassador at the Court of St James for his country.  All depended on some
careful negotiation between the many members of his family who might feel
they had a better reason for getting the very prestigious position.
Anyway, tea at the Ritz was very pleasant.

                              *
     James returned just after supper time in the evening of the day before
Sports Day.  He disappeared off immediately to say hullo to his Mum who had
retreated to her study.  She came through to the kitchen and piled a plate
with leftovers, grimaced resignedly and took it off with her. When he
re-emerged bearing the empty plate I was about to give him a telling- off
as I thought he wasn't going to take part in the School Sports.  He
realised I was going to say something.

     "It's OK, Dad," he said as he came into the kitchen where, as usual, I
was clearing up.  "I 'phoned and I'm entering for the Mile and Jerry is
time-keeping for Old Soapy."

     Old Soapy was a highly revered Maths master who always fired the
pistol for the start of any races and always had a couple of his favourite
mathematicians as record keepers.  But I was puzzled.

     "But when have you done any running?"

     He held his hands up in a placatory fashion and smiled.  "It's OK,
Dad, I did at least five miles every day at Ulvescott and Jerry said my
times were good for the first mile.  Much improved by this morning so I
think I'll be able to keep up the family tradition."

     I nodded.  "I missed not being able to run for the last time.  I had a
pretty good chance to win the Lane Cup again."

     He looked at me closely.  "Dad, you told us about Piers' medal.  Could
I borrow it for tomorrow and one of yours as well?"

     I was quite taken aback.  I didn't even think the boys had been
interested in the story or my history.

     "Of course," I said, "I've got them in a drawer in my study."  I
thought then of the minuscule running shorts he would be wearing.  "What
about pockets?"

     He laughed.  "Mum said she'd sew them in" His face wrinkled in a grin.
  "Of course, I could just tuck them in my jock-strap."

     I flicked the tea-towel, which seemed to be my usual weapon of
punishment, at him.  "Cheeky child," I said, "They're precious.  I don't
want them corroded by your sweaty body."

     He took no notice, merely sidestepping.  He was used to being in the
firing line.  "Did Gran sew Piers' medal in for you, or did you have
pockets in those great things you wore?  Gosh, they're nearly down to your
knees, it's a wonder you could run in them.  Ah, but I suppose they acted
like sails and any breeze helped you along."

     They'd giggled over the photo album many times as kids.  Me, clad in
long singlet and running shorts, holding the Lane Cup proudly was just one
of the collection handed on by Ma.

     "Perhaps some of us have more to hide than the younger generation," I
said, "Those green shorts of yours would have had Matt, Tom and me arrested
in our young days."

     He looked at me slyly.  "Probably you, Dad.  I saw what you used to
put each month in that diary you showed us."  He snickered.  "Must run in
the family 'cause Graham's the same.  God, he was only fifteen and he was
hung...."  He shut his mouth tight showing his teeth.  "Sorry Dad, James
has done it again."

     Graham, Gareth's son, must have been inspected on the visit the lad
had made for a few days en route for the minor Public School he had been
sent to at the insistence of his Mum, 'to toughen him up a bit'.  At
fifteen he was already nearly six feet and was really overawed by the
rumbustious James.  Anne had put him in with him as Stephen was back at
ballet school earlier than the term starting for Graham so, no doubt, there
had been plenty of time for analysis of attributes.

     "Can't help it, Dad, but it is very noticeable.  Grunty says it must
be in our inherited factors," he stopped again.  "Oh, Lor, shouldn't have
told you that as well."  He looked at me and smiled.  "If I can't talk to
you, Dad, I'll never know anything."

     "So, you've discussed our intimate anatomical makeup with the medical
oracle, eh?"

     "Dad, don't use such long words.  It's just that our lot seem to be
what Grunty calls well-blessed.  He ain't"

     "I thought you weren't suppose to say ain't.  And how do you know
about Grunty?"

     "Sorry, but he isn't." He emphasised the word 'isn't'.  "Boys' talk.
That's all."

     "But I've seen the chart and that's not done by talk!"

     "OK, Dad, but you keep saying you were a boy once and you won't tell
us what your friends measured."

     "I told Francis a little bit, so he's discussed it with you.  Boys'
talk?"

     "Oh, Dad, what do you think we talk and think about ninety-five per
cent of the time?

     "I know, I was a boy once and in my day in was ninety-nine per cent
and don't forget, thinking doesn't stop when you reach the old age of
eighteen."

     He wrinkled his nose.  "I used to think no-one could live past
eighteen and I've only got a few weeks to go.  Actually...," Here he looked
at me and smiled that James smile.  "..thinking about it you're not much
older than us.  Francis says his friend Jock Parrish is twenty and he'll be
that next year.  Gosh, Dad you're only thirty-seven and you've got us."

     "Yes, and sometimes you make me feel like seventy-three.  Having you
makes one age fast."

     He grinned.  "You don't look it and anyway it must run in the family
both sides."

     "What, pray?"  I asked, but knowing the answer.

     "Oh Dad!  You know!  Being well-blessed.  Piers certainly was."

     I was puzzled.  What evidence?  Clothing?  Over-large jockstraps?
Still to be seen imprints in underpants?  No there were no jockstraps -
probably hadn't been invented then.  The underpants I'd found had been
rather voluminous but were well-ironed and folded.

     "And how do you know that?"  I was truly baffled.

     "In his diaries, of course," he replied smugly.

     "But we never found anything.  Tony and I have read them through
enough times."

     He was enjoying this.  "It's there as clear as day.  Remember where he
gives references in the Bible to the vicar's sermons?"

     I racked my brains and remembered Tony and I had seen them and
disregarded them as things a rather devout boy of the time might note.

     "Yes, I think there were about three of them, but I don't see the
relevance."

      He nodded.  "Neither did I until Jerry gave me a clue."

     "Has Jerry read the diaries?"

     He shook his head.  "No, but we were in the church because he wanted
to have a look around.  He was looking at that list of vicars from 1300 on
the wall and he laughed.  Said one of them had a real double-barrelled
name.  I had a look and it was Richard Cox, nineteen hundred and six to
nineteen twenty-six.  He laughed and said he bet he was called Dick the
Prick!" He grinned at me.  "Sorry, Dad, but it's important.  So when he was
chatting to Aunt Mary when we got back I had a quick look in the diaries
and it's solved.  Look, I'll show you."

     His backpack had been ditched on arrival under the kitchen table.  Out
came various pieces of dirty underwear and other unmentionables and,
wrapped carefully in brown paper were the three diaries.

     "Why on earth have you got those?"  I began, angrily.

     "It's OK, Dad."  He had retreated a couple of steps seeing I was
beginning to lose my temper.  "Aunt Mary told me to bring them home because
it was important for you to look after them."  He bent down again and drew
out another package which he unwrapped.  "She said Francis and I were to
share this when I told her about the rowing."  It was Piers' tasselled
rowing cap.  He held it out to me.  "She said things must not be lost."  He
sniffed.  A tear rolled down his cheek.  "Oh, Dad I felt so sad and so glad
when she gave to me.  I put it under my pillow.  Poor Piers.  But I knew he
wanted us to have it as well.  It won't be lost."

     He sniffed and drew out a grubby handkerchief and blew his nose.

     "Gosh, it's odd, but I knew he was there.  Jerry said it's a strange
place.  He was all worked up about his Chemistry exam but he said he felt
much better about it as soon as he got to Ulvescott.  He says he knows
he'll pass now."

     I put out a hand.  "Ulvescott's the same for me.  Now tell me what
you've found."

     He grubbed in his backpack again.  "Lost it.  I found a Bible there
and copied some bits on a piece of paper.  Can we have look for one in your
study?"

     He picked up his bag and followed me up the stairs.  He must have
realised something.  The house was quiet.

     "Where are the others?"  So far he hadn't enquired about Francis,
Khaled and Safar.

     "Oh, they've gone over to Jem and Sam's new house to help move some
furniture.  They could do with another big strong boy."

     "But I've got to rest.  I'm running a mile tomorrow."

     "Abstinence?"

     "Dad!  But what about them?"

     "Safar's in the hundred yards and Khaled's doing the four forty.
They're fit!"

     We found a Bible on my shelves and sat side by side at the desk.  He
took the first diary and flicked through to Easter of 1915.  I recognised
the crossed out entry.  I had a sudden resurgence of feelings.  I waited.

     "Look," he said, "Easter Sunday.  He's written 'Vicar's sermon:
Matthew 25, 2.  Better than wise.  G less than foolish.'  Then, I'll show
you."  He shifted to the second diary.  The week after Christmas before he
went back to school.  Just him at home as the dots alone showed.  "There,
'Vicar's sermon: Exodus, 20, 1: Days of labour!  More!'  He picked up the
third diary.  "The third one was when Miles was staying after Christmas.
You know, when they did it."  He opened it to the last few pages.  "It's
here on the Sunday before that.  Look.  'Vicar's sermon: Matthew 18, 21: I
can forget seventy and Miles can almost'."  He picked up the Bible and held
it up.  "That first Matthew reference is to the parable of the wise and
foolish virgins.  Five wise and five foolish.  Don't you see?  If Vicar is
Dick or Cox, it doesn't matter, but he says he's better than wise, so he's
better than five, and that other boy G, that's the Gordon who went
home.....," I nodded, I remembered even more clearly.  "....is less than
foolish so he's less than five.  That means they'd been measuring
themselves because the next one we all know anyway is that He laboured six
days and Piers says more, so he's over six.  And that third one....," Here
he thumbed through to the page in Matthew's gospel.  "....that keeps
mentioning seven and ends up 'Until seventy times seven'.  He says he can
forget the seventy and Miles can almost.  So he's seven inches and Miles is
a bit less."  He looked at me triumphantly.  "I'm right.  Aren't I.
Cleverclogs, eh?"

     I nodded.  Not having scrutinised the list of Vicars I didn't know
about the Reverend Richard Cox.  I grinned to myself.  And Tony couldn't
have known either.  I remembered we hadn't even bothered to look in the
Bible.  It was so obvious, now.

     "You're obviously right.  Did you tell Uncle Tony?" I said, laughing.
He shook his head.  I was the first recipient of the news!  So, Piers was
well-blessed.  I wasn't surprised.  I'd already noted the French strand
with Daniel and the combined strands with myself and my cousins.  "That's
something you can tell Grunty.  It certainly runs in the family, French and
combined."

     He looked at me quizzically.  "French?  Daniel?"  He paused.  "Yeah, I
remember him wandering about but......, I don't really remember taking too
much notice."  He grinned at me again.  "Too use to seeing you, Dad.
Seeing that..."

     I put out a hand to give him a playful punch on the arm.  He took it
and laughed.

     "It's true then!  Graham said about his dad, and said he'd let slip
Uncle Dick and Gramps used to be the biggest in the University Fifteen."

     Oh, yes, I remembered Mr Gardiner's remarks about Dickie Dido and I'd
probably fill the jockstrap like someone else could - my Dad!  And my
cousin Graham had a whopper as I fondly remembered from that first visit to
Cardiff.  Well, so did Alun and Rhys.  Yep, it certainly ran in the family.

     "But you won't be tattling all this to Grandpa I hope."  I snickered.
"I guessed it was probably so when the Gardiners gave me all Chris's old
stuff.  Old Henry Gardiner held up a jockstrap and said something like he
expected I'll fill it like my dad, pride of the line-up."

     "There you are, Dad," he said elatedly, "At school we've often
discussed whether our parents were like us.  It's true, they were."  He
snickered, too.  "And then when they get old they say No to everything and
they've done it all themselves before!"  He realised what he'd said and
shook his head.  "That was all an awful mistake I made.  I wouldn't have
done it for worlds now.  Still they say you learn from your mistakes."

     I put a hand out and held his arm.  "Better luck next time." I
grinned, "But thinking about my own case.  I didn't learn, because I had
you!"

     He smiled.  "But, Dad, I think we're very much alike!"

     I let that ride.  "And I suppose you'll have to tell Francis all you
found out?"

     He grinned.  "You bet!  He'll be mad he hadn't spotted
it..... ....Dad, you will keep those diaries safe, won't you?.....  And can
I have the medals, please?"

     I put the diaries in my desk and found the two medals in another
drawer.  "You keep those safe, too, and I want to see whatever you get for
winning the mile."

     "Ta, Dad, I will."

     He rushed off bearing his bag, clutching the medals.  I went down to
the livingroom and was just settled with the Times when he came back
beaming and holding up his green running shorts.  They looked distinctly
grubby.

     "All done," he said giving me the garment.  Anne had sown in a patch
on the right hand side.  Very neat.  I could feel the medals inside.

     "They're filthy," I said.  "Surely you could wear a clean pair
tomorrow."

     He give me such a look.  "Dad, I've run five miles a day in those
every day for the past three weeks and I'm winning the mile in them
tomorrow."

     "And I'll be there to see you!"

     "Thanks, Dad."  He took the shorts back.  Another thought struck him.
"When are Stephen and Jody coming back?"

     "Ah, not until next week.  They got an extra week because two of the
others weren't well."

     Stephen and Jody were doing a month in a West End show as two kids in
several of the scenes.  No speaking parts, just milling around and,
generally, being kids.  They were staying at the flat with Ma and Pa and
she was chaperoning them back and forth.  She was enjoying it but she was
watching the show every night and at matinees and said a month would be
enough.  At the last moment the pair had been asked to continue for this
week and as both would be getting plenty of pocket money they'd agreed.
When I spoke to Ma on the 'phone she was quite happy as the pair were a joy
to have around and she'd had another idea for a book and she'd sketched out
the synopsis.  She chuckled and said it was murder working in the theatre!
So, her next book...?

     "And Silvio and Bruno?"

     "Next week too.  Of course, Khaled and Safar are going off down to the
farm with Miles.  By the way, that's more news."  James was all ears.
Major Miles Bastable the Marine Commando was a real hero to the boys.  No
swagger, no side, full of good humour and a great story-teller.  "Miles is
retiring next year and going to help his brother run the estate.  Neither
of Giles' boys are interested in farming and there's a lot to do."  Neither
Francis nor James had evinced much interest in farming either as during a
visit to Dorset James had slipped into a slurry ditch and Francis came off
worse with an angry ram who chased him, with him escaping by inches by
vaulting over a stile.  One of Giles' lads was a trainee journalist and the
other an accountant of sorts.  As Miles was a part-time minder for Khaled
and Safar it was deemed safe for them to be on the farm.  "Oh, and as soon
as they go Lucius is coming to re-decorate Francis' bedroom and knowing him
he'll take a week."

     "So, I suppose he and those two will be in the big guest-room.  Can't
I have the little room 'cause Jody snores."

     "That room's out of bounds.  It's full of pamphlets and papers and I
don't know what, all to do with your Mum's new major interest."

     He groaned.  Since finishing the book Anne had taken up her
involvement with Women's Rights with a vengeance.  She never pushed it at
home, I think she was too well- mannered to be a real militant, but the
boys often answered the 'phone when one of her more 'angry' associates was
wanting to rant on about something or other to do with spare ribs, or loose
livers and floating kidneys as the boys facetiously put it.  In fact, Anne
was mainly involved with the group's publication.  This was a journal
appearing every three months called 'Women's Issues'.  When I said that I
thought 'Women's Issues' would be a substantial monthly volume I got a
disdainful look and the riposte that if so, 'Men's Issues' would be three
times a day on a postcard.

     "No, you're in with them and stick a peg on his nose."

     He sloped off, moaning, to find Francis.

     Francis just shook his head in disbelief that James had solved another
code in the diaries.  "I suppose it had to be you," he said when all was
explained, "I don't know what the vicar's text would have been for you?"
He paused and then he grinned.  "Wouldn't be anything to do about size, we
all know that!  I know.  I remember we all had a laugh when we read it in
RI.  Old Testament somewhere, Ecclesiastes I think." He wrinkled his nose.
"Yes, I know.  'In the morning sow thy seed and in the evening withhold not
thy hand'!  Fits you perfectly!"

     James looked at me.  "He's saying I have bad habits, Dad!" he said in
a put-on sulky voice.

     "If the cap fits, James....?"

                              *
     The next day each of the three emerged winners.  Safar was shorter
than all in his race but streaked past and just breasted the tape ahead of
the more fancied lad.  Actually, the pair were friendly rivals so no
problem.  Khaled had really practised he'd told me and he put on such a
spurt at the end he had everyone cheering.  Dear James!  With his tousled
hair, grubby school singlet, muddied green shorts and those long hairy legs
he looked rather unkempt, to put it mildly.  I was near the starting line
and he gave me a tremendous wink and a grin as they lined up.  I held up
one finger and he nodded.  He had a plan.  He used the four front runners
as pacemakers and on the last bend he gradually increased the stride of
those long legs and passed each making the one in front his next target.
Hearing someone hot on their heels they increased speed but James had
hidden energy and overtook them all winning by a good yard.  He ran up to
me from the finishing line.  I congratulated him.

     "Thanks, Dad," he panted, "I did it for you and Piers.  You couldn't
run because of your accident and he never lived to do anything more!"

     It cost Dad a bit that night but three Victor Ludorae, Mum, plus big
brother Francis and Jerry the timekeeper, had their favourite outing - the
Berni bar - prawn cocktail, steak and chips and Black Forest gateau, plus a
glass of wine or two for each except for Safar, who had about a pint and a
half of Coca Cola.  I nudged Khaled and said, as I had on many occasions,
"I thought you mustn't eat beef and drink wine?"  He gave me his usual old-
fashioned look.  "When in England do as the English do!"  The only one who
complained was James.  "Midge'll be up all night running to the loo!"

     When we got back home James said he just wanted to make a quick
telephone call.  Five minutes later he came back grinning.  "All sorted.
Gran says I can go up and stay at the flat with Jerry while he looks at his
hall of residence.  It's just down the road from the flat 'cause he's going
to Imperial College."

     "And what about Jody and Stephen, they're there?" asked Anne.

     "That's OK, there's a spare room as Uncle John's not using the flat
now they've got that big house in Dulwich."

     That was news, too.

     "Is it OK, Dad?  Can we go?  I said a week and Gran said it was OK."
I nodded.  He grinned.  "Could you lend me ten pounds?  I'll pay you back
when I've been to the bank."

     "James, to get you out of the house for a week, ten pounds is a small
price to pay."

     "What about us?" a chorus came from Francis, Khaled and Safar and
three hands shot out.

     "You two are going off with Miles and I gave you your allowance
yesterday and Francis is staying here eating everything in sight, so,
nothing doing!"

                              *
     Actually, chaos did not ensue, even though for a couple of days at
times there were several teenagers of various sizes and ages milling about.
Miles turned up in a new car the next morning and Khaled and Safar were
whipped off in a cloud of exhaust to cries of 'Tally- ho' and a trumpet
blast from James.  He, with quickly washed clothes, set off to London in
the afternoon with Jerry.  Silvio and Bruno arrived on the Sunday and
settled into their routine well.  Language school in the morning and
trailing around talking with various of the boys who came visiting in the
afternoons.

      Jody and Stephen returned on Wednesday and said James and Jerry were
making the most of their stay but they wouldn't be drawn on details.  Mr
McIntyre had found Jody a job in a clothes shop - a gentlemen's outfitters
as Jody grandly put it - for the summer.  There was no doubt, the lad was
no slouch.  He and Stephen did 'class' every morning at seven o'clock so he
could be off and out ready when the shop opened at nine.  He got back soon
after five and he and Stephen then did exercises.  Also, Stephen had
decided he would help me as I wanted to re-lay part of the patio.  He said
pushing a laden wheelbarrow of sand would be just the thing to keep him in
trim.

      That meant James had to be found a job for his return.  The week
stretched to ten days.  A job that would be the very best for his
abilities.  The job that had been the choice for a recalcitrant Francis.
Touting for the punts!  Mornings only as there was a queue of applicants
involved and he was lucky to get it but he'd already made friends somehow
with the chap running the rota.  It was, as he pointed out, a very useful
job as employees could always negociate substantial discounts for friends
and family.  As the substantial discount was probably a case of just
getting into a punt with the connivance of a friend who would be slipped a
few bob it actually solved problems of what to do with bored teenagers and
other visitors in the afternoons.  James loved to punt so was always in
charge.  "Half-colours for rowing are a good advertisement!"  Luckily he
seemed to know when the yobboes were around and no-one ended up in the
water like Grandpa.  Even Grandpa in the past had allowed him to punt so
that was a bonus for him.

     I was in the kitchen the afternoon James had returned, of course, just
in time for lunch, and was preparing the veggies for the evening meal!
We'd heard he and Jerry had had a wonderful time.  Gran had taken them to
four Promenade Concerts in the Albert Hall in succession and Jerry had
bagged a good room in the hall of residence and they'd visited this, that
and the other.  I peered out of the kitchen window.  Silvio and Bruno were
on their backs on towels on the lawn in full sunshine while Francis,
sitting between them with his back to the sun, was getting them to repeat
phrases from the text book they had been issued with.  Anne was in her
study getting things ready for her Women's conference and Stephen was
practising the flute.  A typical English summer afternoon.  James came in,
also from sunning himself in the garden.  He went to the fridge and found
the orange juice.

     "Gosh, it's hot out there.  Getting a nice tan, though."

     As he was wearing nothing but the most disreputable cut-off denim jean
shorts with half his arse about to hang out I just nodded.

     "That pair out there," he said, peering through the window above the
sink by where I was standing, "Can't see how the sun penetrates all that
fur.  Christ, they look like a pair of bloody hearth-rugs.  It's a wonder
Frankie doesn't get carpet burns sandwiched between that pair at night!  He
said Grunty says he'd like to see what their testosterone level is as they
never stop!"

     Bruno was rapidly catching up with Silvio in hirsuteness.  At nearly
eighteen his furry front was quite formidable, only outdone by his brother
who now sported a moustache and small beard as well.  James was most
probably right.  The three never dallied in front of the telly but were off
up to bed promptly just after ten each evening.  They still emerged,
bright- eyed and abundantly bushy-tailed, ready for breakfast just after
eight each morning.  Ten hours of whatever they indulged in seemed to keep
them fit and healthy and I'd noted Francis shoving extra bottom sheets in
the washer from time to time.

     "James," I said, dropping a peeled potato into the waiting pan,
"You've taken the name of the Lord in vain, you have sworn, you've made
insinuations about your brother's and our guests' sexual habits and finally
implied that a neighbour is also, or would like to be involved, all in one
go and you haven't been back three hours yet."

     He just snickered.  "Sorry Dad, but what can one say, mustn't swear I
know, but, it's true and you know it.  They're at it all the time.  And...,
Francis and Grunty are best friends and it's his level he'd like as well!"

     I didn't enquire what 'it' was but he was jiggling up and down.  I
grabbed at a rip near his seat and another couple of inches gave way.

     "And you are jealous no doubt.  Trying to entice one of them no doubt
with your garb.  God, boy, you're almost hanging out both ends!"

     He looked a bit startled.  I think I'd hit something.  "Dad, the Lord
won't love you."  He looked very seriously at me.  "I need to talk to you
again.  Let me help you finish."

     "Only if you wash your hands after tucking yourself in a bit more
discreetly.  No wonder Bruno keeps stumbling over his words."

     My tug at his back had meant the rather over-developed meat in his
jockstrap was bulging out through a rip at the front.

     "Dad!"

     We finished the veggies in silence.  I poured two glasses of orange
juice and put ice- cubes in, stripped my shirt off and guided him, along
the new path Stephen and I had laid after doing the patio, towards seats
further down the garden.  I loved the sun and had on quite short shorts and
I saw James take a couple of glances downwards.  OK, boy, Dad packs a
package as well!

     He took a sip from his glass.  "I must admit, Dad, I wouldn't mind
enticing Bruno.  I've got to tell you something.  I think I like boys as
well as girls.  I've thought about it a lot since Easter."

     I kept silent but nodded encouragingly, I hoped.

     "Yeah, I talked to Francis then and he told me how he felt properly.
That's why I wanted to go to Ulvescott."

     "With Jerry?"

     He nodded.  "Yes, and I wanted to talk to Uncle Tony as well."

     Um.  Tony hadn't said anything when I'd spoken to him on the 'phone.
He was a good, tight-lipped, counsellor.

     He went on, slowly and deliberately.  "You've guessed about Jerry, I
suppose?"

     I nodded.  It was fairly obvious what his inclinations were.

     "I thought he and Francis might have..., ...you know, hooked up but
Francis said although he liked him very much he wasn't right for him.  We
had lots of talks and Jerry says the same.  He said it's difficult being
Jewish and gay and that's why he's going to London to do his degree.  He
made enquiries while we were up there about groups and so on and he said
he'll be OK.  So, Dad, another confession, but we didn't do everything.  He
said he'd rather wait for when he meets someone he wants to be with all the
time.  But, Dad," He looked somewhat relieved.  "I think I'll be OK too.
Jerry's a great friend.  You've probably guessed he's not the first I've
fooled around with....  That's wrong, ...with Jerry it wasn't fooling
around.  Uncle Tony said I was just like you and I had to talk to you."

     I wondered how much Tony had told him?

     "I know what you told Francis when you talked to him.  You love Uncle
Tony and Uncle Lachs and Uncle Flea.  Proper love?"

     I nodded.  "And there's others too.  You'll know in good time.  I
found I could give my love to some of my dearest friends and they're still
my greatest friends."

     He nodded.  "Khaled and I are like that.  You've guessed that too?
We've done the same.  We've pledged our friendship fully.  Safar has said
when I'm ready he wants the same.  Am I doing wrong?"

     I shook my head.  "My belief is that whatever two friends, and I mean
real friends, do together will only cement that friendship and giving
oneself completely is the final sign and symbol."

     He smiled his James smile.  "That's what Uncle Tony and Francis said.
You didn't mind me asking and saying all this?"

     I smiled and shook my head.

     He went on.  "Do you remember that book The Little Prince?  We used to
read it a lot."  I nodded, it had been another great favourite of the boys.
I had seen the well-worn copy when clearing Francis's bedroom ready for
Lucius's painting skills.  "Do you remember the Prince's friend the fox?
He said 'You become responsible, for ever, for what you have tamed'.  I
think I've tamed how I feel and I'm responsible now." He shook his head and
looked a bit glum.  "Those girls were the biggest mistakes I could ever
have made.  I had to prove myself.  I don't need to now.  Francis, Khaled
and Jerry have taught me that."  He smiled.  "Please don't tell Khaled I've
told you all this but we each made proper, brotherly, comradely love the
second night after I'd made such a fool of myself over that tart.  We've
promised each other we'll do anything for each other now."  He smiled.
"Khaled will tell you when he's ready."

     I took his hand.  "I'm glad you've been able to talk to me.  It makes
me very happy to think both my sons can.  And I haven't told you the
loveliest thing you did recently was run that race.  Even if you hadn't
have won I knew you did it for love."

     He nodded.  "I did.  I've been a stupid son at times but you've never
given up on me.  You and Mum took Stephen without question and then Khaled
and Safar.  They're real brothers to me now.  Then there's Jody.  And Buck
and Fabien.  You and Mum have never turned anybody away.  I want to be like
you.  I promise I will be."

     He clutched my hand.  "And you don't mind one of your sons being gay
and the other liking both?"

     I smiled.  Now was the time to say more.  "It's in the family.  Piers,
you know about.  I'm certain your great-grandad's brother the mining
engineer was.  He gave his life to save his best friend.  I've seen the
newspaper cutting saying they always did everything together.  Neither were
married and they lived their bachelor lives next door to each other.  Your
mother's Uncle Lester and her other uncle, Robert, who died young.  That's
why Gran and Gramps have always accepted Uncle Tony without question.  I
think from what Uncle Edward has said that his relationship with Lachs' and
Flea's father was more than just being ordinary friends.  My cousin Johann
and my distant cousin Daniel both pledged with me.  I think it probably
goes right back.  Either completely gay, or bisexual, which is the other
word."  I grinned at him, he was agog.  "I don't think Jean-Antoine could
have written that book without at least knowing both camps and he certainly
knew the Lascelles cousins.  So James you have nothing to worry about.
Join the family!"

     "I'm in it," he said almost silently.

     "And where did you learn to use that word, gay?  I've only heard it
mainly from students I've had to help.  It's nicer than 'queer' or 'pouf'
and you'll have to watch out for those words if you make known you like
both."

     He smiled.  "A couple of the boys at school called Jerry a 'pouf' last
year and because I told them to shut up they called me it as well.  I said
if that was all their little brains could dredge up it didn't worry me but
they had to be careful their own little sins weren't ever revealed."  He
giggled.  "They both went very red and went off muttering."

     "And what did you know about them?"

     "Nothing....., but they're boys, so....." He giggled again.

     "...Hoist with their own petard, eh?" I said.

     "Yeah, definitely, must have been!"  He said that with emphasis.
"Anyway, Uncle Tony always uses that word, gay.  He said its what people
now say in America.  At least, he said all his friends did.  He told me a
lot about the studios and all the art his Uncle does.  He said he also got
to know an Englishman out there who does marvellous paintings of boys.
Swimming and so on."  He looked at me quizzically.  "That drawing of you?
You and Uncle Mike?"

     I nodded.  He smiled.  That question would never be asked again.

     "James," I said, "Francis's room is all redecorated.  Just needs the
bed made up.  Pop up and do that and then go and ask Bruno if he'd like to
share with you.  It'll probably be OK.  But knowing you, my dear James, you
might just say the wrong thing."  I laughed.  "There's a lovely old German
saying which fits you."  I smiled at him.  "Alle Kunst ist umsonst wenn ein
Engel auf das Zundloch brunzt."  He muttered to himself then shook his
head.  I translated, "All endeavour is buggered if an angel pisses in the
touch-hole of your musket!"

     He giggled.  A strangled "Dad!" emerged.  He flung his arms round me.
"I'll try not to be a little Newark!  I love you Dad!"

     We hugged.  I whispered in his ear, "I'll tell you what, if he says
'No' I'll have my ten pounds back!"

     "Oh, Dad!"

     Next morning at breakfast James was wearing a different pair of, not
quite so disreputable, shorts.  When we were in the garden a little later I
asked him what had happened to the others.  He shook his head and grinned.
"He couldn't wait once we got into the room, he just ripped them off me."

     "Carpet burns?"

     He shook his head again and smiled seraphically, "No, just like a
soft, silky, coney- skin!"

                              *
     We waited for the A Level results with Francis teasing James
increasingly every day about what happened to little boys who failed.
Neither he nor Jerry failed.
  Both got the crop of straight As which were more than needed.  In fact,
Jerry got a letter from the Examinations Board congratulating him on the
extremely high marks he got for the Chemistry papers.  He said even though
he was at Ulvescott after the examinations it was because he'd experienced
whatever was there that he got those high marks.

                              *
     Both Francis and James had several long talks with me before they
departed to their respective colleges with the injunction that they were
not to be seen at home until the end of term.  One topic was the
decriminalization of acts between males over the age of twenty-one which
had been passed by Parliament only that July.  They both sensibly said they
wouldn't go out of their way to put themselves in any danger with James
saying as long as any girl he went with was not under sixteen he'd be OK.
As soon as he said it he just mouthed the word, 'Love'.

                              *

     That term had a very unhappy start for us all.  Aunt Mary had a stroke
and died at the beginning of November.  Giving James the diaries and the
cap must have been her foretelling something was going to happen.  Then Mr
Marcham had a slight heart attack two weeks later so decisions had to be
made.

     The future of Ulvescott Manor had to be settled.  The estate was held
in trust by a company registered abroad.  With the death of Mrs Crossley,
and the illness of Tony's father, Tony and I were the succeeding Trustees
according to her Will.  In fact, de facto, sharing joint inheritance.  But,
as usual, Ulvescott seemed to have a life of its own.  Just before Aunt
Mary passed away I'd had a letter from my American cousin, whom I'd never
met, Charles Bradley Hamilton.  He was a lawyer acting on behalf of a
college which wanted a short-term base in Britain for small groups of staff
and students for seminars and cultural visits.  Did I know of anywhere
suitable?  I'd 'phoned Mr Marcham and his immediate response was Ashburn
House, but that was on lease to a hotel chain.  Then with Aunt Mary's
passing, at the funeral he suggested to Tony and me that Ulvescott Manor,
or at least part, might be leased out.  His own illness made other things
imperative, too.  He and Helen Marcham and the Duchess would move into a
house he had already bought in the village just before Christmas.  Dora
would be maid in charge as Mrs Browne was now retired.  Tony said he would
move back to Cambridge and immediately bought a large house near the river,
cash down, but was going to Garforth Hall for Christmas and would move in
after.  Our house would be full over Christmas as Charles, his wife Grace
and their son Alfred Bradley Hamilton the Third, would be flying over to
allow him to start negotiations.

     Negotiations over who was sleeping and staying where for Christmas
then had to be made.  The Gibsons said Ma and Pa could stay with them next
door.  My cousin and his wife could then have the big en suite guestroom.
The six boys could have their two usual rooms and Brad the Third, as they
named him in advance, could have the small spare room now Women's Issues
and various other pamphlets were moved to a room, or coven as Francis said,
in one of the women's colleges.  Brad was born in December 1951 so was just
sixteen.  With a sense of altruism, or whatever, James said as their room
would be rather crowded, or at least the bed, with him, Francis and Khaled
sharing, he would volunteer to share with said Brad the Third, sight
unseen.  Stephen, Jody and Safar were not concerned; they shared and that
was that.

     James was in for more than a slight shock.  A taxi drew up at the
appointed time, late afternoon, on Tuesday the nineteenth of December.
Three large, and I mean large, figures emerged.  My cousin Charles looked
just like his father the Reverend Alfred the Second, except he was around
five feet ten and eighteen stone at a guess.  Grace Elphinstone Bradley
Hamilton, his gracious statuesque wife, was a smidgen shorter and not much
lighter, while Alfred the Third at sixteen was six foot and around sixteen
stone to match his age.  I saw Anne wince.  Would our furniture stand up to
the weight applied?

     Stephen and Safar had a fit of the giggles.  Brushed aside as a sign
of their young years they retreated quickly carrying a bag each.  I looked
at James.  A poker face.  He was to share a bed with someone shorter by two
inches in height but about five stones more in weight.

     What a family.  All fears disappeared about how a high-flight lawyer
would fit in.  Chuck, as he insisted all called him, including the boys as
Brad also called him that, was full of jollity; roly-poly jollity which, I
recognised, disguised a white-hot intellect.  Grace was Old American,
unsophisticated straightforward unalloyed charm.  And Brad?  Each of the
boys also winced.  That was when he shook hands with them.  I know I did.

     Tea and two dozen hot crumpets later everyone was chatting together.
Anne announced supper would be ready at seven o'clock and I saw Brad smile
contentedly.  Thank goodness Anne had made a hot-pot for a horde, as she
usually did.  The boys stood, or sat back as the guests helped themselves
first.  Half the hot-pot went.  Six pairs of hungry eyes fixed on me,
they'd only had one crumpet each.  Lucky them, I didn't manage to get one
at all!  Francis did the honours for us and loyally divided up the rest of
the hot-pot, which was substantial in itself, between the eight of us.  All
the mashed potatoes went in the first round and I had one sliver of carrot.
I guessed there would be a post-mortem on the proceedings at some time.
Luckily Anne had a trifle ready for the next day as well as the big apple
pie she'd prepared for tonight.  All disappeared with about two pints of
custard.

     As Tony was going to drive me with Chuck and Grace over for the day to
Ulvescott in the morning we had an early night.  There were suppressed
grins from the others as James went into the small spare room with Brad.
Anne sighed as we got ready for bed.  "Treble the rations," she said.

     The pair were ecstatic about Ulvescott.  Mr Marcham was up and around
and escorted them on a tour of the building.  We had stipulated, at least
Tony and I, that Piers' room and the Horsebox with the central bathroom
would be out of bounds and locked for the duration of any stay.  Chuck
there and then gave Gerald a cheque for ten thousand dollars for 'any
refurbishment or restoration needed' and there was plenty more where that
came from he was informed, as we couldn't let heritage like this wither and
rot away.  He would talk to the college trustees who had plenty of
resources.  A further cheque was forthcoming, on account, as the first
batch of twelve graduate students and four tutors would be in residence for
intensive seminars on English Literature from May the First until October
the Second.  Catering, cleaning and waiting staff essential.  Transport to
nearest station.  Also a resident butler of sorts for May until October.
Of course, Jem and Sam and whoever, probably the lads as well for summer
jobs.  We would plunder our resources!

     We stopped at a restaurant for lunch.  Tony and I watched as the
couple more or less marched through the menu.  Luckily, when we got home
Anne had a large piece of beef roasting, plus three pounds of sausages.  Ma
and Pa had arrived and joined us for supper.  Ma had, also luckily, brought
one of her superb tarte au pommes which joined a large fruit crumble for
pudding.  The table was cleared.  After supper I saw a hurried conference.
Christmas Day would soon be upon us.  Quadruple the rations!  All cooks to
the mainbrace, capstan, galley or whatever.  Ma was volunteering to help as
even Jem and Sam would be pushed to prepare and cook sufficient, and I
guessed Mrs Gibson would be roped in as the four of them were joining us as
well for Christmas lunch.

     I didn't manage to corner James and Francis until the Thursday morning
after breakfast.  We went up to my study.

     "Tell me all," I said, "The troops looked mutinous the first evening.
How are things?"

     They both grinned.  "It's OK really," said Francis, "As long as Mum
doesn't run out of supplies and we're put on hard tack.  We promise we'll
help get ready for Christmas lunch.  Actually we think they're all great
fun. We took Brad and showed him the usual colleges yesterday.  He said
they were 'awesome'."  He imitated Brad's twang exactly on 'awesome'.

     I looked at James.  Enigmatic now.  "And your side of the story.  How
is your second cousin?  Does he take up more than his side of the bed or do
you sleep on top like a double- decker bus?"

     He couldn't keep a straight face.  He yelped.  "Dad!"  He giggled.
"Thought I was going to get squashed when I saw him first."  He became
serious.  "Actually, he's very gentle, but, God, he's strong!  Oh, Lord,
James has taken Thy name in vain twice!"  He grinned.  "That's not all fat.
He's muscle.  Does weight-lifting and he's champion wrestler for his age
and weight at school and for the State they live in.  Gosh, you should see
the thighs on him!"  He became serious again.  "Dad, you know what we
talked about?  Well, it's definitely the French side as well.  We just
about match and he's only sixteen."  He glared at Francis who held his
finger and thumb about an inch and a half apart.  "Huh, and that's just the
width of our ends!"  He looked at me.  "Sorry Dad, they've been taking the
mickey out of me all the time.  They'll laugh the other sides of their
faces when I get him to show them a few of his holds."

     "Them?" I asked.

     "Him and Khaled especially and they razz the other three up as well.
Actually they're not bad.  Brad watched Stephen and Jody do class yesterday
and said no way could he do anything like that and they got him doing plies
in five minutes.  As I said he's very gentle and..."  Here he looked at
Francis.  "....He won't be getting married."

     "What?" I said.

     James smiled.  "He asked me if I minded sharing with him as he wanted
to tell me straight away he was gay.  He said only two of his friends knew
but he thought he ought to tell me in case I didn't want to be in the same
room as him."  He looked at me.  "I said it was very honest of him and I
really respected him for that."  He nodded vigorously.  "....We talked for
ages and I explained about Francis and me and about all the family
connections and he was so relieved.  He's a really nice guy, Dad, and
Francis has said he didn't mind me talking to him and telling him things.
Dad, can we take him over to Ulvescott?  It's not all shut up yet."

     "What do you think, Francis?"

     "Yes, please.  I'd like to talk to him as well."

     "No time like the present.  Tomorrow's Friday.  Now Francis can drive
he can take you over in the car.  Take sleeping bags as the bed isn't made
up." I saw them glance from one to the other at the use of the singular.
"Gramps will let you in and Mr Craig is keeping an eye on the place and
also keeping the boiler on a low heat.  Don't forget, Gramps has had a
burglar alarm fitted and he'll have to give you the code if you want to go
out.  I'll phone Gramps and he can tell Mr Craig you three are coming.  Mum
will stack you up with food.  Tins no doubt.  There is an electric oven in
the kitchen now.  Please don't raid the cellar.  Back on Saturday not too
late.  I trust you, OK?"

     They both solemnly nodded.  Another relation to be introduced to the
peace of Ulvescott.  I knew I could trust them.

     I think the other four guessed it was important as no-one moaned
because they weren't included in the visit.  In fact all thoughts of moans
were dissipated in any case as Cousin Charles took all of us to the Berni
bar that evening.  Lucky we 'phoned early to book as there was a table load
of us with three who had two of their largest steaks apiece!

     Friday there was more sight-seeing for the adults.  I took them into
college and they were duly impressed with my room and its view.  We went
next door to look in King's and I said I had got tickets for the Nine
Lessons and carols on Christmas Eve.  Somehow I had managed to get twelve
tickets and we were to be within the Choir so would experience it all first
hand.  Actually, I hadn't managed, Willy Roberts had.  It was worth the
case of a dozen good wines I gave him as a Christmas box.  Pa said he
wasn't bothered not coming.  He would settle down with a good book.  Little
did he know two of his Christmas presents he'd get the next day would be a
copy of each of 'Audacity in the Age of the Enlightenment: French
Connections' and 'The Education of Women 1350-1450: An European
Perspective'.  Anne and I didn't have a bet on which he would open first!

     I was in my study when the trio returned on Saturday afternoon.  The
place was quiet as all the others were out doing last minute shopping and
stocking up on extra chocolates in case the supply of other food ran out.
All three came in, Brad first.

     Brad started to speak as he entered the room.  "Gee, thanks for
letting us go down there.  It's the most wonderful place.  I know it is,
because....."  He stopped and looked at the other two who stood either side
of his massive frame.

     Francis smiled.  "...because as usual we knew who was there with us."
He turned to Brad.  "Thank you for everything."  He held out both hands and
clasped Brad's rather more meaty paws.  "We're bound within the family
now."

     James was not to be outdone.  He came round and put his hands above
and below the others.  "We're bound," he said simply.

     Brad looked at me with such enthusiastic joy on his face.  "I never
knew I could be so happy, Uncle.  James told you about me.  Even Mum and
Dad don't know.  But I'll tell them soon.  Francis is just like me.  I'm so
happy.  And James!"  He turned and just about crushed James in a bear hug.
"James.  I may be only a kid but you're my greatest buddy!"

     Nineteen and twenty just about dwarfed by the kid of sixteen!

     I didn't ask details but from the exuberance I knew the three had
consummated their relationship fully.  I dreaded to think of the
conjunction of the pairs when weighty Brad was top.  On Christmas night
James had a little too much to drink.  My fault, I'd made a rather potent
punch and he'd quaffed two glasses thinking it was orange juice, or so he
said.  He sidled up to me just before he went off to bed.  "Dad, he's ever
so gentle and I haven't been squashed yet, but I'll show him tonight!"  He
giggled and went off to lead an almost equally inebriated Brad to a
fate.......

     Brad told his parents on the day after Boxing Day.  In fact, he asked
Francis and James to be there.  No surprise.  The Junoesque Mum enveloped
her equally Rubenseque son in a hug and said they'd guessed and they'd been
so worried about him if his English cousins found out.  Poor Brad's eyes
were popping, both from the sincere hug but also from the revelation that
his parents had guessed.  I thought back to Tony's similar unveiling and
his shock at his mother's matter-of-fact statement.

     His father had a chat with me later that morning and said he'd had
plenty of experiences as a boy especially with his close-bonded twin
brother, Sam.  He said his only regret was that we hadn't been able to meet
all those years ago especially when his father sent back those photos of
their English cousin in his running gear.  "You caused me a lot of trouble
with Sam that night those pictures arrived!  And then you in that kilt!
Yow!!"  He grinned and winked.

     I went with Chuck and all the boys to the boathouse in the afternoon.
For some unknown reason Brad had packed his wrestling leotard and so was
determined to give a demonstration to the delight of the boys.  It wasn't
very warm in the weights room to begin with but the temperature rose as he
effortlessly floored Francis and then James several times even though
Khaled was hanging onto one massive leg in two of the bouts.  As an encore
he picked up Stephen and Jody under an arm apiece while Safar clambered
onto his shoulders.  Plenty more photos for two family albums!

     They departed the next day with effusive thanks for the marvellous
time they'd all had, invitations to visit anytime and another cheque for
ten thousand dollars 'for that family place'.

                              *
     In the late afternoon of the last Saturday of the year I was in my
study answering the first of many letters I was to receive about my book
when there was an unholy screech from the direction of the younger boys'
room.  I knew there had been much giggling at lunchtime and consultations
previously with Anne who had gone out shopping with Stephen and Jody in the
morning.  I thought I'd better investigate as I then heard James say very
sharply, "Stand still otherwise you will get them cut off!"

     A peculiar sight greeted me as I got to the open door.  Jody was
standing on the bed, on a large towel, in the nude, clutching his genitals
and looking rather worried.  He was the author of the screech.  Kneeling on
the bed were two industrious figures wearing serious expressions and rubber
gloves and painting some sort of liquid on his legs.  James was standing in
front of him brandishing a shaving brush with plenty of lather on it and a
safety razor in the other hand.  I noted an amount of foam had been daubed
near Jody's left groin.

     James hadn't realised I was at the door as he had his back to me.
Jody's face was all screwed up in a rictus of fear and apprehension.  "Come
on, take your hands away," James commanded, "If you want it done properly
you don't want any of that other stuff near your balls, it'll be safer with
the razor.  But it might be better if you do hold everything up.  Come on,
just stand still, all I did was just put some soap on you!"

     The two leg painters saw me.  Stephen waved his brush.  "Jody was told
to have his legs shaved before he went back to school," he said, "He's
getting awfully hairy and it would be best for him especially if he does
anything not wearing tights."

     Jody's eyes opened but he was resigned to the process.  Anyway he knew
I was used to seeing his nude, or almost-nude body, scuttling to and fro
between bedroom and bathroom.  James turned round still brandishing the
implements.

     "Mum said it was better to get rid of the hair with that stuff, they
got it this morning.  It's what ladies use," he sniffed, "They don't sell
much in Italy."  He turned to Jody.  "You'd need gallons of it for some of
those girls we saw on the beach.  Made Frankie look as if he was nearly
smooth."  As Francis had hairy legs almost as densely furred as hearth-rug
Silvio it was true.  I'd noted the hirsuteness of legs and particularly the
armpits of Italian ladies on a previous visit.  "Now stand still while I
lather the tops of your legs."

     I thought I recognised something.  "Is that my shaving brush?"  I
asked.

     James waved it at me having anointed the tops of Jody's muscly thighs
generously.  "Yes, Dad.  I had to have something nice and soft for the dear
lad's precious legs."

     "But, that's my shaving brush... For my face!"

     "It's OK, Dad, I won't put it near his bits.  Anyway, they're all
clean and sweet.  We made him have a shower before we started.  And I'll
wash it out afterwards.  No worry."

     He put the brush down and immediately started shaving the hair from
the tops of Jody's legs.  The other two were surveying their efforts.  They
were now rubbing swathes of ginger fur off his shins.  I left them to it.

     Ten minutes later a nude Jody was led into my study by a triumphant
trio.

     "Look, Dad, they will be pleased," said Stephen pointing at Jody's
hairless, beautifully sculpted legs.  "We did under his arms and we gave
him a trim, too.  And James never nicked him at all."  He pointed across.
"He did wince when he was doing them, though."

     Jody struck a pose, ankles crossed, head to the left and right arm
raised above his head.  Jody's previously abundant dark ginger pubic bush
was now sculpted and trimmed into a heart shape and displayed his
good-sized, very white, cock and a pair of now hair-free pendulous balls to
perfection.

     Whoever said family life was dull?


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