Return to the Soil: The Second Book in the Harvey Saga

By J. Rowland Broughton

It is April 1920 and 8 year old Henry Harvey is now the master of the Harvey Estates at Long Halls and he is about to go off to school in the stead of his Father and Grandfather before him.
When he is eighteen he elects to go to the University College at Nottingham to study Engineering as opposed to Oxford or Cambridge and there he meets Amy Watkinson who he eventually marries. This is not a successful marriage because Amy is rather a simple girl who has led a sheltered life and she cannot cope with the style of life that Henry leads.
Henry joins the Royal Air Force as a volunteer and is immediately drawn into the world of politics and national affairs. In 1936 Amy dies giving birth to a son (Richard Henry Harvey) and once again the curse of the Harveys plays its part.
In keeping with his families traditions Henry Harvey accepts his Monarchs Special Commission and travels into Europe on the kings business. He is rapidly promoted and decorated for his services to the Crown and when he returns to duty in the Air Force it is as a leader of young men in battle. He is shot down and wounded during one of his sorties and meets Laura Wakeham a nurse whom he marries.
But this is short lived for she is killed attending a patient trapped in a bombed house. Henry is lost presumed dead on a mission into Vichy France but returns to survive the war as once of the Officers Planning the Normandy Landings only to be killed in a road accident at the end of the war.
This is the second book in the Harvey Family History the following Titles are in preparation:-
Children of the Lonely Night
The Missing Years
Cutting the Ties

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483630731

J. Rowland Broughton

J. Rowlands Broughton was raised in Lincolnshire during the Second World War. He was educated at the Huntingdon School, Nottingham & District Technical College, Woolwich Polytechnic and the Royal College of Advanced Technology. Most of his working life has been spent in the design and development of Special Purpose Machines primarily for use in the Rubber, Plastics, and Pharmaceutical Industries. For the past twelve years he has been employed at the Nottingham Playhouse Theatre and during his time he has developed his love for writing novels, poetry, and that adaptation of Greek Tragedy. Over the years he has written books and manuals, and has developed programs on the use of Bills of Materials Systems, Systems Control and Engineering Control Systems. Jim is married with two adult children and enjoys music, poetry, painting watercolours and researching Medieval History. Return to the Soil is the second book in a series of four books covering life of the imaginary Harvey Family who had an estate on the edge of the Lincolnshire Fens.

Book preview

FORWARD

This extract was taken in its entirety from the log for 1932 written by Henry Gervase Harvey:

It may be the wrong thing to say, but my memories of my parents are almost non-existent. I was a little less than six years old when all of my family died in the great ‘flu’ epidemic that followed the first World War; first of all, my mother, then my grandfather, and finally my father, who died just after returning to his regiment following my mother’s death. Grief had made it impossible for him to stay in The Long Halls, the house which they had shared since their marriage in 1912. So apart from the old house, Mrs Elizabeth Felstead, my governess, Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, and Mrs Sarah Colbourne, the cook, that is all there was to ‘my household’ and my world.

The great house was mostly under dust sheets and behind locked doors, there being little point in keeping a large country house fully operational for the simple needs of an infant child. The central body of the house was all that we required, so the east and west wings were closed down and placed in a state of storage. The grand restoration carried out by my mother before the start of the Great War lay, for the most part, unseen and unused.

My financial affairs were managed by Sir John Wakeham, the family solicitor, and who as an old family friend kept a watchful eye over my development up to the time that I went to school. That is as opposed to being schooled at home by a governess. This proved to be of great value both to myself and to Malcolm Wakeham (Sir John’s son), who was a few days younger than I. The estate of some 16,000 acres that had been managed by both my father and great-grandfather was left in a state of some chaos, there being no one immediately available to come and run what was a huge operation providing employment for about a hundred people. The war had caused a great upheaval, and many of the women, who had taken their husbands’ jobs during their service to their country, found that they had to continue to work after the war because many of their menfolk did not return.

At a point when we were about to be forced into selling the entire estate, a man was engaged to take over the running of the place. That man’s name was Jarvis Johnson, and at that time, he was just twenty-two years old.

H. G. Harvey

Long Halls, 23 April 1932

CHAPTER 1

Henry Gervase Harvey

April 1920

The Long Halls stood quiet in the cold air of early morning. The mist, so common in Lincolnshire at this time of year, tinged the woodlands and swept down to the distant Fens like a pall of mystery designed by the gods to cover the sins of man. Two figures walked out across the open area of grass that stretched across the front of the great house; one a middle-aged woman, the other a boy of seven or eight years.

‘When will I be able to go out and visit Uncle Bill in Australia, Elizabeth?’ the boy asked eagerly.

‘I don’t really know yet, Master Henry,’ she replied. ‘Major Robertson has not yet answered the letter that we sent to him. But I doubt if it will be for some time yet, because it takes a long time for a letter to reach Australia. Anyway, Sir John has started to make arrangements for you to go away to school, and once that happens, you will only have the long vacation left for travelling, and as things stand, I doubt if that will give you time to visit the Antipodes.’

‘Why can’t I just stay at home and let you teach me?’ he enquired. ‘Why can’t we just carry on in the way that we have done so far?’

‘All the members of your family have gone away to school at Huntingdon,’ she explained. ‘Even Sir John Wakeham himself attended there at the same time as your father. It is the tradition of your family for you to do so, and I can see little chance of altering that. You must resign yourself to the fact that when autumn comes, you will be off to school like all of the young gentlemen of your age in England.’

‘You will be staying here though, won’t you, Elizabeth?’ He asked the question knowing full well that the answer would be no!

‘You know that will not be possible, Master Henry!’ she replied sharply. ‘This is the time when people like me must go out and find another family with a child needing to be looked after. You are now a young gentleman of great standing in this country. You have a vast estate to oversee, just as many generations of your ancestors have done before you. Many of them, just like yourself, have had to do it from being very young. Members of your family have always answered their country’s call and have gone to fight when it has been necessary; so many of them have died and left young children to take up the reigns of running the estate. That is the tradition. It has now come round to the time when you must go off to school to learn those skills that I cannot teach you here. My job here is finished, and others will have to take up where I leave off.’

‘But I don’t want you to leave, Elizabeth!’ He was almost in tears.

‘That is the way things are now that you are the head of the Harvey family.’ She turned away to avoid letting him see the tears in her eyes. ‘Like his father and grandfather before him, your father had to do the same thing. That is the way things are with great families like yours. That is the way you learn to be strong enough to retain your lands and build your family history in a way that will make your sons and grandsons proud to be members of the Harvey family. You are only the custodian of this estate for the length of your life, and when you are gone you will have to make certain that there will be another Harvey to take your place.’

‘I know all about that!’ he said with a feeling that appeared to be beyond his years. ‘I would just like somebody here who is going to be with me. A friend! A brother! Someone! One who bears the Harvey name so I don’t feel so alone!’

He walked on, alone, across the vast expanse of grass, a small boy who had only ‘The Long Halls’ and the rapidly fading memory of his parents and great-grandfather.

CHAPTER 2

Henry Gervase Harvey

September 1920

Henry was alone. It was not an unusual state of affairs for him, but on this occasion, he did not know where to go. Sleaford Station at start of term was not really a difficult place; it was simply that Henry had never been there before and he did not know what to do. Elizabeth Felstead had always handled his travel arrangements, but now that she had gone off to live up in Scotland, he would have to get used to doing things for himself. He was to catch the stopping train down to Huntingdon, where there would be transport laid on to take him to the school.

‘Hello, young man!’ A man in uniform asked, ‘And where would you be going to?’

‘I’m off to Huntingdon School, sir!’ Henry replied.

‘And what is your name, if you don’t mind my asking?’ the man questioned.

‘I’m Henry Gervase Harvey, sir!’ he answered proudly.

‘Not the son of Brigadier Harvey of Long Halls?’ the man asked knowingly.

‘I am the very same, sir!’ Henry replied extending his had proudly.

The man took his hand as if it were a piece of porcelain. ‘Then I am very proud to meet you, Mr Harvey. My name is Jenkins and I was proud to have served your father, and now, I will offer my services to you. I helped you father when he was off to school for the first time, and I was here when he went to war, so this is rather like old times for me. Leave the bags there, Mr Harvey, and I will get a porter to load them on to the train for you. But please remember that it is you who will have to recover them from the guard’s van at the end of your journey.’

‘Thank you, Mr Jenkins!’ Henry responded.

‘It will be a bit of a scrum down at Huntingdon.’ Jenkins smiled. ‘But I’m sure that a young gent like you will cope with the problems. Your father did when he went to school.’

‘So you knew my father then?’ Henry asked.

‘Ah! Yes! Mr Harvey. The brigadier was a real hero! I’m sure that you’re very proud of him!’ Jenkins recalled.

‘I didn’t really know him very well, Mr Jenkins,’ Henry stated openly. ‘I was very young and he was away most of the time.’

‘Yes! I suppose that you’re right, really.’ Jenkins looked down at the small boy with great sadness. ‘One never really understands the lives of others until a door is opened,’ he thought as he looked at this small boy with the large sad eyes.

‘Did you have to go away to school, Mr Jenkins?’ he asked in a matter-of-fact way.

‘No! I had to go to the nearest church school. We did not have enough money to pay to send me away!’ he explained. ‘It’s only gentlemen like yourself who have to go away to school, Mr Harvey.’

They walked down the platform together chattering away to each other and came to a halt just under the northern end of the canopy that covered the platform for the length of the station buildings. In a matter of minutes, the smoke from the steam engine of the train could be seen approaching along the lines to the north.

‘This is the train that you will be taking all the way down to Huntingdon,’ Jenkins informed him.

‘I expect that you will find some fellows from the school already on board.’

‘Thank you very much for your help, Mr Jenkins!’ Henry said graciously. ‘I expect that I will see you again at the end of term.’

‘I’m sure that you will, Mr Harvey.’ he smiled benevolently.

‘Hello!’ a voice called down the platform. There was a small boy hanging out of a carriage window. ‘I say, are you Henry Harvey?’

‘Yes! That’s me!’ he called.

‘Well, come on then. There’s a seat here for you!’

Henry left the comfort of Mr Jenkins and ran to where the carriage door was standing open. The caller was standing there. ‘Hello! Henry, I’m Malcolm Wakeham, the son of Sir John, who handles your legal affairs. He asked me to look out for you, being new and without parents and all that sort of thing.’

‘That was frightfully good of him!’ Henry replied as he made to sit down and the train began the slow process of getting under way.

‘Who’s this little brat, then?’ an older boy who was sitting in the corner of the carriage snarled.

‘This is Henry Harvey, Wakeham explained ‘He’s a new boarder and comes from The Long Halls near Branworth.’

‘Then it looks as though I’ve found my fag before we even get to school!’ the boy drawled, sneering at Henry as he did so.

‘What’s he talking about?’ Henry asked.

‘Didn’t they explain at home about fagging?’ Wakeham asked.

‘There isn’t anybody at home to explain!’ Harvey responded.

‘Then it would appear that we have a problem, Henry,’ he commented sadly, indicating that they should go out into the corridor.

‘Why? Who is he?’ Henry demanded.

‘He’s a sixth former, Garfield-Richardson, the Hon. Herbert Garfield-Richardson to be precise,’ Wakeham informed him. ‘He’s the third son of the Earl of Brassington, and he can select a boy from the new intake to run his errands and clean his study.’

‘Why can’t the servants clean his study?’ Henry continued.

‘You really don’t have an idea ’bout school, do you, Henry?’ Wakeham suddenly realised the enormity of the shock that was coming to Harvey.

‘I know nothing about it at all, nothing at all, Malcolm!’ he answered eagerly.

‘Then I think I should start your education here and now,’ Wakeham told him firmly. ‘Just so that you know about it, boys at Huntingdon do not have servants. They have to look after all of their things themselves. Nobody here will run after you. Everything that you want, you will have to do for yourself. Unless of course you are a member of the 6th form. Then, you can have a fag to do all of your things for you.’

‘So while the fag is doing everything for the sixth former,’ Henry saw a way out of this, ‘he cannot at the same time do his own work. So who does it for him?’

‘Nice try, Harvey!’ Wakeham admitted. ‘But the fact is that you have to fit in both sets of work and do your prep. I think that we must get someone else to take you on, someone with a bit more understanding.’

The train chugged along its way, stopping every now and again to absorb even more boys going off to school for the first time and hosts of others all meeting up again after the ‘long vacation’.

This was a new experience for Henry. He had never been anywhere on his own before. There had always been someone from The Long Halls to help him on his way. He was totally entranced by the racket and the antics of this crowd of unruly boys.

‘You there, boy!’ a tall, sallow-faced man called. ‘What’s your name?’

‘I am Henry Gervase Harvey of The Long Halls!’ He stood proudly as he had been taught to by his governess.

‘So you’re the VC’s son!’ He walked up to him. ‘Well, I’m your house master and my name is Westby. Dr Westby to you! Now what are you doing here in the first class compartment? And you, Wakeham. I would have thought that you would know better.’

‘I wish you to leave my carriage!’ Harvey demanded. ‘I did not invite you in here, so kindly leave.’

‘What is this?’ Westby was astounded by the demand.

‘This, sir, is my reserved compartment, and I do not wish to travel anywhere with you or with Mr Garfield-Richardson. So kindly leave Wakeham and me in peace!’

‘Boys do not reserve compartments on this train!’ Westby insisted.

‘Well, this boy does!’ the voice of Jenkins confirmed from outside in the corridor. ‘The Harveys have always travelled that way to school, so this one will do the same as his father and grandfather did before him.’

‘Well, I’m damned!’ Westby spluttered. ‘I will talk to his parent just as soon as I can about this matter.’

‘Then I wish you great fortune, sir!’ Jenkins laughed as he walked back to his tea and his newspaper. ‘Of course, you will be aware of the fact that all of his family died in the past two years. Sir?’

‘Oh! I see!’ Westby was lost for words. He simply looked at the small boy sitting alone with his trunk and hamper neatly stowed and said quietly. ‘If you could spare me a moment or two, I think that I’d better explain what goes on here!’

‘Thank you, Dr Westby!’ Henry answered. ‘Please do come in!’ Wakeham was about to do the same thing, but he got called away.

‘I see!’ Westby muttered, but he clearly didn’t. ‘It is not normally the done thing for a new boy to have a reserved compartment, Harvey!’

‘I didn’t make the arrangements to travel to Huntingdon, Dr Westby,’ Henry explained. ‘They were made by Sir John Wakeham, who is my family solicitor, and my staff did not tell me what new boys were expected to do.’

‘Then I will have to explain matters to you, Henry!’ he announced. ‘When boys who have no parents in England arrive at school, we appoint them a mentor. Knowing that you would be coming here this term, it was agreed that I would be your mentor, so this meeting is quite fortuitous really. It means that I get to you before the sixth formers do. As I am your mentor in your first term, it is usual for you to be my monitor, and that will exempt you from being a fag to a sixth former. I suspect that Garfield-Richardson had already ordered you to call on him. Well, that matter has just been resolved, and I will inform him accordingly. So sit back and enjoy the rest of the journey and simply report to me tomorrow morning at 8.30 a.m., that is! With any luck, you’ll be in my house anyway.’

The sight of a couple of hundred people converging on one building is daunting, to say the least. Add to that all of the luggage and paraphernalia that the young gentlemen need for a whole term at school, then the chaos is beyond description. There is also the human factor; this, in the case of Henry Harvey, was the simple fact that he had never seen so many people together in the same place at one time before, nor had he seen the tricks that some boys tried on their parents in a last-ditch attempt to get them to change their minds and take them home with them. Few were ever successful!

Most of the boys had been pupils in the prep school and were merely returning to school after the long vacation. These were the ones who were tearing about like maniacs, finding their friends from last term and going through some sort of ritual when they did. All of this was rather beyond the comprehension of Henry Gervase Harvey, who had been brought up in the rather sedate and outmoded atmosphere of a country house. He watched in complete bewilderment the seething mass of juveniles acting like infants, and he suddenly craved the peace and tranquillity of home. What on earth was Sir John thinking of to send him to this madhouse?

Dr Westby strolled through the melee with an air of calm dignity. He seemed unconcerned about the raging scrum that pushed itself backwards and forwards across the assembly hall and was frankly oblivious to the overprotective parents who followed in his wake, giving the most precise instructions on how their offspring should be treated. This was his day for being aloof. Henry could read all of this; it was clear to him that most of these boys came from homes where children ruled the roost and their every need was catered for. Perhaps that’s what frightened him about this place; it catered for confined bulk and he was used to the isolation of space.

‘It’s all right, Harvey!’ Dr Westby appeared at his side. ‘I remember your father coming here and having the very same expression that you have right now. They’re not all as mad as they look, I can assure you. Some of the parents are, but the boys are more like tigers. They spend the summer feeding themselves so that they can come here and act like animals while the parents try to tell us that they are like delicate little flowers who should be carefully nurtured and their every need attended to. Two minutes after their parents have gone, they all revert to normal.’

‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’ Harvey exclaimed without taking his eyes off the gyrating mass.

‘No!’ Westby smiled. ‘Your father hadn’t either when he first came here. He and I were in the same form, and though we weren’t close friends, we knew and liked each other. It was a sad blow to many people when he died after going through most of the Great War. The real point of all this is that you Harveys belong to a different breed to this lot. Centuries of gentle living in the quiet countryside have tempered your being, and your father had a gentle nature that took a lot of arousing, but once the spirit was inflamed, then there was no stopping him.’

‘I never really knew him that well, Dr Westby,’ Henry told him. ‘When I was small, I can remember him coming home while he was working at the palace, but the rest is all rather a blur to me.’

‘Don’t worry too much about it, Harvey!’ Westby assured him. ‘There are many boys of your generation who have lost their fathers, but in your family, there seems to be quite a number of generations where the sons have taken over the ownership of your estates as very young people indeed.’

‘I don’t think that I would have been able to act like some of these!’ Henry gestured towards the crowd.

‘Don’t judge them yet!’ the doctor informed him. ‘Remember that they are going to be some of your classmates, and you will have a completely different view of them when twelve months have passed. I think that we might as well start getting people into their right place.’ He turned and spoke to an older boy. ‘Cranstone?’

‘Yes, Dr Westby!’ he responded.

‘This young man here is Henry Harvey, and as he has no parents to see to his placement, I will leave him in your capable hands. Get him and his kit across to Drake House and get him settled in while I start on the rest of the rabble!’

‘Right ho, sir!’ Cranstone answered and, turning to Henry, said, ‘Come on, then, Harvey. Grab hold of the other end of the trunk and we’ll get you out of the way!’

The two of them walked with the trunk between them, out of the hall and across the grassed area outside towards a collection of buildings that stood a short way from the main school.

‘Is this your first time away from home?’ Cranstone asked as they walked.

‘Yes,’ Henry answered, uncertain of how he should address his companion.

‘Are your folks away somewhere?’ Cranstone asked.

‘No. They are both dead,’ he answered abruptly.

‘I say, that’s a bit rough on a chap!’ Cranstone responded. ‘I thought that it was bad enough when my grandfather died.’

‘I’ve got used to being alone now,’ Henry remarked in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

‘So you’ve got no one at all?’ Cranstone insisted.

‘Yes,’ Harvey smiled. ‘That’s correct. The whole of my family died in the epidemic after the Great War.’

‘Good Lord!’ Cranstone continued. ‘Was your pater involved in the war?’

‘He was a brigadier in the Lincolnshire Regiment at the finish,’ Harvey told him.

‘He wasn’t Richard Harvey VC, the old pupil of the school, was he?’ Cranstone was now pursuing the matter with enthusiasm.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Henry answered. ‘He started off in the ranks.’

‘We’ve all had to do a project on him in the last term,’ he related. ‘I say, you will be a bit of a celebrity here, old chap. Fancy you being Richard Harvey’s son! I can see why old Westby wanted you in his house. He fought tooth and nail to get you here on the basis that you should be in the same house that your father was when he was here. They are rather strong on tradition here, so Westby won out in the end.’

They walked slowly up the stairs and into a dormitory that contained six beds and all of the cupboards and drawers that the boys were allowed. ‘I wasn’t really expecting to have to sleep in the same room as a load of other boys,’ Harvey exclaimed. ‘I have always had a room to myself.’

‘That is something that we all have to get used to when we arrive here for the first time,’ Cranstone explained. ‘You will soon get used to it, Harvey. The fact that you are in Drake House and that you are to be Westby’s monitor will be fairly good for you. Garfield-Richardson had been shouting about the fact that he bagged you on the train coming in. He’s going to be fairly mad when he finds out that Dr Westby has a prior claim on you. Perhaps that is a good thing, because he has a fairly bad reputation for being heavy handed when it comes to giving punishments.’

‘Can sixth formers cane people, then?’ Harvey enquired.

‘Oh yes!’ Cranstone replied. ‘And because of the shortage of teachers, they sometimes take maths and English for the first years. Anyway, that’s enough of that. I understand that you know Wakeham and he has been given a place in this dorm, so you will be amongst friends. But if you do get any trouble from other boys, just let me know and I will make sure that it is kept to a minimum. I’m going to leave you here for now, so start to get your things stowed in your furniture. Wakeham will show you how to go on for kit inspections, and I will see you later before lights out.’

With that, Cranstone was gone, leaving Harvey to contemplate his future alone.

Wakeham was not long in reaching the dormitory, but he had to get his trunk up there all on his own, and by the time that he reached Henry, he was out of breath and sweating profusely.

‘It’s all right for you freshers,’ he gasped, ‘but the rest, who are returning after the summer holidays, have to get our own gear into place. No sixth formers to heave our kit into place!’ he winked as he spoke. ‘It’s a terrible hard life once you get out of the first year.’

‘Cranstone told me that you would show me the ropes,’ Henry explained.

‘Yes, the Great Westby collared me as I left the hall,’ he puffed. ‘He said that you would need a hand for a few days because you had never been to school before.’

‘Well, it is all a bit confusing, you know!’ Henry explained. ‘I would have been all right if there had been someone at home who could have told me all about these things before I came here.’

‘Yes! I knew all about it!’ Wakeham told him. ‘I had a father and a brother who came here, so I knew quite a lot about the place before I came down. You didn’t even have a visit to see what the place was like, did you? It’s not a great matter anyway. We will get round all that the world has to throw at us, and you don’t seem to be such a bad cove. I think that we could go for a stroll round the grounds if you like. Not quite as big as your place, but it is still big enough to keep us out of mischief for a while and it gets us out of the buildings.’

‘Why, have you been to The Long Halls?’ Henry was suddenly interested.

‘Well, not actually in the house,’ he stammered. ‘I sat in the car while Grandfather came in to see your father just after your mother died. It’s massive!’ he chattered on as they walked down the staircase and out into the afternoon air.

By the time that the two of them had returned, the hall was empty and the dormitory was full. All of the parents had climbed into their motor cars and had trundled off to their respective homes.

Huntingdon was set in a deer park that had been cultivated for nearly two centuries. Most of the trees were set for effect rather than being of the natural type that flourished where and when they could. Large areas had been cleared for the sports field and the lake that formed a barrier between the school, and the nearby village of Wyton was equipped for rowing.

The four other boys in the dormitory were all second formers and considered the two first formers as encroaching on what was really second-year domain. The idea that things were segregated in this way was a mystery to Harvey. The notion that a year in the life of a person could be rated as a means of building barriers was complete anathema to him. He had been taught by his Methodist governess that the only way to get on in this world was to cooperate with others to achieve God’s purpose. The idea of a God, however, was something that puzzled him. How could a person believe in a Super Being who allowed all of the killing and illness in the world? The fact that no one had ever tried to explain the concept was not really an issue. He had the idea of what a God was from the books that he had read, but the idea that he should worship this mythical Beast was at best ritualistic and at worst almost comical. So when they were all called for prayers, he treated it as a request for those who wanted to do it and not as a part of the school’s rules that stated: ‘All boys must attend evening prayers.’ He had never been subjected to such a demand before and, as such, did not repair to Chapel when the bell signalled that they should do so. Normally, it was only a ten-minute affair: one hymn sung with gusto and Nunc Dimitis to send them to the refectory for supper. But that day being the start of a new school year, the headmaster addressed the school on the aims and objectives being set before them. Wakeham had come scurrying back to fetch Harvey from the dorm at the behest of Dr Westby, who demanded his presence at this most important part of the school’s year.

‘They really don’t like people to think for themselves here!’ Wakeham explained later. ‘It is best to go along with their idea that all of us are the same and save any other ideas that you have for the future.’

‘I don’t really want to become involved with all of this God rubbish!’ Harvey complained. ‘We didn’t go in for it at home, and I don’t think that it should be forced on us here.’

‘My governor says that they have to hold these services because the law says that they must,’ Wakeham tried to explain. ‘The government inspectors would close them down if they didn’t do as they were expected. Religious education is the only thing that they have to teach you by law. They can feed you with the most contentious rubbish imaginable and get away with it, but if they don’t teach religion, then the government has the power to close them down.’

‘Then the world is mad,’ Harvey laughed.

‘I think that is the first time that you’ve smiled since we met,’ Wakeham retorted. ‘Perhaps you are going to be all right after all.’

‘I shall make out all right, Malcolm,’ he replied. ‘Things are a bit strange, but I am adaptable.’

The thing that stands out about the English public school is that they mostly follow tradition. Harvey was part of the ‘grand tradition’ from an ancient family with a history of service to the Crown: a known attendance at the school for more than four generations and a record of gallantry in battle that was second to none. His father had been a hero of the Great War, his grandfather a hero of the Boer War, and his great-grandfather had been a survivor of the Afghan Expedition of 1878-81. All had their names inscribed on the school’s roll of honour, but none were more praised than Henry’s father, who had been awarded a Victoria Cross during the First Battle of the Somme.

Even the much-feared Garfield-Richardson had to admit that his father and uncle had warned him off young Harvey, and when they told him of Harvey’s father’s bravery whilst saving the life of Tolley Garfield-Richardson, the Earl of Brassington’s brother, all became clear. The Harveys were friends of the earl and that had to be enough for the young pretender. Garfield-Richardson became the defender of the young Harvey, and no one could say a word against him or his family without invoking the wrath of the Brassingtons.

Life was not at all bad for Henry after the first couple of weeks at Huntingdon and his getting used to the system of operation. Once he had that all sorted out in his mind, he was soon all right. He was Dr Westby’s monitor, but that really was nothing at all, just a little fetching and carrying during the early morning or just after prep in the afternoon. It was nothing compared to what he would have suffered as a fag to one of the sixth formers. The seniors treated them like skivvies, and none of them dared to complain.

Harvey was not a brilliant scholar, but he did not lack resolve and spent much of his free time working on the subjects that he thought were his weakest. He really did not need to go to university. The estate would provide him with more than enough income and work for the rest of his life; he simply felt that both his mother and father would have wanted him to try his best to obtain a place. Many of his contemporaries, like Wakeham, would go off to Oxford or Cambridge to get their classics or law degrees, and Harvey would return to Long Halls to run the estate in the way that his forebears had done since the time of the Norman conquest. That he consoled himself would not require a degree of any sort.

At the end of his fifth year, Sir John Wakeham appeared at the school in the role of Henry’s guardian, and in a meeting that was held in Dr Westby’s study, it was decided that Henry would seek entrance into University College Nottingham to read for a Bachelor of Arts degree issued under license by the University of London, because Nottingham had not at that time been granted a charter to issue degrees in its own name.

Harvey matriculated in the month of August 1930 and went home to prepare for his move into the rank of university student.

CHAPTER 3

Jarvis Johnson

October 1927

Henry arrived back in the dormitory feeling rather depressed to discover a letter from Sir John Wakeham waiting for him. The Long Halls Estate was not in very good shape, and Wakeham