Synopsis

This novel is an Edwardian romance based on the courtship of an Aunt and Uncle of mine.

The story carefully portrays the observations and experiences of a young man as he grows up in a privileged household during this particularly colourful period in history. Along with extracts from his diary, his life is followed through the people he meets and happenings around him; his fortunes at school, then later on at Oxford and eventually his first full time job. The disruptive influence of the Great War which is soon to follow, signifies great changes in both his private life and that of his career when he is swept away along with thousands of others to volunteer himself for his patriotic duties.

Unfortunately upon his return, he finds that the young lady he has set his heart on marrying, has seemingly disappeared and only after much perseverance does he finally manage to track her down and discover that she has started a new life for herself in a nearby town and is making ever effort not to contact him.

When the train finally trundled into the little station at Holsworthy, we heaved our bags down, and all but tumbled out onto the platform. It was a quiet afternoon as we noticed only two other persons  alighting on our short walk through to the booking hall where we surrendered our tickets.

Upon stepping out onto the hot and dusty forecourt we immediately espied the familiar shape of old Albert seated atop the brougham under the welcome shade of a huge oak tree. After his polite yet formal greeting, he saw us comfortably settled inside, secured our luggage to the straps at the back, drew the whip across the flank of the mare and we set off at a good pace on the last leg of our journey.

To us boys, the drive was both interesting and exciting, particularly when the carriage had a struggle in ascending the steep hill just over the other side of the River Waldon. We really thought that the poor horse was going to expire at one point and I'm sure that old Albert was contemplating asking us to get out and push!

From that stage onwards, there were relatively few undulations in the road, and we passed by several isolated hamlets and farms before coming upon a row of cottages and a set of crossroads at a place called Forestreet. The road now dipped sharply downhill and a few hundred yards later on we heard Albert calling for us to look out for the house on our left. Hanging out of the windows we glimpsed the silver thread of the River Torridge winding it's way lazily through the landscape, disappearing behind woods and hedgerows from time to time only to reappear further on down the valley.

Then we both saw it together. From about threequarters of a mile away 'Lydney' looked akin to a small girl's doll's house; it was very square, had three stories, and was covered with windows; the stone which had been used to construct the outside walls appeared to be a creamy yellow colour under the  lightly mottled slate grey of the hipped roof. As the distance between us and the house decreased, the driveway leading to the front entrance could be discerned as a soft brown line drawn neatly through the green of the surrounding fields and lawns. We watched the building slide behind a tall curtain of trees on our side of the river as the road descended to the bottom of the valley, and it was not until we were actually crossing the bridge over the river that we caught sight of it again.

A few hundred yards on from reaching the far bank, our pace slackened and Albert skillfully steered us into the seemingly narrow entrance to our drive; then once we had passed down between two regimentally straight rows of poplar trees with fields on either side, the track ahead of us forked in two directions. As the right hand route obviously led the way round to the stable yard at the rear of the property, we kept to the left and shortly circumnavigated an ornamental flower garden complete with fountain, which affording us a magnificent view of the SouthWest facade.

"Did our father really make all of this?" I remember Jonathan saying in awe as we stepped down out of the carriage and stood for a few moments to take in our new home.

Our father was in fact Lord Oswald Tysley, yes, THE Lord Tysley, the famous architect. You may already be familiar with some of his works which include, 'St Mary's Court' Bridlington, 'Sandra Park Manor' Bristol and 'Presbury Place' near Swansea, to name but three.

Up to now our family had been living in a large town dwelling in the centre of Okehampton, but during the last few years I can remember hearing my parents make mention of a possible move out of town on more than one occasion. Whilst on one of his business travels almost two years ago, Father had had the good fortune to come across the old 'Lindford' estate which was at that time in a very run down condition. As the owners had long since uprooted and resettled abroad it was open to any reasonable tender. It took him but two visits to make up his mind about the package on offer; so once his generous terms had been accepted the plans were drawn up for the rebuilding of the house from the ground upwards.

It had been almost eighteen months to the day before the new country house was considered ready for human habitation, and over a period of three weeks, the furniture and effects from Park Mews Okehampton were carefully loaded up and transferred to the new house; the last few items had in fact  arrived only hours before Jonathan and I were expected.

On that same afternoon some sixteen miles away, a young lady was celebrating her thirteenth birthday with her family and a few friends. Belinda May Lawrence was born on Wednesday the fourteenth of August eighteen eightynine, to Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Lawrence of 'Whitecroft Manor' Hartland.

It was a particularly special day for Belinda as her parents had presented her with her first full length Summer outfit. It was of a pale sky blue, with clusters of tiny flowers delicately embroidered around the bodice and the hem of the skirt; it also possessed a fashionable high lace collar and lace trimming on the cuffs. She wore matching white lace gloves and had been permitted to have her long hair built high on her head for the occasion.

Hugh Lawrence was standing in the open French doorway to the parlour, watching as the youngsters enjoyed themselves down by the bridge. He discerned the quiet rustle of a lady approaching from behind and felt the light touch of his wife's hand on his arm.

"She looks as pretty as a picture doesn't she Hugh?"

Barbara Lawrence was a tall and regal looking lady with fashionably coiffured light auburn hair and deep blue eyes; she was wearing a pale mauve velvet skirt topped by an elegant cream blouse trimmed with many yards of fine hand made lace.   

He husband nodded in agreement.

"She'll make somebody a fine wife one day you can be sure of that."

They watched in silence for a few minutes more before Barbara pointed to a small figure running along the bank of the river wearing a pink calflength party dress with long tassels, holding something out in front of her. As she reached the main gathering of children there were screams as the group hurriedly scattered in all directions.

"What HAS she found?" questioned the lady shaking her head.

"Perhaps we'll soon find out." came the response as a largish boy wearing a smart 'Eton' suit with striped trousers came hurrying up the lawn towards them.

"Jaynes' found a frog!" the boy blurted out.

More screams sounded from down by the river as the mischievous figure in pink was seen to do more running about; Barbara looked at her husband.

"Alexander." he began. "Go and tell your sister to first put that thing back where she found it, and then come up here to see me."

"Yes Father." said the boy as he turned and ran off down the slope towards the figure which was now standing expectantly by the bridge, presumably aware of the impending summons. They watched in silence as the encounter had the desired effect, and within seconds the small pink clad form with tassels flying was observed running up the lawn in full flight towards the house.

As she approached them she slowed down and was soon standing but a few feet away with her hands tightly clasped behind her back.

"Yes Daddy." she said in a quiet voice.

"Now Jayne, what's this I hear about a frog?" asked her father in a severe manner.

The small freckled face lifted slowly and the eyes widened.

"He was a very big frog Daddy!"

"Now look Jayne." said her father holding up his hand. "No more frogs, do you understand? And that includes any other creature which might frighten the other children, do I make myself clear?"

She nodded her head and then bowed it in shame.

"No Daddy."

"All right now, run along and join the others, but don't forget that we're celebrating Belinda's birthday and not yours."

"Yes Daddy." came the answer and in a flash she was gone.

Barbara Lawrence shook her head sadly.

"What are we going to do with her? I often wonder."

Hugh stood watching thoughtfully as the group of children crossed over to the other side of the river and headed towards the 'Pagoda'.

The 'Pagoda' was a folly said to have been built over one hundred years ago by a previous occupant on his return from a lengthy stay in the Far East. This explaining why the architecture bore more than a passing resemblance to those Chinese monuments to be found bearing a similar name.

The structure was built on no less than seven levels, each being smaller than the one below it. From the ground at it's base to the tip of the lightning conductor at the apex, the structure ascended to a height of almost one hundred feet; thus affording a splendid panorama to anybody caring to climb the winding staircase to the tiny balcony which encircled the highest level. On a clear day, it was just possible to trace the course of the river for the last two and a half miles of it's journey before it reached the sea at Dyers' Lookout.

As the two of them watched little Jayne dash in through the open double doors on the ground floor, they caught the odd glimpse of the other children making their ascent to one of the upper levels.

"Give her a year or two and she'll probably end up as sensible as Belinda."

Barbara Lawrence slipped her hand through the crook of her husband's arm.

"We must remember though that they will only be young once."