CHAPTER 1
ORIGINS
I sat next to my great-great-grandfather, struggling with a feelingof hopelessness: how could I get any information out of him thatwould be of any use? He had to be well over ninety, exactly howover I don't think anyone knew. He stared at me, his jaw movingas though he were chewing something, though I knew he had noteeth. Despite this, I could understand him well enough. I wastwelve and tasked by the schoolmaster with extracting any familylegend or history I could, writing it up and relating it to the otherstudents. We all had to do this.
I asked him, "Where did our family come from?" I guessedthat asking specific questions would be better.
He looked at me until I was preparing to ask him again, whenhe said, "From south."
"Southern England?" I asked.
More stare, then, "No. Far south." More silence before he said,"Walked a long way."
I asked, "Why did they leave?"
He at length replied, "Lost a fight. Lost their land. Settled herebecause only land open. Walked a long way."
I wrote down what he had said, which wasn't hard becauseit wasn't much, and then I inquired, "How did they cross theChannel?"
He shook his head, repeated, "Walked a long way."
This confused me: I asked again, "How did they cross theChannel?"
He looked irritated and said, "No channel then. Dry."
I wrote that down, disbelieving, yet it was a definite statement."So our family has been here thousands of years?" I concluded. Henodded. I asked, "What does our name mean?" Our family name,Mendy, was unusual.
My ancestor replied, "Means 'hill'. We lived on a hill. South.Far south."
"In France?" I asked.
"Spain," he replied.
I wrote this all down, then wondered, "Did they farm orhunt?"
He told me, "Both. Had to pay rent. Hard life. Neighboursdidn't like us. We had poorest land. High meadow. On Landrumestate now."
I wrote all this down. I knew the meadow he was talkingabout. There was also a patch next to the meadow, a few acres ofwilderness. It seemed too small for hunting and I wondered why itwasn't farmed. Was the soil too poor? I asked, "What is the patchof wilderness next the meadow for?"
My great-great-grandfather was silent so long I thought hehadn't heard me or else had forgotten my question. However heeventually said, "That's 'good man's croft'. Left for the devil." Moresilence, then, "Bad place. Stay out. Children sacrificed."
I had never heard of this before, but he seemed very much inearnest. I wrote down what he had said. I couldn't think of anyother questions, so went to write up what I had heard. It seemedfantastic, but I had my instructions.
A few days after, it became too late to ask him any morequestions. My great-great-grandfather died in his sleep. Though Idaresay I had been closer to him than anyone else in our family—Iwas his namesake, we were both named David Mendy—my feelingwas of severed connections with the past, lost history. Since mygrandfather and great-grandfather had died already, that left myfather and me.
My father was also a schoolmaster, teaching in the sameCouncil school. He didn't make much money, one reason mymother left him in 1895 when I was four. I had begun to realizemy father was a disappointed man, and my mother's defectionleft him silent and bitter. We spoke very little; it was a silenthousehold. Because of his profession, I had long understood I wasexpected to do well in school, so I worked very hard. I wasn't surewhat goal or end my efforts were in aid of, perhaps teaching schoolmyself.
* * *
My family legend stirred up some controversy. The masterwas disposed to be sceptical, intimating I had invented it all, butI insisted I had faithfully reported what I had been told. Theother students of course followed his lead, so my efforts seemedabout to be submerged in ridicule, until I got to the part about thegood man's croft. Several of the students had heard of the legendor custom that part of every farmer's field was supposed to be leftto an evil spirit, or the devil, or evil spirits in general. This madeeveryone thoughtful, though there were still a few sceptics. Severalof these challenged me or each other to visit or better yet, spendthe night in the good man's croft on the Landrum estate. However,the master warned everyone that what was proposed involvedtrespassing. So things quieted, to my relief, for my great-great-grandfather'swarning had impressed me, I wasn't sure why.
* * *
Later that year, after end of term, my father had gone over mymarks. I had expected praise, for I had done well, but, in one ofour very rare conversations, he told me he expected me to do aswell next year, my upper fourth. This so I might gain a scholarshipto attend a grammar school about twenty miles away. He seemedunhappy as usual, but I realized his unhappiness was chronic andhad nothing to do with me. I also realized he expected me to besuccessful, it didn't matter in what, just that I was to do better thanhe had. For me, that meant education.
I took his comments seriously enough so that I spent part ofthe summer studying, trying to gain some advantage. Otherwise, Iwandered. I liked to walk, to be alone with my thoughts, a solitarywanderer. I tried to avoid the other boys; they were inclined tobully me, another reason for being alone.
Our parish was moderately hilly, gently rolling country. Tothe northwest of our parish, beyond Cirencester, the land rose toform the watershed that separated the tributaries of the Thamesfrom those of the Avon. The eastern edge of our parish was definedby a small stream that ran into a larger one, an actual tributaryof the Thames. I had been made aware that my presence in theeastern parish was unwelcome, for reasons I didn't understand, so Iconfined my rambles to my own parish.
In wet weather, unfortunately a common occurrence, I wouldsit at the table in the front parlour and read or pore over maps,for my father had survey maps of the area. My father didn'tteach history, but was interested in the subject. If I wanted aconversation with him, I would ask about historical features ofthe area. I learned, for example, there was a very old road or trackway called Akeman Street to our north running roughly east andwest. A Roman road to our west went to Cirencester. There wasa curious mound, called a "camp", north of our parish. My fatherthought this an ancient fortification, for the remains of walls andditches were too large, still, to be considered a pen for cattle. Ifound this to be rather interesting, but in a way frustrating, foreven approximate dates were wholly speculative, "prehistoric" saidmy father, forestalling my questions.
Much closer to the present day were the remains of tenanthouses, a few still intact and occupied, including the one welived in. My father told me our parish was farmed, supported aconsiderable population, until the ancestors of the Landrums haddecided more money could be made raising sheep. So the tenantshad to leave. I sensed my father did not approve of what must havebeen an enormous disruption of many lives. The fields themselveswere enclosed by dry stone walls, and my father told me these werefrom a much older time, again "prehistoric". There were woodengates to provide access to the fields, but these were always chained.
The field below the high meadow and good man's croft wasoften host to a considerable flock of sheep, sometimes with ashepherd in attendance, usually not. If there was a shepherd,I wouldn't venture to cross the dry stone wall, lest the shepherdset his dog on me. Given the reputation of the Landrum family, Ithought this a real danger. If there was no shepherd, then I couldcross. By now, I was big enough so the sheep made way for me;when I was small, the creatures frightened me.
* * *
I often ventured, in absence of shepherds, onto the highmeadow that my distant ancestors lived on. I now regarded thisas my ancestral patch next the good man's croft. On one summerday, I walked up there. I tried to lie down in the high meadowto watch the clouds casting moving shadows along the green land.However, the ground was stony, lie as I might, so I had to stand.The good man's croft as usual seemed to loom: great trees, a tangleof branches, some limbs flourishing, some broken, while the plantscloser to the ground were dark as though stained by permanentshadow. All very unlike the other patches of woods round aboutwhich were much more open, the grass and other plants betweenthe trees green and lush. This reinforced my reluctance to explorethe good man's croft. I stayed clear of it.
Walking about the meadow, I eventually detected a ring ofstones, about 15 feet across. The stones were only slightly abovethe level of the surrounding soil, so had been in the ground a longtime. I kicked and scraped dirt from around two or three of thestones, working at loosening them. At length I was able to pull uptwo of them. They were unworked stones, one with a pointed end,otherwise quite unremarkable, a considerable disappointment. Iliked to think these were the foundation of our dwelling. In thecentre, once I had scraped away enough dirt, I thought I detectedcharcoal, the remains of perhaps millennia of fires. The good man'scroft lay silent and sinister. I didn't even see any birds flying aboutthe trees.
Finally I walked down the stony edge of the high meadowand good man's croft, across the pasture where the sheep grazed,and over the dry stone wall. I set out for my home, the summersun blessedly warm on my shoulders. Glancing back, still no birdsmoved about the good man's croft.
The following day, it rained. Despite the disappointment ofmy essay into archaeology the day before, I perused my father'ssurvey maps with greater interest. I looked farther afield, across theThames, until my eye caught a location called "Liddington Castle."This stirred my imagination with images of battlements and turretsand I asked my father if there was an actual castle there. My fathershook his head and said, "People often call ruins of earthworks'castles.' This one used to be called 'Mount Badon.'" Here he puthis finger on the place where a village sat at the base of the hill. Isaw the name Badbury. My father continued, "This is where KingArthur stood and sent off the besieging Saxons."
"When was this?" I asked.
Unusually, my father had a fairly precise answer, "About 490A.D. This gave the land fifty years of peace." My father was silent,and then continued, "Two of our Mendy ancestors, father andson, stood with King Arthur here. One was wounded, but bothsurvived."
I caught a hint of something in my father's voice that I hadn'theard before. After a few seconds, I realized it was pride, pridein our ancestors' deeds. At this point, lunch was served and thisended our conversation. But I very much wanted to see the place.
The next day being dry and sunny, I left our house afterbreakfast and walked southeast. I crossed the Thames at Kemble,using the bridge, the first across the Thames. I turned moresouthwest, walking toward rising ground. Then I saw what had tobe the place: a low, wide, flat-topped hill, ridged at the top withwhat I realized must be the remains of earthworks. The westernend was steep. On top of the hill was a small cluster of fir trees,nothing else. As I mounted the hill, I crossed a flat place thatextended to my left and right. Its way was marked by a path ofdaisies, now a little past their peak, but very striking nonetheless. Iunderstood this must be the Ridgeway, another "prehistoric" road.To my right beyond the steep western edge of the hill, I couldsee a road going north-south. This had to be the Roman road, sothis hill commanded a juncture of two roads, probably importantroads, hence the siege.
Near the top were remains of three or four concentric ditches,once probably separated by walls, palisades of timber. I stoodatop the hill looking about me. The day was clear and I could seeCirencester about 15 miles north and several villages I recognized,including my own. I tried to imagine standing here, spear in hand,awaiting the onslaught of the Saxon "shield-wall." I was stirred.This was my land, my forefathers' land, and for the first time, Ifelt myself worthy of my heritage, never mind how our neighboursthought of us.
I would have stayed longer enjoying this feeling of belonging,but the time lunch was served at our place was approaching, andI was hungry. So back I went, walking fast, occasionally running,at least on the downhill parts. I managed to be in time for lunch.In keeping with his custom, my father didn't ask me where I hadbeen; and in keeping with my custom, I didn't tell him.
* * *
Toward end of term the following spring, I received a letterfrom the grammar school admitting me with a scholarship. Ishowed this to my father, expecting him to be pleased, to praisemy efforts, display some emotion, but he only nodded.
I knew I would need money even with the scholarship. Ithought and thought: what could I do to earn money? We hada doctor named Potter in our village. He was perhaps the sixthperson I asked about summer employment, but to my relief heagreed to let me deliver medicines to his patients. This would savea good deal of his time, and he offered me five shillings a week.The wage was disappointing, but I had to take it.
Our village was named Landrum after the family that stillowned much of the land. It was part of our parish. Dr Potter'spractice extended to the neighbouring parish across the stream.People in the two parishes didn't mix much and any mixing usuallyinvolved fights. There was a legend about a war between the twoparishes, but the legend was so confused, it was impossible to say if"parishes" were fighting or tribes.
Since I had to deliver medicines to both parishes, this wouldprovoke hostilities, and I worried when I had to go across thestream. I hoped my task would allow me to travel unmolested,so carried the box of drugs in front of me as a sign of my goodintentions.
There was hostility, mostly in the form of looks and occasionalremarks, which I ignored. I began to realize that my family wasconsidered outsiders despite centuries or probably millennia ofresidence in our own parish. This was strange, yet helpful in lettingme do my job.
Otherwise, I was about every day in all weathers. The twoparishes covered a considerable area, so my five shillings a weekwas hard earned. I had to spend some of my earnings to repair myshoes, so I would be taking even less to the grammar school.
Having little money worried me, as did the fact that I wouldbe meeting and having to deal with an entirely unfamiliar group ofboys and more difficult subjects to boot. Still I was excited also, forI hoped I was on my way to a better life.
CHAPTER 2
SCHOOL DAYS
Despite the distance, I would have to walk all of it carrying mythings. So I left early, just after breakfast, no farewell or last minuteadvice: my father was getting ready for start of term himself. Iwalked and walked, becoming very sweaty and tired.
I was assigned a "room" as I was in the lower fifth form, butthe walls and door were so flimsy it was more of a courtesy room.Still, it was mine. I introduced myself to the other students, touniversal disinterest. My "house" was in the charge of a monitorwho was assisted or seconded by four proctors. All were in theupper sixth form. Since I was in the fifth form, I was not expectedto fag for anyone, but on the other hand, I would not have theservices of a fag. Since I didn't want to be bothered with having todeal with such a servant, I was content with this.
The two proctors I met seemed determined to make me feelunwelcome and unworthy. I had some experience at games, a plus,but was the son of a schoolmaster, a large minus. Then the monitorappeared and introduced himself as David Threlfall. He asked meabout myself and told me briefly about himself, the school and itscustoms. He seemed moderately friendly and I warmed to him.It appeared I had been assigned to a good house and I was quitereassured. So I began the next stage of my education.
As I expected, the work was hard. Also the meals were poorand limited in quantity. Still, they weren't much worse than thoseprepared by the woman servant who "did for" us at my home. AndI was prepared to work hard. David Threlfall was willing to answermy questions about courses, masters and the other students. Thiswas helpful but I told myself to bother him as little as possible, as Ididn't want to "wear out my welcome" as it were.
