Our Eternal Curse I

by Simon Rumney

  Once clear of the town they resumed their swift pace passing through small villages with names such as Stansted, Quendon and Wendons Ambo. Sitting forward to get a better view of the world passing by Robert observed the people who toiled in these strange-sounding places. He noticed something different about the laborers in the fields he was passing compared to those on his father’s estate. It was their condition. All of the farm workers at Pishiobury were well treated and well fed but these poor people looked thin and drawn in appearance. The starvation Robert saw from his carriage shocked him. He had heard his father talk about the appalling conditions caused by the industrial revolution in the north of England but had no idea that things were equally as bad here in the south.

  Robert’s father had explained that since 1760 steam-powered mills and factories in the Northern Counties had been sucking the populations away from the countryside in their insatiable thirst for more and more cheap labor. Mills once powered by water wheels had been rapidly superseded by steam-powered pistons which needed more and more people to provide the fuel to power them. By 1780 almost all trees in the north of England had been cut down and coal had become the most sought-after commodity. Men, children and ponies were sent down unsafe pits which collapsed or exploded with no notice. Lord Pishiobury had been disgusted as he talked about the pit owners who became incredibly rich on the back of these underprivileged people without spending any money to make them safe.

  Looking at the state of these tragic workers, as he passed. Robert understood for the first time why the peasant people in the North had flocked to the fast-growing cities. He grasped the appeal of an income, weatherproof terraced housing and the chance of regular meals. Even working long grueling hours in dangerous mines and mills was better than scratching a living in these cold, hedgerow-lined fields. Living in rows of soot-covered houses with your neighbor just one brick’s width away would be unappealing to a Pishiobury worker but to peasants who lived in the dilapidated alms cottages with unglazed windows it would be a great step-up.

  In light of the world passing outside Robert’s coach the things his father’s said began to make sense. The people in the North must have believed that anything was better than their lot in life but what they actually got was a hell on earth. It was a world in which children did the work of men. Sleeping by the looms and machines which regularly claimed their emaciated limbs, they were fed only once during their sixteen-hour working day. When they died, as they did in great numbers, they were buried in communal graves with no stone to commemorate their existence. Adults were employed only for the task that required strength and they worked as hard as the children but went home to their slums at the end of the day. The little pay they earned was taken back by the factory owners for rent and food because they also owned all of the houses and shops. If anyone complained about their inhumane existence they were thrown out of their job and of course their home. Losing one’s employment was tantamount to a death sentence, so no one protested.

  Robert also remembered his father saying that the vast industrial towns in the North were making Britain a power on the world stage but no recognition went to the people who made it possible. The rapidly growing middle class was becoming rich on the back of the lower classes but all these rustics could expect was a short miserable life spent in suffering. Robert knew that the common belief among the people of his class was that peasants could be made to take any amount of abuse without daring to make even a whimper. The aristocracy had believed this for hundreds of years. It did not matter how badly they treated the common people — they never rebelled.

  Most of the wealthy establishment treated the peasant classes as scum but Robert had been raised in a community that was built on respect and trust. Seeing the real world was opening his eyes and he no longer trusted the upper class rhetoric. He knew that the French revolution was incited by a maltreated population. He had lost a close relative in the terrible debacle just a few miles across the channel and he wondered if the same would happen to England.

  The thought of his mother and father being killed by the angry mob made him sit bolt upright in his hard leather seat. The distant North seemed a great deal closer at that moment and it gave him something new to worry about; and while still deep in thought, Robert felt his coach pull to a standstill outside the main entrance of the old public school.

  The bursar of many years, Mr Poynton came out to greet him saying as he came, “Good evening to you young man. I trust that I find you well?”

  “Yes thank you Sir,” replied Robert still a little shaken by his thoughts.

  “The porter will take your luggage to your dormitory,” said Mr Poynton as the driver lifted the heavy leather trunk from the roof rack on the top of the passenger compartment.

  Before walking into the great stone building in front of him Robert turned and much to the amazement of Mr Poynton embraced his driver. He noticed the shimmer of a tear reflected in the lamplight as the hardy-looking coachman bid the boy farewell. Such a display of fondness for one’s employer was very rarely observed at his school and the rawness of the emotions moved Mr Poynton deeply. He was a humanitarian of great standing and his view of mankind was very different from many others of his class.

  Dressed all in black, the porter lifted the trunk as instructed and walked behind the bursar and the new boy. Robert thought about offering to help the lad who was no more than two years his senior but this was not Pishiobury Park. He had been versed in the importance of maintaining one’s station and accordingly let the poorly fed boy struggle.

  The dormitory with its twenty beds had the same look and smell as his classroom at Spellbrook. All but one bed held a boy and as each sat up to look at him Robert felt a recurrence of the trepidation experienced during his first days at the old school. As the boy in black placed his trunk at the foot of the only vacant bed Robert became so frightened his humorous defenses spontaneously quipped, “What are all these people doing in my bedroom?” Realizing his mistake Robert braced himself for the worst because showing his playground self to an adult in school had always caused him pain in the past but on this occasion it met with approval. Much to his surprise and delight the witticism made Mr Poynton chuckle and for the first time Robert relaxed in the company of an adult outside of Pishiobury Park.

  “These are new boys like yourself, Pishiobury,” explained Mr Poynton still smiling.

  “Do I address you as Poynton or Mr Poynton?” asked Robert.

  “You address all masters, house masters and tutors as Mr or Sir; other boys you will refer to simply by their surname.”

  “Thank you Sir, I will do my best.”

  As Mr Poynton departed the dormitory Robert walked to the bed that was allocated to him. He gave the porter no expression of gratitude. This behavior was entirely alien to Robert but he was determined to fit into the ruling classes outside the Pishiobury estate just as Nanny had taught him to.

  The Leys

  The years passed, Robert grew and the masters became fond of the boy who made everyone laugh with his hilariously constructed observations of life. Most of the boys also enjoyed his antics regardless of their age. The only people who did not enjoy his company were the other insecure boys who like him had built their defensive personalities around humor. These boys all tried to compete with his sharp mind but their jesting appeared contrived and puerile in comparison with his. Whenever Robert was present they lost the focus of attention and therefore regard for themselves. Ironical, defeating others with his mind was completely unintentional because Robert really didn’t believe he had one to speak of. Any cerebral ability that others thought he may possess was merely a defense mechanism and the obliteration of others was an innocent coincidence.

  Robert could not accept credit for any intellectual achievement because his poor academic performance at Spellbrook led him to believe that he was unintelligent. Mrs Putnham had impressed upon him that intelligence is not measured by the speed of abstract thoughts but tangible things such as t
he ability to spell or complete mathematical calculations. This was unfortunate because numbers and letters became jumbled or reversed when Robert wrote them down and try as he might nothing would make them appear as they were supposed to. Mrs Putnham had treated his disability like a sin and as she could no longer catch Robert out verbally she used it to deliberately undermine his confidence. When in need of a vindictive break from the boredom of her life she would tell Robert to write on the blackboard. So while he stood at the head of the class with a board full of unintelligible characters, Mrs Putnham found sadistic pleasure in repeating the words, “You are lazy and stupid, what are you boy?” Not until he repeated these words loud enough for all in the class to hear could he return to his sad and lonely seat.

  Despite the encouragement he received from the supportive masters at the Leys, Robert’s time with Mrs Putnham formed the opinion he held of himself and she had made it abundantly clear that he was incapable of any academic achievement. Quite understandably Robert also harbored an obsessive fear of writing and this hindered his scholastic progress greatly. The brilliant minds that surrounded him at Cambridge understood that the humor he constructed was born of genius but he could accept no credit for this ability because it was merely a defense against his terrible weakness. Everyone who met Robert saw him as a very bright young man but he saw himself as just another unworthy dullard who could crack a joke or two — but in his mind, anyone could do that

  Inevitably Robert found a field in which he excelled and his ability to compete and win any sporting challenge began to compensate for the shortfalls he believed existed in other areas of his life. During his eight years at the Leys, Robert spent his free time during the winter terms playing football and cross-country running, whilst in summer he played cricket, tennis and rowed in the regattas for his school house. The constant athletic activity overcame the occasional breathless condition that had been with him since childhood and in the process developed his splendid physique. In his final year at the Leys, Robert became known as something of an elite athlete within the Cambridge rowing fraternity and being one of the leaders in such a sport-obsessed community gave Robert a God-like status. In his unassuming way Robert wondered at the respect he garnered from masters and boys alike. It intrigued him to think that people with fantastic minds capable of the most innovative thought processes admired him for something so basic as physical strength. Robert could never have imagined it but the thing these academic thinkers were actually admiring was not the power of his body but the speed of his brain.

  As an escape from reality Robert rowed for hours on the slow flowing river which gave the old Iron Age, then Roman city its name. Every morning he pulled away from the boatsheds on route to open water while the dawning sun painted the stone arched bridges red. More often than not a mist lifted from the ancient ribbon of water to play in the tentacles of the weeping willows on the banks of the Cam and in these moments Robert found a small measure of peace. Only here could he relax his defensive persona and return to his childhood by the river Stort.

  A seemingly normal boy no one guessed that Robert secretly longed for the last day of each term, a return to Pishiobury and a semblance of calm. Home was the only place his mind could completely stop performing and the many breaks between terms were necessary to preserve his sanity. Lord Pishiobury’s own coachman always insisted on collecting him from school even though a perfectly reliable public coach service was available. Robert always rode high up in the seat next to his driver in order to hear the gossip which carried his inquisitive mind home ahead of his body.

  After his physical arrival at Pishiobury Park, Robert commenced his own process of unwinding by re-enacting the security of his childhood. Walking through the estate for the first few days of each break Robert shed Cambridge like a grass snake sheds its skin. Virtually leaving an obsolete casing behind him Robert ran with the black Labradors which came from the litters of his beloved Marie. They made such fine substitutes because they behaved with exactly the same honesty as his two childhood friends. Lord and Lady Pishiobury observed and accepted the change in Robert. His extroverted personality always remained for the first few days of his visits then gradually melted away. It was like watching two people and, as trust came creeping back, the Robert they loved as a child would progressively return to them. Before their eyes and ears the repartee would slow and eventually stop. Then little by little the very same boy who brought meaning to so many things reappeared. Lady Pishiobury always postponed any social functions during his visits because in front of the guests Robert regressed to his school self and she would lose her wonderful boy for days afterwards.

  Nanny spent endless hours in the garden with Robert simply sitting and talking to the child she loved and missed so terribly. She no longer had a work function on the estate as Robert was an only child but no one had ever thought of sending Miss Parks away. She was a member of the family as far as the Pishioburys were concerned and she would be welcome to live the rest of her life comfortably within the grounds of the estate.

  Inevitably the time always came for Robert to return to Cambridge and a few days before departure he would subconsciously begin raising the defenses once more. By the time he boarded his carriage the comedian was completely in control but no one tried to talk Robert out of this behavior because they were all very mindful of the alternative.

  Kings College

  At the age of sixteen Robert returned to Cambridge but not the Leys. It was time to move to Kings College for further education. His parents and Nanny were so proud because places at Kings were very hard to come by. Only students who achieved a very high academic or sporting standard went to this most auspicious seat of learning and Robert had breezed in on the back of his rowing ability. Because he was always ashamed of his written work Robert’s entry exam papers were all very scant which meant that his marks did not even come close to qualifying but luckily for him he was known as a very fine rower and a history scholarship could always be found for a young man who had the potential to win a blue for his college.

  Staying on at Cambridge had not been Robert’s choice because the thought of starting another new school terrified him. Lacking any self belief he could not see the point of further education but his parents refused to let him return to the insular home life he so desired.

  Just days before his departure Robert’s trepidation became so intense he seriously considered taking his own life while walking with the guns at Pishiobury Park, but the shame and dishonor it would bring to his family prevented him from taking such a drastic course of action. In desperation Robert defiantly applied to the army believing that fighting in the Peninsular War was far more suited to his physical abilities than any academic pursuit. The thought of dying while fighting with the British army in Spain or Portugal lifted his spirits because his perfect paradox dictated he was constantly afraid but never a coward. A glorious death while taking as many of the hated Frenchmen with him would end his constant wretchedness without harming his family honor; but try as he might the army refused to accept him for officer training at his young age. Robert discussed his position with Arthur Wellesley but even he could not overcome the strict age rules of the British officer class.

  Wellesley’s advice was to stay on at Cambridge and concentrate on history, “ … Particularly the history of European conflicts also classical military and political history. I have learned all I know about fighting from the Romans and the Greeks, what?” were his exact words.

  Settling in at Kings as best he could Robert spent all of his time engaged in sporting activities. He proved popular with every member of the teams he represented because Robert was not only a winner but also the life and soul of any post-event gathering. Unbeknown to his teammates the constant performance took a heavy toll on his mental strength which is why he took the next inevitable step on the journey for a mind in pain. He and some of the older boys in his rowing team walked to a tavern after a particularly well-won race and there he drank the first
of many disastrous drinks. Robert discovered that he hated the taste but loved the effect so gulping more down he became resigned to his fate and felt more capable of achieving anything. The beer seemed to bolster his confidence while reducing his fear. Quite miraculously, Robert’s ever-present insecurities began to evaporate as his friend Jamieson brought his attention back from the discovery of fake confidence by turning his empty tankard upside down.

  “All tankards have glass bottoms these days Pishiobury,” he said. “It’s so that one can look up at the bottom before one takes a drink. The Admiralty press gangs drop a silver shilling into an unsuspecting drunkard’s beer you know? When the poor fool finds it and takes it out at the end of his drink he has technically accepted the King’s shilling and incredibly he is dragged off to join the bloody navy! Can you believe that?”

  Robert heard very little of what his teammate told him because he was savoring the numbing feeling beer gave him. It was a warm secure feeling that was like being back at Pishiobury and he wanted more. Against the advice of the older boys he drank too much too quickly. When the combination of alcohol and inexperience took effect Robert was too far gone to care. As the room began to spin he was no longer capable of worrying about what was happening to him and at the moment he threw up the pain of living was completely gone. Robert took no notice of the terrible mess he was creating because he was completely lost in the anaesthetizing feelings of his newfound liquid companion.