Lesson Nine

　　Text     Forty Years On     Norah Lofts

　　John Bullyer and I met for the first time in 1956

　　when we were both in our early sixties,

　　but it is true to say

　　that he did more to shape my life than any other person.

　　John Bullyer came into my life through my Aunt Carrie.

　　She was also aunt to John Bullyer,

　　whom she referred to as "Little-John-my-other-nephew" all in one word,

　　and she referred to him too often.

　　From Aunt Carrie's point of view it was fortunate,from mine,disastrous,

　　that John Bullyer and I were the same age.

　　Probably hundreds of comparisons were made before I became aware of them.

　　The first that I remember was made soon after I began school

　　where I had lain on the floor and wailed that I wanted to go home.

　　Shortly after that my mother reported

　　that Little-John-Aunt- Carrie's-other-nephew

　　had started school on the same day and taken to it like a duck to water.

　　And so it went on.

　　Incredible boy,he knew his nine-times table,

　　while I was still hopelessly bogged in the fours;

　　I began to dread Aunt Carrie's formerly most welcome visits.

　　She was certain to produce chocolate or sixpence from her purse;

　　but as soon as she had gone.

　　Mother was sure to say the dread words:

　　"Aunt Carrie was telling me that John Bullyer. . .

　　"The comparisons were,without exception,to my disadvantage.

　　The wretched boy never set foot upon a football field

　　without scoring a goal;

　　I became conscious of my inferiority,for I was hopeless at games.

　　To me it seemed sinister

　　that Mother always passed on any small achievement of mine.

　　Once,at my prep,school I had a story in the magazine

　　and Mother was beside herself.

　　"I must have another copy of that,"she said,

　　"so that Aunt Carrie can send it to John Bullyer's mother.

　　"What a boomerang that proved!

　　By return of post came the news that John had won a scholarship.

　　It will seem strange that we boys never met,

　　but in those days Gloucestershire was as far removed,

　　in travelling time,from Suffolk, as New York is today.

　　Aunt Carrie kept saying,

　　"Really,you boys should know one another,I'm sure you'd be such friends,"

　　and once or twice she tried to arrange

　　that John should stay with her in the holidays.

　　Mercifully for me something always prevented him from doing so.

　　I did have, however,one horribly narrow escape.

　　An elderly couple,distant relatives of my father's,

　　were celebrating their golden wedding.

　　They lived in London,and they issued such a sentimentally-worded invitation

　　that Father was bound to accept.

　　As soon as he had done so Aunt Carrie came over in a  state of excitement.

　　Wasn't the world a small place,

　　the Bullyer family and Father's relatives had once been near neighbours,

　　and all three Bullyers had been invited to the feast.

　　When Aunt Carrie had gone Mother said to me:

　　"You sit there huddled over a book until your back is bent like a bow.

　　Go out and get some air.

　　You look so much better with a little tan.

　　"I realised that she and I visualised John Bullyer in the same way,

　　tall and straight,big for his age,with a handsome brown face.

　　I stood up, obediently.

　　Walking made no noticeable difference to my back

　　and the sun remained hidden, so Mother tried another tack:

　　"You'll need a new suit at Easter anyway,

　　you might as well have it now.

　　"On the evening before we were to make our early morning start for London,

　　Mother came into my room and made me try on the new suit.

　　I could see,by the expression on her face,that it worked no miracle.

　　But Mother did not take defeat easily;

　　looks weren't everything,my manners, at least,should pass muster!

　　So she gave me a few final instructions.

　　I kept saying,"Yes,Mother"and "No,Mother",and "I'll remember,Mother".

　　Finally she said:"Well,hurry into bed and get a good night's sleep.

　　"I did not sleep well; I had the worst night I had ever known.

　　My jaws ached.

　　The pain spread up into my head,

　　back into my ears,down into my throat.

　　In addition to my physical woes I had mental agonies;

　　I prayed that something might occur to prevent this meeting.

　　I saw the dawn that morning and heard the first bird chorus-

　　After several centuries had dragged by

　　I heard the alarm go off in my parents' room

　　and thankfully rose from my bed.

　　I washed more thoroughly than usual;then I dressed,

　　and in honour of the occasion went to the looking glass to arrange my tie.

　　For a moment,I thought that nervousness had affected my eyesight;

　　the face that looked back at me was only just recognizable.

　　My ears were hidden by the bulge of my jaws

　　and I seemed to have no neck.

　　Horrified I reeled into my parents' room.

　　"Do you think I look funny this morning?"

　　They both turned. Mother screamed.

　　Father said, "I wouldn't say funny.

　　You look damned peculiar.

　　"It was mumps. It left me open-minded about prayer.

　　Time went on;  so did the comparisons.

　　By word of mouth during the holidays,

　　by phrases in letters during term time,

　　I was kept up to date with John's cleverness and progress.

　　Thus goaded I began at last to look round for something that I could do,

　　something at which I could excel.

　　When I found it I worked savagely,minding nothing else;

　　let this be mine,John Bullyer could have all the rest.

　　I was still a Grub Street hack,

　　counting it a good week in which I made five pounds,

　　when John attained some glittering appointment in India.

　　That ability to master the nine-times table

　　had proved no momentary success.

　　He had developed into some kind of financial wizard.

　　There was a paragraph in the daily papers about this appointment.

　　Aunt Carrie took the cutting to show to my mother.

　　That was her last report.

　　She was dead before her other nephew reached his destination.

　　Three or four times during the next forty years.

　　I saw mention of John Bullyer in the press.

　　Those paragraphs recorded a steady success

　　which eventually led to a knighthood when he retired in 1956.

　　On that occasion there was half a newspaper column about him.

　　When asked,in an interview,

　　what he intended to do with his leisure,Sir John replied,

　　"I hope to take up golf;I have never had time to take it seriously."

　　I pictured him again,lean and tanned,with a head of well-kept grey hair.

　　I was sorry that there was no photograph;

　　I could have looked at it almost without fear,I thought.

　　I was,by that time,not unsuccessful in my own line.

　　Late that year,in November,

　　I was in my club,sipping a glass of sherry before dinner.

　　A cough at my elbow made me look round.

　　I saw a short stout man,glitteringly bald,with a little snub nose

　　that looked too small to support the framework of his heavy glasses.

　　Diffidently,he spoke my name and I admitted my identity.

　　Since I attained a little fame

　　I have on occasion been addressed by strangers

　　and no matter how flatteringly they speak

　　I am always horribly embarrassed.

　　"We once shared an aunt.

　　"I leaped up and shook hands,

　　expressing my pleasure at meeting him at last,

　　and then we settled down to drink sherry together.

　　His stammer,like my shyness,soon wore off.

　　"I used to hear so much about you, " he said with a grin.

　　"Then I learned that you were a member here

　　and I could not resist asking someone to point you out to me.

　　Though,if you'd looked the least bit as I always imagined

　　I don't think I'd have d-dared to approach you.

　　You see. . . I grew up with the idea

　　that you were at least eight feet tall,tremendously handsome

　　and more talented than da Vinci.

　　"His grin broadened —and I knew why!

　　"Really," he said,"the letters Aunt Carrie used to write about you

　　and the way my mother used to read them out.

　　You were the b-bugbear of my life. "

　　"They were nothing," I said,

　　to the letters your mother used to write about you.

　　I was told every time you got a sum right.

　　I always thought of you as nine feet high,

　　better looking than Robert Taylor and more versatile than Churchill.

　　So they played the game both ways, did they?"

　　We laughed.We looked at one another.

　　Then it probably dawned on us both

　　that the place in which we sa

　　is not the haunt of men who have been failures in life,

　　and that,boys being what they are,

　　an occasional prod in the rear is no such bad thing.

　　Together we lifted our glasses,and though neither of us spoke,

　　I know that we drank to the memory of Aunt Carrie.