Jeffrey Archer - Only Time Will Tell

‘Still,’ said the Reverend Watts joining in, ‘at least there would be no more leatherings for Harry. They’re far more refined at St Bede’s. They just cane the boys.’

Only Maisie didn’t laugh. ‘But why would he want to leave home?’ she asked. ‘He’s settled at Merrywood Elementary, and he won’t want to give up being senior chorister at Holy Nativity.’

‘I must confess that my loss would be even greater than his,’ said Miss Monday. ‘But then, I’m sure our Lord would not want me to stand in the way of such a gifted child, simply because of my own selfish desires,’ she added quietly.

‘Even if I agree,’ said Maisie, playing her last card, ‘that doesn’t mean Harry will.’

‘I had a word with the boy last week,’ admitted Mr Holcombe. ‘Of course he was apprehensive about such a challenge, but if I recall, his exact words were “I’d like to have a go, sir, but only if you think I’m good enough.” But,’ he added before Maisie could respond, ‘he also made it clear that he wouldn’t even consider the idea unless his mother agreed.’

Harry was both terrified and excited by the thought of taking the entrance exam, but just as anxious about failing and letting so many people down as he was about succeeding and having to leave home.

During the following term, he never once missed a lesson at Merrywood, and when he returned home each evening, he went straight up to the bedroom he shared with Uncle Stan, where, with the aid of a candle, he studied for hours that until then he hadn’t realized existed. There were even occasions when his mother found Harry sound asleep on the floor, open books scattered around him.

Every Saturday morning he continued to visit Old Jack, who seemed to know a great deal about St Bede’s, and continued to teach Harry about so many other things, almost as if he knew where Mr Holcombe had left off.

On Saturday afternoons, much to the disgust of Uncle Stan, Harry no longer accompanied him to Ashton Gate to watch Bristol City, but returned to Merrywood, where Mr Holcombe gave him extra lessons. It would be years before Harry worked out that Mr Holcombe was also forgoing his regular visits to support the Robins, in order to teach him.

As the day of the examination drew nearer, Harry became even more frightened of failure than of the possibility of success.

On the appointed day, Mr Holcombe accompanied his star pupil to the Colston Hall, where the two-hour examination would take place. He left Harry at the entrance to the building, with the words, ‘Don’t forget to read each question twice before you even pick up your pen,’ a piece of advice he’d repeated several times during the past week. Harry smiled nervously, and shook hands with Mr Holcombe as if they were old friends.

He entered the examination hall to find about sixty other boys standing around in small groups, chattering. It was clear to Harry that many of them already knew each other, while he didn’t know anyone. Despite this, one or two of them stopped talking and glanced at him as he made his way to the front of the hall trying to look confident.

‘Abbott, Barrington, Cabot, Clifton, Deakins, Fry…’

Harry took his place at a desk in the front row, and just moments before the clock struck ten, several masters in long black gowns and mortarboards swept in and placed examination papers on the desks in front of each candidate.

‘Gentlemen,’ said a master standing at the front of the hall, who had not taken part in the distribution of the papers, ‘my name is Mr Frobisher, and I am your invigilator. You have two hours in which to answer one hundred questions. Good luck.’

A clock he couldn’t see struck ten. All around him, pens dipped into inkwells and began to scratch furiously across paper, but Harry simply folded his arms, leant on the desk and read each question slowly. He was among the last to pick up his pen.

Harry couldn’t know that Mr Holcombe was pacing up and down on the pavement outside, feeling far more nervous than his pupil. Or that his mother was glancing up at the clock in the foyer of the Royal Hotel every few minutes as she served morning coffee. Or that Miss Monday was kneeling in silent prayer before the altar at Holy Nativity.

Moments after the clock had struck twelve, the examination papers were gathered up and the boys were allowed to leave the hall, some laughing, some frowning, others thoughtful.

When Mr Holcombe first saw Harry, his heart sank. ‘Was it that bad?’ he asked.

Harry didn’t reply until he was certain no other boy could overhear his words. ‘Not at all what I expected,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Mr Holcombe anxiously.

‘The questions were far too easy,’ replied Harry.

Mr Holcombe felt that he had never been paid a greater compliment in his life.

‘Two suits, madam, grey. One blazer, navy. Five shirts, white. Five stiff collars, white. Six pairs of calf-length socks, grey. Six sets of undergarments, white. And one St Bede’s tie.’ The shop assistant checked the list carefully. ‘I think that covers everything. Oh, no, the boy will also need a school cap.’ He reached under the counter, opened a drawer and removed a red and black cap which he placed on Harry’s head. ‘A perfect fit,’ he pronounced. Maisie smiled at her son with considerable pride. Harry looked every inch a St Bede’s boy. ‘That will be three pounds, ten shillings and six pence, madam.’

Maisie tried not to look too dismayed. ‘Is it possible to purchase any of these items second-hand?’ she whispered.

‘No, madam, this is not a second-hand shop,’ said the assistant, who had already decided that this customer would not be allowed to open an account.

Maisie opened her purse, handed over four pound notes and waited for the change. She was relieved that St Bede’s had paid the first term’s bursary in advance, especially as she still needed to buy two pairs of leather shoes, black with laces, two pairs of gym shoes, white with laces, and one pair of slippers, bedroom.

The assistant coughed. ‘The boy will also need two pairs of pyjamas and a dressing gown.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Maisie, hoping she had enough money left in her purse to cover the cost.

‘And am I to understand that the boy is a choral scholar?’ asked the assistant, looking more closely at his list.

‘Yes, he is,’ Maisie replied proudly.

‘Then he’ll also require one cassock, red, two surplices, white, and a St Bede’s medallion.’ Maisie wanted to run out of the shop. ‘Those items will be supplied by the school when he attends his first choir practice,’ the assistant added before handing over her change. ‘Will you be requiring anything else, madam?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Harry, who picked up the two bags, grabbed his mother by the arm and led her quickly out of T.C. Marsh, Tailors of Distinction.

Harry spent the Saturday morning before he was due to report to St Bede’s with Old Jack.

‘Are you nervous about going to a new school?’ asked Old Jack.

‘No, I’m not,’ said Harry defiantly. Old Jack smiled. ‘I’m terrified,’ he admitted.

‘So is every new bug, as you’ll be called. Try to treat the whole thing as if you’re starting out on an adventure to a new world, where everyone begins as equals.’

‘But the moment they hear me speak, they’ll realize I’m not their equal.’

‘Possibly, but the moment they hear you sing, they’ll realize they’re not your equal.’