| Chapter Five - Beginnings |
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It hadn't always been like this, things had been very different. Instead of scraping by on the proceeds of my shows and some back-street
trading, I dined with silver spoon and had fine schooling. My father had profitable enterprises abroad in the empire, particularly
trading with goods shipped back from the far-off shores of India. The setting of my childhood was reminiscent of the former glory shared
by the Captains own residence, a fine manor house with exquisite land, gardens and vineyards. I would have my lessons in the morning and
spend my afternoons fishing and riding with my sister on the family estates. My evenings were often filled in earnest discussion with my
father regarding my day's tutoring, and conversing about both current affairs and general issues with running the family estate. He had
a particular love of falconry and treated each of the birds as his children. I must confess that in my younger days, I feigned interest,
merely a child pursuing a father's love and goodwill - but this was replaced over time with a genuine affection for the graceful birds
and a fascination with flight.
Over the years, I learned that father had had a similar obession his whole life and collected many documents and rare texts on the subject. These included theories translated from chinese studies earlier in the century and also theorems from the Italian mathematician, Bernouli. We spent many evenings wistfully discussing the possibility of manned flight with pipe and brandy in hand. My fascination was such that I barely noticed that the subject of the estate and the family business were being mentioned less and less. Our evenings discourses were increasingly the only times he was not quiet and troubled. I remember that last fateful day as if it were yesterday. It was a beautiful, idyllic summers day without a cloud in the sky. I was, as usual, at the falconry, having just completed cleaning out the Buzzard enclosure. I was lounging on a hay bale, watching the fallow deer in the meadow, when a distant rumbling was apparent. I noticed a hazy cloud of dust on the horizon seemingly moving towards the house, many horses would be needed to create such a spectacle on the dried, dusty road approaching my home. Curious, I rode back to the house where I was met by my father, carrying loaded saddlebags, in the stableyard. "My son, you must go" he stated, in a calm, matter of fact tone. "My affairs abroad have gone bad and the shipment of fine silks we desperately needed has gone awry in storms in the channel. I doubt not that my creditors approach with the local magistrate. Take these saddlebags, I have placed in them a purse of my remaining monies and the texts we treasure most. Journey to London and make use of them. They and you are our families last hope of redemption, I fear we will now be forced to languish in debtor's prison. Be strong my boy, I have faith in you, for character is fate. Now ride, for I must meet mine with dignity, it is all I now possess." We embraced and then he turned on his heel to meet the oncoming delegation. I took one last look and then, With tears in my eyes I mounted my steed and pressed my heels to its flanks and fled the scene of my childhood, never looking back - I was not to see it again for many years. |
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