The Mad Boy, Lord Berners, My Grandmother, and Me by Sofka Zinovieff

which they were given a good deal of freedom. Cyril remembered Robert learning very quickly to stand up for himself. ‘He was full of fun, up to every prank, could hoodwink most people, and developed a gift for repartee.’ He was soon following his older brothers around in the grounds, tree-climbing, bird-nesting, or running down to the stables to ride. A favourite route was through the woods to the gamekeeper’s hut, with its cages of stinking white ferrets and polecats. The gamekeeper, Holding, a tall ex-Coldstream sergeant, kept a macabre exhibition of dead animals he considered vermin. ‘Strung on wire between two trees hung magpies, jays, crows, hawks, and a long row of stoats. Some had fallen to the ground rotten; others were skeletons except for their black-tipped tails. They were all maggoty; bluebottles buzzed around them.’79
    ALGY, CYRIL, ROBERT AND ALAN
    Although the estate at Hodnet was a boys’ heaven, the Heber-Percy parents were both severe in their dedication to tradition and regimentation. The morning began for all members of the household (including the servants and any guests) with prayers in the dining room. They were announced by Whitaker, the butler, who was a dab hand with the gong and made it resound in a crescendo around the house. Daddy read from the Bible and led the service. As they grew older, the boys found it an ideal opportunity to get a good look at any new or pretty housemaids, but once, after they succeeded in making a new maid giggle with their stares, Algy was flogged by his father and the younger boys were sent to their rooms without breakfast. According to Robert, his father would come into the bathroom when the boys were in the bath and lash out at them with a hunting crop. What this was for is not recorded, but certainly they were naughty, and cooked up mischievous schemes like hiding in the housemaids’ cupboard to spy on their fat, whiskery governess as she bathed.
    Despite his temper, Robert’s father was also distant and uninterested – something that was exacerbated by his physical frailty. Cyril recalled that each evening the young boys were dolled up ‘like Little Lord Fauntleroys’ in frilled white shirts, dark velvet shorts, white socks and shiny buckled shoes and led by Nannie Jones into the library for an audience with their parents and any guests staying in the house. However, ‘Daddy took little part in our amusements as he suffered from asthma. But occasionally he would recite Hiawatha, or continue a never-ending story about a Mr Snodgrass. He was a good story-teller. Usually he tired of the noise all too quickly, and would pull the bell-rope beside the fireplace several times to summon a footman, who would enter immediately, dressed in blue tailcoat with silver-crested buttons, and a blue-and-yellow striped waistcoat. ‘“Fetch Nannie,” Daddy would say. “Sir.” The door closed quietly. There would be a kiss for Daddy and Mummy, perhaps a reluctant peck at an aunt and a handshake for anyone else.’80
    Religion didn’t end with morning prayers; on Sundays the boys were trussed up in their best blue suits and caps before they trooped down the drive to the village church. The graveyard was filled with Heber-Percy tombs, and inside, the front two pews belonged to the Lords of the Manor of Hodnet. From the padded seats that were the squire’s privilege, they could look across at the Victorian stained-glass window donated by their predecessors and the Heber-Percy chapel to the side. Hymns were sung, some of which were written by their illustrious ancestor Bishop Heber of Calcutta. A famous missionary who worked and died in India in the 1820s, Bishop Heber had been a brilliant young fellow of All Souls, Oxford. As vicar of Hodnet, he composed as he strolled around the grounds, leaving behind him many popular hymns, such as ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’ and the missionaries’ favourite, ‘From Greenland’s Icy Mountains’.
    During Robert’s childhood, the