At intervals all through my life this sense of being in transit has overtaken me at odd times, though never more strongly than on this occasion when I was first conscious of it. Looking back dubiously at the child I had been and was leaving without having really known it or understood it, I wondered whether I’d always have to move on before getting to know myself properly.
It wasn’t the time to discuss these things with my companion; there were too many distractions, and I gave myself up to them — as I’ve often regretted since — postponing serious talk to another occasion that never came. When we reached the town Mr Spector proceeded to provide me with a complete new wardrobe, more clothes than I’d ever owned before, and all of such superlative quality that I began to worry about the expense and lodged a timid objection. However, he only laughed and spoke of the importance of first impressions, going on to add various accessories not strictly essential and finally insisting on buying me new luggage to contain them all. Once I gave up trying to stop him and wondering how he would ever be paid back, I was very proud of my new elegant possessions. The thought of them gave me much-needed moral support when we arrived at our destination.
The grandeur of the school’s medieval buildings intimidated me, and I was completely overawed by my first glimpse of the famous topiary chess-garden, of which I’d already heard. As the car slowed down, the grotesquely clipped fantastic tree shapes seemed to close in behind it, cutting off the familiar world, imprisoning us in their midst. We stopped, and the dark heads bowed in mockery, the branches groaned, and I felt tentacles of antique malice already reaching towards me.
Staring at these grotesque evergreens, wide-eyed with wonder, I hardly noticed Mr Spector speaking to the porter, whose reply evidently failed to satisfy him, for now he suddenly strode towards the dim monastic-looking cloisters and intercepted one of the gowned figures passing to and fro there. He was only a junior master, I discovered later, but he looked very grand to me in his lined and hooded gown. I wasn’t at all surprised at his indignation on being peremptorily requested to take us to the principal. What did surprise me, so that I forgot all about the malignant chessmen, was the way his whole manner changed, becoming almost obsequious, at the sight of Mr Spector’s card. But I had no time to think or to sort out my impressions as we followed on his heels to the door of the Head’s study, where a request to be allowed to prepare his chief was swept aside, as the man himself was, so that all three of us burst into the room together.
Though I didn’t then fully appreciate the enormity of our conduct in thus invading this holy of holies, uninvited and even unannounced, I couldn’t fail to see how angry the Headmaster was when he rose and, with an outraged expression, drew himself up to his full height, an imposing and menacing figure. But, to my astonishment, he, too, succumbed to the card’s effect, just as his subordinate had done, surrendering unconditionally and even speaking a few stilted words of formal politeness — which, however, didn’t spare him the indignity of hearing his own assistant dismissed by Mr Spector, who took his submission for granted.
‘This is the boy I told you about,’ he said, when the man had hurriedly left the room. ‘I want your assurance that his father is not mentioned, either to him or in his presence — it’s the wish of his mother, who is rather oversensitive on the subject. Is that understood?’ I listened amazed to this haughty voice of command, which must surely be the voice of that second, more formidable self, and scarcely noticed the affirmative answer; it seemed to me there could be no other. Yet it was the familiar friendly voice that now addressed me. ‘Let me know at once if you have any sort of trouble — but I don’t think you will.’ A peculiar smile accompanied the last words, which seemed intended less for me than for the other man, to whom the speaker continued — quite incomprehensibly, as far as I was concerned — ‘No censorship, mind. I’ll be getting a full report myself, so any attempt at deception would be a mistake, wouldn’t it?’
I was completely puzzled by this strange behaviour and the alternation of tones. Why was he treating the Headmaster so harshly? Even now, when the man had given in to him altogether, and his own manner appeared more genial, the geniality clearly covered a threat. But the moment I’d been privately dreading for some time had arrived, and, with unmistakable kindness, he said, ‘I must be off. Write and tell me how you get on. And, remember, the beginnings of things are always apt to be difficult.’ He spoke the last words in Latin, knowing I was familiar with the adage. Then, giving me an encouraging smile, hurried to the door, waving away the offer of an escort. ‘No, I’ll find my own way out.’ The door closed behind him, and I was left to begin my new life alone.
The room suddenly seemed darker and gloomier, its narrow windows designed for the exclusion of enemies rather than the admission of light and air. An oppressive atmosphere reasserted itself, emanating, perhaps, from the shelves of huge, heavy books lining the walls. I was aware of these things, even while my mind framed consciously for the first time the question I’ve been asking myself intermittently ever since, ‘Who is Mr Spector?’ What sort of man could behave in such a high-handed manner and disperse the repressive power of centuries-old tradition, as he’d just done, letting a draught of cold air blow through these grim stagnant rooms, airless for so many years?
But I couldn’t consider the question now, while the Headmaster was regarding me with a disfavour I quite understood, since I’d been the indirect cause of his humiliation. Looking at him as straightforwardly as possible, I could discern no pity in that hard, cold face; the face, as I was to learn, of a man who as an enemy was absolutely implacable. At this moment, I only saw that he’d been mortified and that someone must suffer for it and that I seemed the likeliest victim. I felt very small and helpless and lonely just then, cut off from all that was known to me, shut into a strange hostile world. The dark dismal room was as forbidding as if it belonged to a fortress — a prison. I had a momentary nostalgic vision of Mr Spector, driving away in his big car, leaving me further behind with every milestone.
But nothing happened to me, neither then nor later. Having surveyed me long enough to make me most uncomfortable, the Head turned away with a disgusted grimace, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of me any longer. Matron would come and attend to me; I was to wait here for her, he coldly informed me, and then went out, letting the door close with a heavy thud, like the door of a cell.
I waited alone there for what seemed an age. At first, sounds came from other parts of the building. I heard distant shouts and closer voices of boys calling to one another; mysterious bells rang, there was a stampede, a pounding of running feet. Then silence fell. I began to think I’d been completely forgotten by everyone, my spirits were sinking lower and lower, when a woman’s light steps tapped rapidly to the door, and at last Matron appeared.
I’d prepared myself for some middle-aged disciplinarian, coldly antiseptic and hard as nails. What a pleasant surprise it was to see this smiling young woman, scarcely more than a girl, who at once took me in hand and, out of what was evidently much experience of lost, homesick youngsters, proceeded to cheer me up, while showing me my bed in the dormitory, and helping me unpack and put away my belongings. Young as she was, she possessed a mature assurance in dealing with those a few years younger than herself and soon made me feel more at home, raising the level of my morale, so that when a boy of about my own age entered the long room I faced him without nervousness as she introduced us, looking upon him as a potential friend.