{Introduction}[9th April 1968]

[Redbook1:1-14][19680409]{Introduction}[9^th April 1968][Age 16]

[p(i)]

{‘“In order to be made whole we must first be broken” – Thomas Aquinas’}

[p1]

[Name]

Book, Volume I

[p5]

THIS BOOK IS VERY PERSONAL.

DO NOT READ IT.

 [p11]

Introduction, 9^th April 1968.

            This isn’t exactly a diary, nor is it exactly a commonplace book.  It’s a sort of mixture of the two.

            I shan't always fill in every date, and the entries under a date may be nothing to do with day.  They may be just what I thought on date.  Maybe the book will peter out after a few entries -- but I hope not.  It cost me 13/6d, for thing!

            I am in the odd position of writing for three types of people.  First of all I am writing for myself as I write -- as do all diarists, perhaps.  Secondly, I am writing for myself in the future -- a completely unknown self, who may perhaps recapture some of my present thoughts and attitudes (which seems so important to me now that I cannot bear to think that I might forget them!).  Thirdly, I am vaguely -- or perhaps not so vaguely, as its introduction shows -- I am vaguely writing for posterity (I nearly said prosperity, though the two may not be synonymous).  That is the biggest uncertainty of all.  What is posterity?  Does a black waste of atomic dust lie before us?  Will this book be read by green skinned creatures with tentacles waving eagerly as they try to solve the mystery of my awful writing?  I doubt it, but there is a chance.  I shall probably not reveal this to anyone before my death.  I advise the owner of this, if I don't burn it myself or leave instructions for it to be burnt, to hang on to it -- it may not look much now but it could be worth a fortune in the future.

            Perhaps I ought to introduce myself.  My name is [...].  (My full names are [...], in that order, but I try to ignore the middle [...].  I am sixteen years and ten and a half months old, having been born on [...] May 1951.  I am about 5 feet 9 inches tall, and I don't think I have stopped growing.  I have brown hair and brown eyes, and my feet smell.  I am interested -- to put it mildly -- in railways and also in transport generally.  I would like to learn to shoot but haven't been very successful so far, though I am not bad at it.  I am also interested in coins -- who isn't?! -- but any interest is not in their worth now but in their worth in fifty years time -- in other words, I am a numismatist of sorts, though a true numismatist would no doubt find me very frivolous in my approach.

            The whole idea for this began when Granny -- my mother's mother, Mrs [...], who lives in [...], Sussex -- and my Uncle [Q] -- my mother's brother, who is chaplain to a secondary school in [...] (he was, incidentally, the first chaplain to a secondary school or a state school{?}) came for the afternoon.  We were talking of this and that -- mainly that -- when my mother (M) suggested that Granny write her memoirs and she (M) would type them.  Uncle Q said what a good idea was, and I suddenly had the idea of writing this.  So when they left I nipped out to Smith’s and spent most of my money on this notebook -- I chose a big one so that I wouldn't lose it -- and here I am, on the same day, writing it.

            There are now six persons in our close family.  My father is [D].  He is forty-five.  He is a very successful junior barrister (Junior means that he has not taken Silk to become a Queen's Counsel, which he has not done because it means a drop in income at first, and we cannot afford that at the moment).  He is at the moment engaged on some confidential work, which does not bring in money, however.  He is advising Mr Heath (Opposition Leader) in how to improve his image and that of the Conservative Party generally and that of politics.  He was also on the committee -- and is, I think, on it still if it is still functioning -- which was formed in emergency [....].  But he has hinted once or twice at something even more important -- a secret committee to force the Labour government to resign.  He mentioned it once.  Twice after that I have asked him about it in private, but each time he has changed the subject so cleverly that I haven't noticed -- I think by reminding me of something else which is more important.  He isn't a leading barrister for nothing! 

            My mother is [M], born [...].  She is forty-five also, about two months older than D.  She does all the secretarial work involving the family estates (I don't mean the land kind necessarily) and trusts etc.  She also runs two houses and adds up all the household expenses so as to get maximum benefit from income tax allowances and refunds.  She works extremely hard, and yet she manages to keep her good looks, by careful manipulation, very well (so has my father, actually).  She worked in [...] during the war.  (My father, incidentally, was badly wounded and afterwards became a diplomatic assistant to Churchill and carried out several important missions of which he will not tell even me the precise nature).  Both my father and my mother are very close about their wartime experiences, and don't like telling anything.  She puts up a very well with the irritability my father sometimes shows, which is, I think, due to internal troubles resulting from his wound caused by a hand grenade in the war.

            My sister [S] is twelve, and will be thirteen in [...].  She used to be small and feminine, but has now grown very large.  She is not yet interested in boys, though she accepts that she will become so eventually (she is resigned to it!).  She is very interested in horses -- she is mad about them, in fact.  She is at the moment in the throes of puberty/adolescence -- she sees everyone being horrid to her.  She is intelligent, but does not know how to apply it.

            [My brother B] is seven, and is rather spoilt.  He was expected to be the last child for about seven years, and then suddenly his whole world changed when [L]  arrived.  He is now very jealous.

            [L] is too young to describe adequately.  She is very hungry and cries a lot.  She is about six weeks.

            I have just been talking to S, who is writing a book about some twins who keep a stud farm.  It is loosely based on life at [C], our country cottage.  We discussed the problems of libel -- she wants to have adventures involving the [...]ists, who live near us, and whom I hope to describe later.

            I must now get down to some work on my text of Chaucer's Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, which I am preparing for my English ‘A’ level next term.

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