07. THE INDELIBLE LESSON OF FEAR, SHAME, TREACHERY AND INJUSTICE

My grandfather had been a great collector of stamps and he had an album which he passed on to me. It was an important event, for  as a result, slowly, by collecting, grew a deep affect for the world, the mystery of adventure, for nature and for beauty, the latter causing, as it does, many pitfalls and traps.

I went to a private school called Warren's during and after the war. A small school that I remember little about except that I won a prize for something or other on a book by Walter Scott, Ivanhoe. Probably I was too young to really capture the story well.

But at that school there was a girl who brought with her one day her stamp collection. I looked at it and was captured by the beauty of the stamp shown above. It was there in front of me. I had seen nothing so magnificent before. The temptation was great. I knew exactly what I was doing and stole it.

Karma, I assure you, works. For a while that day I experienced the uneasiness of a thief in possession of his trophy and later when the girl found the stamp was missing I really felt a deep fear that I had never experienced before... I reacted immediately, not with courage or honour, and fled, burning the stamp. It could never be found.

I was never discovered, but I lived with an incredible Karmic shame. That is the punishment of Karma... It is not that you do something and then get some external just reward or punishment. The Karmic consequences are that you suffer and suffer and in truth the shame of that moment led to many future moments when I recalled the incident with shame. Fear and Shame. What did I learn? I believe at that time it was not that social stealing was incorrect, but that inside somewhere the system knows what is correct and self-shame is the consequence. It is not a sense of guilt, for that is easily washed away.

During that time a second incident occured. We children often walked home from Elburton through Plymstock to Colesdown Hill. I was liked by the girls and had a few friends and one day during the jouney one of the girls had a problem of Geography that was troubling her. Children were more serious at this time perhaps. Anyway I decided to resolve her problem.

We were passing a large house with ivy-colored walls which belonged to a doctor, so without worry I entered, rang the bell and told the person who answered the door the problem, quite politely and all in order. He, I assume it was the doctor, smiled went into the house and returned moments later with the answer from his library.

I thought nothing more about it, but the next day I was called into the principal's office. Someone in our little group had reported me, I am sure it was a girl, (boy's honor did not permit such treachery). As a result I was caned on my hand for incorrect discretion. It was unjust and I accepted it. I told nothing to my parents, but I learned a great lesson.

First, good actions with good intentions often do not go unpunished... and second, that girls, later to be young women, have strange minds and a seamy way of thinking, with jealous competition between them, quite different from the competition among boys.

The other question I asked myself is, would I have entered the doctor's house if the bewilderment question had been that of a boy? I doubt it very much. I was, you see, under the spell of female attraction. Long hair and a pretty face was enough to destroy my defenses.

I didn't consolidate the lesson then, but one small germ of information was in place.

My first true acting experience was enjoyed here at this school, and I learned to really enter into the role I was playing. Perhaps it was the war experience, perhaps it was the games we played as children with wooden stick swords and dustbin lids, who knows, but the act was consummated. Perhaps it was the sentiment of the song which I had experienced earlier.

I sang and enjoyed myself on stage for the first time, costumed by my mother and grandmother and with a fine sword and a magnificent harp made by my grandfather.

My part was that of a minstrel boy.

I remember the song and the sentiment it brought with it well.

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of death ye will find him;

His father's sword he hath girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him;

"Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,

"Tho' all the world betray thee,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain

Could not bring his proud soul under;

The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;

And said "No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and bravery!

Thy songs were made for the pure and free

They shall never sound in slavery!”

The love of poetry was born, not for the poetry itself, but for the message it often contains. Not exactly Game Boy stuff, but times were different.