10. THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE CAN TRIM THE HORNS OF IDENTITY

Well, I was over the hump at eleven and passed the Scholarship in 1944, with nine other children from Hooe school: Ann Hunt, June Sinnock, Pauline Callum, Beryl Spurway, Alan Mainwaring, Ian Brun, Maurice Westcott, Raymond Boolier and Raymond Farnwell. It was known as the eleven plus that allowed us to go to the Grammar School at Plympton and not the Council School at Plymstock. My brother David followed me there in 1947 from Hooe school with Phylys Anderson, Peter Dunford and Maureen Crocker.

Frankly, I wasn't impressed; it meant nothing to me. I was only pleased that Ray Farnwell was also going. He too was unimpressed. It was just another school to us. It was important to my parents and grandparents, but I knew nothing about that.

So once more there followed all the folly of a school uniform which I had been relieved of for a year. There was the black blazer with yellow trim, a striped yellow and black tie and a school cap and of course the short trousers. Proudly on the blazer pocket was displayed the school crest. It meant little to me except that I was now entering into the world of law and order, along with codes of boy's honour and school codes of behaviour that governed every moment when that school uniform was on.

It was at that point, on reflecting years later when I was within the Dharma world, that I discovered the secret minds at work behind my easy life.

Unknown to me, after the scholarship results were in, my parents were called to a reunion with two other sets of parents of two other boys: Maurice Westcott and Alan Mainwaring. They were told that our scholarship examination results were very high and that they wanted to encourage our parents to set us upon important careers that would help the nation.

It was here that the hand the rocks the cradle makes itself apparent. In my case my mother was always subtle in everything and my father always responded. It was I believe a matter of his confidence in her. While he was a captain on the high seas he allowed her to navigate in the difficult waters of land life where he was not comfortable.

The result was a family harmony that was not broken by negative discussion. There was never an argument in our house and the only friction was between my father and grandmother when philosophical matters rose and both were adamant.

Only once did it explode over some trivial matter, when my grandmother rose with firmness and declared "Alright Will, get your coat we are going home". Will, my grandfather got his coat without a word and they left.

My mother assumed her role as if nothing had happened at all.

No discussion. The incident did not exist.

That was her role. To steer the land craft safely on troubled land marshes.

It was thus she directed our lives with calm and dignity and a wisdom that we really did not know was present, for she made with the help of my grandmother most of the daily decisions of life.

So I was told nothing of this "summit" with authorities until I was in the sixth at Plympton.

So I continued in my stride without for one moment being prompted to consider that I was different than anyone else, nor indeed that anyone was different from anyone else.

My father was a close acquaintance of Lady Astor, but the Lady part always seemed to me just part of the name as did indeed King George and his wife Mary. Elizabeth and Margaret Rose were just another pair of children and in truth I had a bit of a fancy for Margaret.

I suppose his attitude rubbed off, because I was constantly playing football with the Johns brothers down at Elburton Fields who, I found out years later, were frowned upon because they were Gypsies. I also had a good friend,  older than me, Peter Bloom, whose family had a shop in Plymouth and who were Jewish. So I grew up without any concept that anyone was different than anyone else.

Really we make so much fuss about names and later I was to learn great respect and admiration for both sets of "untouchables".

I was now on the border of my dangerous age when natural intelligence could be turned to Identity Aversion. My parents could never have been really alert to such psychological dangers, but they did the correct things to keep the impact of the following years from turning me into its victim.

So much did they resist the idea of building arrogance and pride in me, that they avoided coming to any event where I excelled, and even avoided talking about them. I was supported before for attainment, but never praised afterwards. My father always considered that attainment was the only reward necessary. It had been his motto in his life and he accepted all the consequences.

When my father's father was dying, he cursed his son at his deathbed for his success and his different ways. This only bothered him, however, because they both had the same basic nature. My father never drank, only developing the smoking of a pipe, and he never went to the pubs when the ships had unloaded, but always came straight home. All his brothers crewed for him, except for one, who was a respected barber in Plymouth.

So he accepted the curse which was bequeathed to him with complete indifference, but I never knew what was really going on inside. He always declared that "honesty is its own reward, as is hard work". 

I went to sea occasionally on his boats and did what I could. I was like anyone else and paid "a share" of the catch, pulling in the heavy nets as the ship rolled aft and starboard, even when I was sick in heavy seas.

My father was proud of his skills and admired for them and never had a problem with his crews. At that time I neither admired him nor the contrary. He was just my father, a fisherman, although the seeds of rebellion were in place.