Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(90)

‘Wonder what he’s up to now?’

‘He’s probably running a Nazi youth camp.’

‘Then that’s a good enough reason to go to war,’ said Giles as everyone in the hall rose to welcome the chairman of the governors and his board.

The crocodile of smartly dressed men made their way slowly down the aisle and up on to the stage. The last person to take his seat was Mr Barton, the headmaster, but not before he’d ushered the guest of honour into the centre chair in the front row.

Once everyone had settled, the headmaster rose to welcome the parents and guests, before delivering the school’s annual report. He began by describing 1938 as a vintage year, and for the next twenty minutes he elaborated on this claim, giving details of the school’s academic and sporting achievements. He ended by inviting the Right Honourable Winston Churchill MP, Chancellor of Bristol University and Member of Parliament for Epping, to address the school and present the prizes.

Mr Churchill rose slowly from his place and stared down at the audience for some time before he began.

‘Some guests of honour begin their speeches by telling their audience that they never won any prizes when they were at school, in fact they were always bottom of the class. I cannot make such a claim: although I certainly never won a prize, at least I was never bottom of the class – I was second to bottom.’ The boys roared and cheered, while the masters smiled. Only Deakins remained unmoved.

The moment the laughter had subsided, Churchill scowled. ‘Our nation today faces another of those great moments in history, when the British people may once again be asked to decide the fate of the free world. Many of you present in this great hall . . .’ He lowered his voice and concentrated his attention on the rows of boys seated in front of him, not once looking in the direction of their parents.

‘Those of us who lived through the Great War will never forget the tragic loss of life our nation suffered, and the effect it has had on an entire generation. Of the twenty boys in my class at Harrow who went on to serve in the front line, only three of them lived long enough to cast a vote. I only hope that whoever delivers this speech in twenty years’ time will not need to refer to that barbaric and unnecessary waste of life as the First World War. With that single hope, I wish you all long, happy and successful lives.’

Giles was among the first to rise and give the guest of honour a standing ovation as he returned to his seat. He felt that if Britain were left with no choice but to go to war, this was the one man who should take over from Neville Chamberlain and become Prime Minister. When everyone had resumed their places some minutes later, the headmaster invited Mr Churchill to present the prizes.

Giles and Harry cheered when Mr Barton not only announced that Deakins was scholar of the year but added, ‘This morning I received a telegram from the Master of Balliol College, Oxford, to say that Deakins has been awarded the senior classics scholarship. I might add,’ continued Mr Barton, ‘that he is the first boy to achieve this distinction in the school’s four-hundred-year history.’

Giles and Harry were on their feet immediately, as a gangly, six-foot-two-inch boy with pebble glasses, wearing a suit that hung on him as if it had never left its coathanger, made his way slowly up on to the stage. Mr Deakins wanted to leap up and take a photograph of his son being presented with his prize by Mr Churchill, but didn’t do so, for fear it might be frowned upon.

Harry received a warm reception when he was awarded the English prize, as well as the school reading prize. The headmaster added, ‘None of us will ever forget his performance as Romeo. Let us all hope that Harry will be among those who receive a telegram next week offering them a place at Oxford.’

When Mr Churchill presented Harry with his prize, he whispered, ‘I never went to university. I only wish I had. Let’s hope you receive that telegram, Clifton. Good luck.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Harry.

But the biggest cheer of the day was reserved for Giles Barrington when he went up to receive the headmaster’s prize for captain of the school and captain of cricket. To the guest of honour’s surprise, the chairman of the governors leapt up from his place and shook hands with Giles before he reached Mr Churchill.

‘My grandson, sir,’ Sir Walter explained with considerable pride.

Churchill smiled, gripped Giles by the hand and, looking up at him, said, ‘Be sure you serve your country with the same distinction with which you have clearly served your school.’

That was the moment when Giles knew exactly what he would do if Britain went to war.

Once the ceremony was over, the boys, parents and masters rose as one to sing Carmen Bristoliense.

Sit clarior, sit dignior, quotquot labuntur menses:

Sit primus nobis hic decor, Sumus Bristolienses.



Once the last chorus had rung out, the headmaster led the guest of honour and his staff off the stage, out of the great hall and into the afternoon sunshine. Moments later, everyone else poured out on to the lawn to join them for tea. Three boys in particular were surrounded by well-wishers, as well as by a bevy of sisters who thought Giles was ‘just cute’.

‘This is the proudest day of my life,’ said Harry’s mother as she embraced him.

‘I know how you feel, Mrs Clifton,’ said Old Jack, shaking Harry by the hand. ‘I only wish Miss Monday had lived long enough to see you today, because I don’t doubt it would have also been the happiest day of her life.’