This Was A Man (58 page)

‘Don’t worry,’ he had added, ‘as long as six hundred turn up, we can fill the nave, block off the chancery and it will still look packed. Only our regular worshippers
will be any the wiser.’

Giles just prayed that the nave would be full, as he didn’t want to let his friend down. He put down the script fourteen minutes later, then returned to the bedroom, to find Karin still in
her dressing gown.

‘We ought to get going,’ he said.

‘Of course we should, my darling,’ said Karin, ‘that is, if you’re thinking of walking to the cathedral. If you leave now, you’ll be there in time to welcome the
dean,’ she added before disappearing into the bathroom.

While Giles had been going over his speech downstairs, she had laid out a white shirt, his Bristol Grammar School tie, and a dark suit that had come back from the cleaners the previous day.
Giles took his time dressing, finally selecting a pair of gold cufflinks Harry had given him on his wedding day. Once he’d checked himself in the mirror, he paced restlessly around the
bedroom, delivering whole paragraphs of his eulogy out loud and constantly looking at his watch. How long was she going to be?

When Karin reappeared twenty minutes later, she was wearing a simple navy blue dress that Giles had never seen before, adorned with a gold portcullis brooch. She’d done Harry proud.

‘Time to leave,’ she announced calmly.

As they left the house Giles was relieved to see that Tom was already standing by the back door of the car.

‘Let’s get moving, Tom,’ he said as he slumped into the back seat, checking his watch again.

Tom drove sedately out of Smith Square as befitted the occasion. Past the Palace of Westminster and around Parliament Square before making his way along Victoria Embankment.

‘The traffic seems unusually heavy today,’ said Giles, once again looking at his watch.

‘About the same as last week,’ said Tom.

Giles didn’t comment on the fact that every light seemed to turn red just as they approached it. He was convinced they were going to be late.

As they drove past the mounted griffins that herald the City of London, Giles began to relax for the first time, as it now looked as if they would be about ten minutes early. And they would have
been, but for something none of them had anticipated.

With about half a mile to go and the dome of the cathedral in sight, Tom spotted a barrier across the road that hadn’t been there the previous week when they’d carried out the
practice run. A policeman raised his arm to stop them, and Tom wound down his window and said, ‘The Lord Chancellor.’

The policeman saluted and nodded to a colleague, who lifted the barrier to allow them through.

Giles was glad they were early because they were moving so slowly. Crowds of pedestrians were overflowing from the pavement and spilling on to the road, finally causing the car to almost come to
a halt.

‘Stop here, Tom,’ said Giles. ‘We’re going to have to walk the last hundred yards.’

Tom pulled up in the middle of the road and rushed to open the back door, but by the time he got there, Giles and Karin were already making their way through the crowd. People stood aside when
they recognized him, and some even began clapping.

Giles was about to acknowledge their applause, when Karin whispered, ‘Don’t forget they’re applauding Harry, not you.’

They finally reached the cathedral steps and began to climb up through a corridor of raised pens and pencils, held high by those who wished to remember Harry not only as an author, but as a
civil rights campaigner.

Giles looked up to see Eric Evans, canon in residence, waiting for them on the top step.

‘Got that wrong, didn’t I,’ he said, grinning. ‘It must be an author thing, always more popular than politicians.’

Giles laughed nervously as the canon escorted them through the north-west door and into the cathedral, where those who had arrived late, even if they had a ticket, were standing at the side of
the nave, while those who didn’t were crammed at the back like football fans on a crowded terrace.

Karin knew that Giles’s laughter was a cocktail of nerves and adrenaline. In fact, she had never seen him so nervous.

‘Relax,’ she whispered, as the dean led them down the long marble aisle, past Wellington’s memorial and through the packed congregation, to their places at the head of the
nave. Giles recognized several people as they made their slow progress towards the high altar. Aaron Guinzburg was sitting next to Ian Chapman, Dr Richards with Lord Samuel, Hakim Bishara and
Arnold Hardcastle representing Farthings, Sir Alan Redmayne was next to Sir John Rennie, while Victor Kaufman and his old school chum Professor Algernon Deakins were seated near the front.

But it was two women, sitting alone, who took him by surprise. An elegant old lady, who bowed her head as Giles passed, was seated near the back, clearly no longer wishing to be acknowledged as
a dowager duchess might have expected to be, while in the row directly behind the family was another old lady who had travelled from Moscow to honour her late husband’s dear friend.

Once they had taken their places in the front row, Giles picked up the order of service sheet that had been prepared by Grace. The cover was adorned with a simple portrait of Sir Harry Clifton
KBE that had been drawn by the most recent winner of the Turner Prize.

The order of service could have been chosen by Harry himself, as it reflected his personal tastes: traditional, popular, with no concern about being described as romantic. His mother would have
approved.

The congregation was welcomed by the Rt Rev. Barry Donaldson, the Lord Bishop of Bristol, who led them in prayers in memory of Harry. The first lesson was read by Jake, whose head could barely
be seen above the lectern.

‘1 Corinthians 13.
If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels
. . .’

The choir of St Mary Redcliffe, where Harry had been a chorister, sang
Rejoice that the Lord has risen!

Sebastian, as the new head of the Clifton family, walked slowly up to the north lectern to read the second lesson, Revelation 21 to 37, and only just managed to get the words out.

‘
And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea
. . .’ When he returned to his place in the
front pew, Giles couldn’t help noticing that his nephew’s hair was starting to grey at the temples – which was only appropriate, he reflected, for a man who had recently been
elected to the court of the Bank of England.

The congregation rose to join all those outside the cathedral in singing Harry’s favourite song from
Guys and Dolls
, ‘Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat’.
Perhaps for the first time in the cathedral’s history, cries of ‘Encore’ rang out both inside and out; inside, where the Salvation Army were led by Miss Adelaide representing
Emma, while outside were a thousand Sky Mastersons playing Harry.

The dean nodded, and the choir master raised his baton once again. Giles was probably the only person who didn’t join in when the congregation began to sing,
And did those feet in
ancient times
. . . Becoming more nervous by the minute, he placed the order of service by his side and clung on to the pew, in the hope that no one would see his hands were shaking.

When the congregation reached,
Till we have built Jerusalem
. . . Giles turned to see the dean standing by his side. He bowed. It must be 11.41.

Giles stood, stepped out into the aisle and followed the dean to the pulpit steps, where he bowed again, before leaving him with
In England’s green and pleasant land
echoing in
his ears. As Giles turned to climb the thirteen steps, he could hear Harry saying,
Good luck, old chap, rather you than me
.

When he reached the pulpit, Giles placed his script on the small brass lectern and looked down on the packed congregation. Only one seat was empty. The last line of Blake’s masterpiece
having been rendered, the congregation resumed their places. Giles glanced to his left to see the statue of Nelson, his one eye staring directly at him, and waited for the audience to settle before
he delivered his opening line.

‘Many people over the years have asked me if it was obvious, when I first met Harry Clifton, that I was in the presence of a truly remarkable individual, and I have to say no, it
wasn’t. In fact, only chance brought us together, or to be more accurate, the alphabet. Because my name was Barrington, I ended up in the next bed to Clifton in the dormitory on our first day
at St Bede’s, and from that random chance was born a lifelong friendship.

‘It was clear to me from the outset that I was the superior human being. After all, the boy who had been placed next to me not only cried all night, but also wet his bed.’

The roar of laughter that came from outside quickly spread to those inside the cathedral, helping Giles to relax.

‘This natural superiority continued to manifest itself when he crept into the washroom. Clifton had neither a toothbrush nor toothpaste, and had to borrow from me. The following morning,
when we joined the other boys for breakfast, my superiority was even more apparent when it became clear that Clifton had never been introduced to a spoon, because he licked his porridge bowl clean.
It seemed a good idea to me at the time, so I did the same. After breakfast, we all trooped off to the Great Hall for our first assembly, to be addressed by the headmaster. Although Clifton clearly
wasn’t my equal – after all, he was the son of a docker, and my father owned the docks, while his mother was a waitress, and my mother was Lady Barrington. How could we possibly be
equals? However, I still allowed him to sit next to me.

‘Once assembly was over, we went off to the classroom for our first lesson, where yet again Clifton was sitting next to Barrington. Unfortunately, by the time the bell sounded for break,
my mythical superiority had evaporated more quickly than the morning mist once the sun has risen. It didn’t take me much longer to realize that I would walk in Harry’s shadow for the
rest of my life, for he was destined to prove, far beyond the tiny world we then occupied, that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword.

‘This state of affairs continued after we left St Bede’s and progressed to Bristol Grammar School, when I was placed next to my friend once again – but I must admit that I only
gained a place at the school because they needed a new cricket pavilion, and my father paid for it.’

While those outside St Paul’s laughed and applauded, decorum allowed only polite laughter inside the cathedral.

‘I went on to captain the school’s first eleven, while Harry won the prize for English and an exhibition to Oxford. I also managed to scrape into Oxford, but only after I’d
scored a century at Lord’s for Young MCC.’

Giles waited for the laughter to die down before he continued.

‘And then something happened that I hadn’t been prepared for. Harry fell in love with my sister Emma. I confess that at the time I felt he could have done better. In my defence, I
wasn’t to know that she would win the top scholarship to Somerville College, Oxford, become the first female chairman of a public company, chairman of an NHS hospital and a minister of the
Crown. Not for the first time, or the last, Harry was to prove me wrong. I wasn’t even the superior Barrington any more. This is perhaps not the time to mention my little sister Grace, then
still at school, who went on to become Professor of English at Cambridge. Now I am relegated to third place in the Barrington hierarchy.

‘By now I had accepted that Harry was superior, so I made sure that we shared tutorials, as I had planned that he would write my essays, while I practised my cover drive. However, Adolf
Hitler, a man who never played a game of cricket in his life, put a stop to that, and caused us to go our separate ways.

‘Harry shamed me by leaving Oxford and joining up even before war had been declared, and by the time I followed him, his ship had been sunk by a German U-boat. Everyone assumed he’d
been lost at sea. But you can’t get rid of Harry Clifton quite that easily. He was rescued by the Americans, and spent the rest of his war behind enemy lines, while I ended up in a German
prisoner-of-war camp. I have a feeling that if Lieutenant Clifton had been in the next bunk to me at Weinsberg, I would have escaped a lot sooner.

‘Harry never talked to me or anyone else about his war, despite his having been awarded the prestigious Silver Star for his service as a young captain in the US Army. But if you read his
citation, as I did when I first visited Washington as a foreign minister, you’d discover that with the help of an Irish corporal, a jeep and two pistols, he convinced Field Marshal Kertel,
the commanding officer of a crack panzer division, to order his men to lay down their arms and surrender. Shortly afterwards, Harry’s jeep was blown up by a land mine while he was travelling
back to his battalion. His driver was killed, and Harry was flown to the Bristol Royal Infirmary, not expected to survive the journey. However, the gods had other plans for Harry Clifton that even
I would not have thought possible.

‘Once the war was over and Harry had fully recovered, he and Emma were married and moved into the house next door, although I confess a few acres still divided us. Back in the real world,
I wanted to be a politician, while Harry had plans to be a writer, so once again we set out on our separate paths.

‘When I became a Member of Parliament, I felt that at last we were equals, until I discovered that more people were reading Harry’s books than were voting for me. My only consolation
was that Harry’s fictional hero, William Warwick, the son of an earl, good-looking, highly intelligent and a heroic figure, was obviously based on me.’

More laughter followed, as Giles turned to his next page.