‘Ah, there’s someone coming. I expect that’s the doctor at last.’
‘I really ought to be retiring,’ I said. ‘I feel quite exhausted.’
‘But I’m sure this is the doctor now, sir,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘Do wait a few more minutes.’
Just as she said this, there came a knock and a voice said:
‘It’s just me, Mrs Taylor.’
The gentleman who was shown in was still fairly young – perhaps around forty or so – tall and thin; tall enough, in fact, that he was obliged to stoop to enter the doorway of the cottage. No sooner had he bade us all a good evening than Mrs Taylor said to him:
‘This is our gentleman here, Doctor. His car’s stuck up there on Thornley Bush and he’s having to endure Harry’s speeches as a result.’
The doctor came up to the table and held out his hand to me.
‘Richard Carlisle,’ he said with a cheerful smile as I rose to shake it. ‘Rotten bit of luck about your car. Still, trust you’re being well looked after here. Looked after rather too well, I imagine.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘Everyone has been most kind.’
‘Well, nice to have you with us.’ Dr Carlisle seated himself almost directly across the table from me. ‘Which part of the country are you from?’
‘Oxfordshire,’ I said, and indeed, it was no easy task to suppress the instinct to add ‘sir’.
‘Fine part of the country. I have an uncle lives just outside Oxford. Fine part of the country.’
‘The gentleman was just telling us, Doctor,’ Mrs Smith said, ‘he knows Mr Churchill.’
‘Is that so? I used to know a nephew of his, but I’ve rather lost touch. Never had the privilege of meeting the great man, though.’
‘And not only Mr Churchill,’ Mrs Smith went on. ‘He knows Mr Eden. And Lord Halifax.’
‘Really?’
I could sense the doctor’s eyes examining me closely. I was about to make some appropriate remark, but before I could do so, Mr Andrews said to the doctor:
‘Gentleman was just telling us he’s had a lot to do with foreign affairs in his time.’
‘Is that so indeed?’
It seemed to me that Dr Carlisle went on looking at me for an inordinate length of time. Then he regained his cheerful manner and asked:
‘Touring around for pleasure?’
‘Principally,’ I said, and gave a small laugh.
‘Plenty of nice country around here. Oh, by the way, Mr Andrews, I’m sorry not to have returned that saw yet.’
‘No hurry at all, Doctor.’
For a little time, the focus of attention left me and I was able to remain silent. Then, seizing what seemed a suitable moment, I rose to my feet, saying:
‘Please excuse me. It has been a most enjoyable evening, but I really must now retire.’
‘Such a pity you have to retire already, sir,’ Mrs Smith said. ‘The doctor’s only just arrived.’
Mr Harry Smith leaned across his wife and said to Dr Carlisle:
‘I was hoping the gentleman would have a few words to say about your ideas on the Empire, Doctor.’ Then turning to me, he went on: ‘Our doctor here’s for all kinds of little countries going independent. I don’t have the learning to prove him wrong, though I know he is. But I’d have been interested to hear what the likes of yourself would have to say to him on the subject, sir.’
Yet again, Dr Carlisle’s gaze seemed to study me. Then he said:
‘A pity, but we must let the gentleman go off to bed. Had a tiring day, I expect.’
‘Indeed,’ I said, and with another small laugh, began to make my way round the table. To my embarrassment, everyone in the room, including Dr Carlisle, rose to their feet.
‘Thank you all very much,’ I said, smiling. ‘Mrs Taylor, I did enjoy a splendid supper. I wish you all a very good night.’
There came a chorus of, ‘Good night, sir,’ in reply. I had almost left the room when the doctor’s voice caused me to halt at the door.
‘I say, old chap,’ he said, and when I turned, I saw he had remained on his feet. ‘I have a visit to make in Stanbury first thing in the morning. I’d be happy to give you a lift up to your car. Save you the walk. And we can pick up a can of petrol from Ted Hardacre’s on the way.’
‘That is most kind,’ I said. ‘But I don’t wish to put you to any trouble.’
‘No trouble at all. Seven thirty all right for you?’
‘That would be most helpful indeed.’
‘Right then, seven thirty it is. Make sure your guest’s up and breakfasted for seven thirty, Mrs Taylor.’ Then turning back to me, he added: ‘So we can have our talk after all. Though Harry here won’t have the satisfaction of witnessing my humiliation.’
There was laughter, and another exchange of good nights before I was at last allowed to ascend to the sanctuary of this room.
I trust I need hardly underline the extent of the discomfort I suffered tonight on account of the unfortunate misunderstanding concerning my person. I can only say now that in all honesty I fail to see how I might reasonably have prevented the situation developing as it did; for by the stage I had become aware of what was occurring, things had gone so far I could not have enlightened these people without creating much embarrassment all round. In any case, regrettable as the whole business was, I do not see that any real harm has been done. I will, after all, take my leave of these people in the morning and presumably never encounter them again. There seems little point in dwelling on the matter.
However, the unfortunate misunderstanding aside, there are perhaps one or two other aspects to this evening’s events which warrant a few moments’ thought – if only because otherwise they may come to niggle one throughout the coming days. For instance, there is the matter of Mr Harry Smith’s pronouncements on the nature of ‘dignity’. There is surely little in his statements that merits serious consideration. Of course, one has to allow that Mr Harry Smith was employing the word ‘dignity’ in a quite different sense altogether from my own understanding of it. Even so, even taken on their own terms, his statements were, surely, far too idealistic, far too theoretical, to deserve respect. Up to a point, no doubt, there is some truth in what he says: in a country such as ours, people may indeed have a certain duty to think about great affairs and form their opinions. But life being what it is, how can ordinary people truly be expected to have ‘strong opinions’ on all manner of things – as Mr Harry Smith rather fancifully claims the villagers here do? And not only are these expectations unrealistic, I rather doubt if they are even desirable. There is, after all, a real limit to how much ordinary people can learn and know, and to demand that each and every one of them contribute ‘strong opinions’ to the great debates of the nation cannot, surely, be wise. It is, in any case, absurd that anyone should presume to define a person’s ‘dignity’ in these terms.
As it happens, there is an instance that comes to mind which I believe illustrates rather well the real limits of whatever truth may be contained in Mr Harry Smith’s views. It is, as it happens, an instance from my own experience, an episode that took place before the war, around 1935.
As I recall, I was rung for late one night – it was past midnight – to the drawing room where his lordship had been entertaining three gentlemen since dinner. I had, naturally, been called to the drawing room several times already that night to replenish refreshments, and had observed on these occasions the gentlemen deep in conversation over weighty issues. When I entered the drawing room on this last occasion, however, all the gentlemen stopped talking and looked at me. Then his lordship said:
‘Step this way a moment, will you, Stevens? Mr Spencer here wishes a word with you.’
The gentleman in question went on gazing at me for a moment without changing the somewhat languid posture he had adopted in his armchair. Then he said:
‘My good man, I have a question for you. We need your help on a certain matter we’ve been debating. Tell me, do you suppose the debt situation regarding America is a significant factor in the present low levels of trade? Or do you suppose this is a red herring and that the abandonment of the gold standard is at the root of the matter?’
I was naturally a little surprised by this, but then quickly saw the situation for what it was; that is to say, it was clearly expected that I be baffled by the question. Indeed, in the moment or so that it took for me to perceive this and compose a suitable response, I may even have given the outward impression of struggling with the question, for I saw all the gentlemen in the room exchange mirthful smiles.
‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ I said, ‘but I am unable to be of assistance on this matter.’
I was by this point well on top of the situation, but the gentlemen went on laughing covertly. Then Mr Spencer said:
‘Then perhaps you will help us on another matter. Would you say that the currency problem in Europe would be made better or worse if there were to be an arms agreement between the French and the Bolsheviks?’
‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I am unable to be of assistance on this matter.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Spencer. ‘So you can’t help us here either.’
There was more suppressed laughter before his lordship said:
‘Very well, Stevens. That will be all.’
‘Please, Darlington, I have one more question to put to our good man here,’ Mr Spencer said. ‘I very much wanted his help on the question presently vexing many of us, and which we all realize is crucial to how we should shape our foreign policy. My good fellow, please come to our assistance. What was M. Laval really intending, by his recent speech on the situation in North Africa? Are you also of the view that it was simply a ruse to scupper the nationalist fringe of his own domestic party?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I am unable to assist in this matter.’