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Posted on: March 09, 2008?> Copyright © 2008 Sticky Pen
"I don’t want to return home, I don’t want to return home,” I repeated to myself as I sat with my two bags of luggage at the Cambridge Railway Station. My knocker was filled with thoughts of the petty manners, stifling etiquette, and empty conversation that I would have to endure back home at the Howard Estate in York. Oh, how I despised such trifles! Almost at every turn in Howard one would encounter a stately young lady burning inside with a desire that could only be fulfilled through marriage, at least in those times, the 1920’s. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with those locusts who wanted me for my parents’ extravagant wealth and old name. I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with the stuffy old buggers anyway: they did not tickle my fancy, one might say. The gushing young women who often stayed as guests at my family’s estate were not the only reason I so dreadfully loathed the thought of returning to York—the women were only one small part of the stuffiness there. My family followed the old English idea that affluence and stateliness must necessarily lead to behaving overly traditional; or, in other words, to act like complete arses. I have disagreed with them ever since I was a young lad, but of course could never bring myself to vocalize those sentiments. To do so would undoubtedly have lead to any number of unwanted consequences, such ...
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