Dear Heart, How Like You This Read Online Free Page B
mentioned, formed the major passion of their lives. George and Anne both seemed to live just to be able to sing and dance, especially so when the music and the dance were of their own invention and design.
Many an afternoon, when we were children, we would gain permission from Father Stephen to escape from our ordinary lessons so to take our lutes to a tiny chamber in the castle that we regarded as our private music room. Often our good Father, who came to be our attentive and appreciative audience, joined us there. In this room we would sing, dance and play our lutes until our fingers were red and sore, and our voices hoarse, thus could sing no more that day.
My sweet Anna possessed a lovely singing and speaking voice. Indeed, more than lovely, her voice simply enchanted. But, I tell you true, she was no witch, as the King would one day claim. I swear that on my eternal soul. There was true magic in our childhoods, but the magic came out of love, not evil.
Yea, all in all, I know this time of our childhoods was an enchanting time. We three children—close in age and temperament—aided each other’s development, helping to form each other’s being and, just by being together, constantly enhanced and enriched each other’s life.
Furthermore, we were blessed to spend these early years in an enchanting place. Hever. Just that one word will conjure up images in my mind of a small, moated castle. A castle set within tall, yew hedges, amidst green, lush meadows adorned with a thousand and one different flowers. Hever. Amber-coloured stone walls forming the background for climbing plants of all descriptions. Hever. A drawbridge that took me through a gateway—protected by four stone saints set high above in niches—and, once through the gateway, into a timbered courtyard. Even the large, latticed windows, set amongst the castle’s stone walls—windows that allowed me look out on the glorious, deer-rich woodlands and the picturesque meadows surrounding Hever—were to me, as a young boy, things of immense beauty. Yea, even though very tiny in comparison to many other manor houses, Hever appeared beautiful in every way, decorated within and without in the finest taste and with little care for cost.
Aye, Hever: the magical kingdom of our childhoods.
But Hever was more than just that. That one word conjures in my mind the image of a very young girl—bright-eyed, delicate-boned, with tendrils of ebony hair flowing loose—constantly running or skipping ahead of two lanky, growing boys, slowly taking their time getting to their destination whilst engaged in serious talk.
Yea, I hear you say, I speak as if I was a child lost in love. I tell you soothly. I can mark the time and place when my childhood ended. I stood with George upon a barren shore, watching an English galleon become smaller and smaller and yet smaller in the distance—a galleon, ever so swift, leaving the port of Dover. A galleon taking within it a royal bride and a close-to-eight-year-old girl—my cousin, who—unknowingly, and so innocently—took with her such an irretrievable part of me. Though I did not realise it then, Anne had taken in her keeping my heart forever.
I stood on that barren shore, with my feet astride upon those slippery rocks, shivering with violence in the cold. Aye—so cold my tears froze upon my face. I wondered then if it was possible to feel any worse than how I felt at that moment (never knowing that the day I did would be the day she went out of my life and world forever).
I suppose there are many, many people who would deny a child of such tender years the ability to know of love. But I know otherwise. Eros’ arrows struck me early in my life: when I was a small boy of five and she was an even smaller girl of two, in a sun-drenched corridor where music hung in the air unheard.
CONTENTS
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Chapter 2
“I have seen them gentle, tame and meek.”
As I have already pointed out at the beginning of my story, I
Many an afternoon, when we were children, we would gain permission from Father Stephen to escape from our ordinary lessons so to take our lutes to a tiny chamber in the castle that we regarded as our private music room. Often our good Father, who came to be our attentive and appreciative audience, joined us there. In this room we would sing, dance and play our lutes until our fingers were red and sore, and our voices hoarse, thus could sing no more that day.
My sweet Anna possessed a lovely singing and speaking voice. Indeed, more than lovely, her voice simply enchanted. But, I tell you true, she was no witch, as the King would one day claim. I swear that on my eternal soul. There was true magic in our childhoods, but the magic came out of love, not evil.
Yea, all in all, I know this time of our childhoods was an enchanting time. We three children—close in age and temperament—aided each other’s development, helping to form each other’s being and, just by being together, constantly enhanced and enriched each other’s life.
Furthermore, we were blessed to spend these early years in an enchanting place. Hever. Just that one word will conjure up images in my mind of a small, moated castle. A castle set within tall, yew hedges, amidst green, lush meadows adorned with a thousand and one different flowers. Hever. Amber-coloured stone walls forming the background for climbing plants of all descriptions. Hever. A drawbridge that took me through a gateway—protected by four stone saints set high above in niches—and, once through the gateway, into a timbered courtyard. Even the large, latticed windows, set amongst the castle’s stone walls—windows that allowed me look out on the glorious, deer-rich woodlands and the picturesque meadows surrounding Hever—were to me, as a young boy, things of immense beauty. Yea, even though very tiny in comparison to many other manor houses, Hever appeared beautiful in every way, decorated within and without in the finest taste and with little care for cost.
Aye, Hever: the magical kingdom of our childhoods.
But Hever was more than just that. That one word conjures in my mind the image of a very young girl—bright-eyed, delicate-boned, with tendrils of ebony hair flowing loose—constantly running or skipping ahead of two lanky, growing boys, slowly taking their time getting to their destination whilst engaged in serious talk.
Yea, I hear you say, I speak as if I was a child lost in love. I tell you soothly. I can mark the time and place when my childhood ended. I stood with George upon a barren shore, watching an English galleon become smaller and smaller and yet smaller in the distance—a galleon, ever so swift, leaving the port of Dover. A galleon taking within it a royal bride and a close-to-eight-year-old girl—my cousin, who—unknowingly, and so innocently—took with her such an irretrievable part of me. Though I did not realise it then, Anne had taken in her keeping my heart forever.
I stood on that barren shore, with my feet astride upon those slippery rocks, shivering with violence in the cold. Aye—so cold my tears froze upon my face. I wondered then if it was possible to feel any worse than how I felt at that moment (never knowing that the day I did would be the day she went out of my life and world forever).
I suppose there are many, many people who would deny a child of such tender years the ability to know of love. But I know otherwise. Eros’ arrows struck me early in my life: when I was a small boy of five and she was an even smaller girl of two, in a sun-drenched corridor where music hung in the air unheard.
CONTENTS
----
Chapter 2
“I have seen them gentle, tame and meek.”
As I have already pointed out at the beginning of my story, I
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