Free Children of the Tide by Valerie Wood Page A

Dunnington on the north-eastern fringe of York were covered with the pale blue flowers of chicory and which, at the end of autumn, swarmed with itinerant workers brought in to gather and harvest the root and transport it to York for drying.
    He bought a ticket and climbed aboard, and by early evening the coach was dropping down into the Vale of York towards his destination.
    He weaved his way through the warren of familiar dog-leg lanes and narrow passages, which cut a way through half-timbered buildings of merchant houses and ancient dwellings. Some of these lanes were medieval pathways with room for only one pedestrian to traverse, and which, he recalled, could be very awkward if a person of the opposite sex was met up with half-way through. He was reminded of the rules given out by the school housemasters that if this should happen, then no matter what the female’s class, be she rich or poor, the young gentlemen should immediately raise their hats and turn around and go back the way they had come, giving the lady free passage to continue.
    A small smile touched his lips as he remembered the additional ruder names which he and his friends had invented for the snickets and alleys which threaded a hidden path through the centre of York. Names to confuse new pupils who were not familiar even with the strange-sounding hidden courts such as Mad Alice, Cheats Court, or the Hole in the Wall, which lay at the foot of the majestic Minster.
    He hurried on, anxious to see Peacock before hewent in to supper. He pushed open the iron gates set in the high stone walls which surrounded the old school, and walked up the path to the thick oak doors.
    ‘Mr Rayner, sir.’ The porter greeted him cordially. ‘Didn’t expect to see you back so soon!’
    ‘I didn’t expect to be back, Lawson. But life is full of surprises.’
    ‘You’ve discovered that already, sir? Then your education is continuing.’
    James waited in an anteroom while Lawson went to look for Peacock, and as he paced the floor he reflected on the change of attitude in Lawson’s demeanour towards him now that he was no longer a student. Then, he would watch all the young gentlemen, diligently noting what time they went out and came back, whether they were suitably and tidily dressed and reminding them at all times that their behaviour reflected the school’s reputation. Not one note of jollity ever passed his lips, yet now he had a positive twinkle in his eyes.
    James had often wondered why his parents had sent him to this school in York, when there were equally good schools nearer to home. Gilbert had attended the Grammar School in Hull which had a fine reputation, but when, at eight, James had questioned his father as to why he should have to go to York, he was told that it was for the best.
    He stood up as Henry Peacock came into the room and extended a hand towards him in greeting.
    ‘Rayner! How good to see you. What brings you back so soon?’
    James shook his hand and gently retrieved it. Peacock had a habit of holding on to a boy’s arm or shoulder when discussing or admiring a work of art, and there was much contemplation in the dormitories after the lamps were dimmed as to whether or not he was effeminate with unmanly traits, or an aesthete. James had always hotly defended the master, stating that Peacock had only eyes for beauty of line andform, and was quite above such commonplace qualities as they were suggesting.
    Peacock had opened his eyes to the sculpture and architecture which lay all around them in this ancient city. He had taught him to observe the stark beauty of winter-bare branches in the city parks, and the delicate veil of green as spring unfolded and divulged her presence. So, too, had he shown him the richness of the medieval stained glass in the Minster; made him run his hands over the texture of the stone that he might sense the throbbing of ancient chanting voices still held within the fabric; and told him of the time, twenty years