Free Fathers and Sons by Richard Madeley

youngest sister, Katherine, who banged heads together at a crisis meeting held to resolve things once and for all. Legend has it she summoned her siblings to the capital of the Canadian midwest for what became known as ‘The Winnipeg Summit’. Katherine, who had been barely three when she was separated from her brother, arranged the meeting at a hotel in the dusty prairie town. Once they were all there, she read them the riot act.
    There was to be no more talk of anyone selling off their parcel of Kiln Farm on the open market. She would never speak again to anyone who did such a thing. They were entitled to their inheritances, but only up to a point, and certainly not at the price of their brother’s happiness and security. They owed him everything.
    In the end, Katherine prevailed. Back in England, Sarah paid for a lawyer to draw up contracts allowing Geoffrey to buy back Kiln Farm from his brothers and sisters. It was, Granddad would later generously say, ‘an amicable settlement’. Under its terms, he took ownership of Kiln Farm in 1937 although the deeds were, for some reason, retained by Sarah. They were finally passed to him on her death fourteen years later, in 1951. Geoffrey was fifty-four years old. A long time to wait.
    I have often wondered how he managed to regard the ‘buy back’ agreement with such apparent equanimity. I suppose it was the best offer on the table; William had seen to that. But my grandfather’s acceptance of a great injustice was rooted in more than pragmatism. He had forgiven his parents for abandoning him; now he forgave his siblings for presenting him with a bill for what was rightfully his.
    Why? Because I think my grandfather had grasped one of the most fundamental truths of human experience: the extraordinary healing power of forgiveness. Geoffrey had been sundered from his family once; he had no intention of allowing it to happen a second time. So he made the necessary sacrifices and accommodations.
    Perhaps at the expense of relationships closer to home.
     
    Geoffrey, Kitty, James and Christopher huddled round their wireless set one Sunday morning in September 1939 and listened to Chamberlain’s weary voice telling them they were at war. It seemed a strangely remote prospect; after all, Shawbury had been a long way from the guns of the Great War.
    The village didn’t know it, but things were going to be very different this time.
    Kitty wasn’t greatly disturbed by the prime minister’s announcement, although she thought the poor man sounded very tired. He had worked so hard to avoid this; she felt sorry for him. But she knew her eldest son couldn’t be called up for at least a couple of years, and Christopher four years after that. Her husband was already too old at forty-two. The Madeley men should be safe this time and, anyway, the thing was bound to be over soon. France had a huge army and we had a navy. There was an RAF aerodrome at Shawbury now and Kitty had been summoned outside by her sons to see the new fighter planes being put through their paces high in the skies above the Shropshire Plain. Everyone said our Hurricanes and Spitfires were better than anything Hitler had.
    Geoffrey was less sanguine. He had done battle with the Germans face to face and knew they were depressingly good at it, both at long range and at close quarters. They’d almost won last time; if it hadn’t been for our secret weapon–tanks–they probably would have. For nearly four years their armies had been within an ace of breaking through to the Channel ports. What if they made it this time?
    But to begin with, it seemed Kitty’s optimism was justified. For months, nothing much happened. Perhaps Hitler’s bluff had been called. Some people said an honourable truce should be announced and everyone could just go home.
    May arrived. Dad woke one morning to hear his father coming back into the house from the dawn milking. There were the usual start-of-the-day noises–the fireplace being