Daughter of Empire by Pamela Hicks Read Free Book Online

wild except for the broom and clumps of yew and gorse. When the broom was in bloom its scent filled the air, a sure sign
that spring was coming. We would gallop across the Downs, ignoring warnings to ‘watch those rabbit holes!’
    As spring took hold of the countryside and the acrid smell of wild garlic filled the air, my sister and I picked primroses and bee orchids for the table in the day nursery. Grandmama could name
every tree and flower but I was still pretty hopeless – though not for want of being told. Always busy inventing something or other, my father had recently created a nine-hole golf course in
the park. He had installed a clubhouse and employed a ‘pro’ who could give guests a lesson. My sister and I didn’t play but my mother was surprisingly good. I tried a couple of
times but I couldn’t understand, having all that wild countryside around us, why anybody would want to hit a ball around such a limited bit of land.
    My father was a master at solving problems. When I lied about taking some chocolate and, as I vehemently denied it, puffed chocolate fumes into Nanny’s face, she was cross. ‘This is
very serious indeed, Pammy. Wait until Daddy comes home.’ To me this sounded like a death sentence, and when she added, ‘I am not going to punish you, we will wait until we tell Daddy
and see what he says,’ I knew I was done for. My father was not due to come home for several days and each hour of waiting was agony. I couldn’t sleep and Nanny maintained a severe
expression whenever she looked my way. When my father finally sent for me – a relief in some ways, at least the waiting was over – I braced myself. ‘Nanny tells me that you took a
piece of chocolate.’ He spoke in a quiet, reasonable voice. ‘That was naughty, Pammy. But what has really upset her very much is that you told a lie. It’s very important in life
that you don’t tell lies. And so you understand why, I am going to tell you a story about a nun.’ I was surprised at the way this conversation was going. ‘Now nuns are good
people. They would never do an evil thing and the nun in this story had never ever told a lie. But there came a moment during a war between the Catholics and the Protestants when she was asked to
hide a Protestant man. Of course, this nun was a Catholic. When the soldiers came into the convent, they asked her: “Has a Protestant man been here asking you to hide him?” Looking them
straight in the eye she replied: “No.” She lied because she knew that the soldiers would kill the man if they found him. And because she was a nun, and nuns are always truthful, the
soldiers believed her and went away.’ He paused so the story could sink in. I was only seven, so probably looked a little blank. My father took me by the shoulders and said, gently,
‘You see, Pammy darling, you probably only have one,
maybe
two opportunities in the whole of your life to tell a lie. So don’t waste them on chocolate.’ The message went
in, all the more so because he hadn’t scolded me but had told me a story that I could think about. It stayed with me for a very long time and made me very sorry for having lied about
something so trivial.
    In the summer of 1936, King Edward VIII came to Adsdean with Mr and Mrs Simpson. I was excited about the King coming to our house and looking forward to making my deep curtsy to him. During the
afternoon following their arrival Hanky came up to the nursery to share the news that Mrs Simpson had ‘presented her Ladyship with a cold cooked chicken from Fortnum’s’ and our
chef, Mr Brinz, was in a tizzy about what to do with it, when there were so many to be fed and he was well prepared. Mr Brinz was not to be crossed. Once my mother had told him that if the cake he
always offered alongside dessert remained untouched, then it could be kept for the next day. Mr Brinz had said nothing but the next day, at the bottom of his legendary copperplate menu, was written
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