man of some six feet three inches, and his countenance, though reassuring while

one knew he was intent on obliging, could seem extremely forbidding viewed in

certain other contexts. According to Mr Charles, my father did not display any

obvious anger.

 

He had, it seemed, merely opened the door. And yet there was something so

powerfully rebuking, and at the same time so unassailable about his figure

looming over them that Mr Charles's two drunken companions seemed to cower back

like small boys caught by the farmer in the act of stealing apples.

 

My father had proceeded to stand there for some moments, saying nothing, merely

holding open the door. Eventually, either Mr Smith or Mr Jones had remarked:

"Are we not going on with the journey?"

 

My father did not reply, but continued to stand there silently, neither

demanding disembarkation nor offering any clue as to his desires or intentions.

I can well imagine how he must have looked that day, framed by the doorway of

the vehicle, his dark, severe presence quite blotting out the effect of the

gentle Hertfordshire scenery behind him. Those were, Mr Charles recalls,

strangely unnerving moments during which he too, despite not having participated

in the preceding behaviour, felt engulfed with guilt. The silence seemed to go

on interminably, before either Mr Smith or Mr Jones found it in him to- mutter:

"I suppose we were talking a little out of turn there. It won't happen again."

 

A moment to consider this, then my father had closed the door gently, returned