necessary sacrifices to ensure that George could begin his education at Glengorse, a fashionable prep school in the south of England.
George often heard his father say, “We’ll just have to tighten our belts, especially if Trafford is to follow in your footsteps.” After considering these words for some time, he inquired of his mother if there were any prep schools in England that his sisters might attend.
“Good heavens no,” she replied disdainfully. “That would simply be a waste of money. In any case, what would be the point?”
“For a start, it would mean Avie and Mary had the same opportunities as Trafford and me,” suggested George.
His mother scoffed. “Why put the girls through such an ordeal, when it would not advance their chances of securing a suitable husband by one jot?”
“Isn’t it possible,” suggested George, “that a husband might benefit from being married to a well-educated woman?”
“That’s the last thing a man wants,” his mother responded. “You’ll find out soon enough that most husbands simply require their wife to provide them with an heir and a spare, and to organize the servants.”
George was unconvinced, and decided he would wait for an appropriate opportunity to raise the subject with his father.
The Mallorys’ summer holiday of 1896 was not spent at St. Bees, bathing, but in the Malvern Hills, hiking. While the rest of the family quickly discovered that none of them could keep up with George, his father at least made a valiant attempt to accompany him to the higher slopes, while the other Mallorys were happy to wander in the valleys below.
With his father puffing away several yards behind, George re-opened the vexed question of his sisters’ education. “Why aren’t girls given the same opportunities as boys?”
“It’s not the natural order of things, my boy,” panted his father.
“And who decides the natural order of things?”
“God,” responded the Reverend Mallory, feeling he was on safer ground. “It was He who decreed that man should labor to gain sustenance and shelter for his family, while his spouse remained at home and tended to their offspring.”
“But He must have noticed that women are often blessed with more common sense than men. I’m sure He’s aware that Avie is far brighter than either Trafford or me.”
The Reverend Mallory fell back, as he required a little time to consider his son’s argument, and even longer to decide how he should answer it. “Men are naturally superior to women,” he eventually suggested, not sounding altogether convinced, before lamely adding, “and we should not attempt to meddle with nature.”
“If that is true, Papa, how has Queen Victoria managed to reign so successfully for more than sixty years?”
“Simply because there wasn’t a male heir to inherit the throne,” replied his father, feeling he was entering uncharted waters.
“How lucky for England that no man was available when Queen Elizabeth ascended the throne either,” suggested George. “Perhaps the time has come to allow girls the same opportunity as boys to make their way in the world.”
“That would never do,” spluttered his father. “Such a course of action would overturn the natural order of society. If you had your way, George, how would your mother ever be able to find a cook or a scullery maid?”
“By getting a man to do the job,” George suggested guilelessly.
“Good heavens, George, I do believe you’re turning into a free-thinker. Have you been listening to the rantings of that Bernard Shaw fellow?”
“No, Papa, but I have been reading his pamphlets.”
It is not unusual for parents to suspect that their progeny just might be brighter than they are, but the Reverend Mallory was not willing to admit as much when George had only recently celebrated his tenth birthday. George was ready to fire his next question, only to find that his father was falling further and further behind. But then, when it came to climbing, even the Reverend Mallory had long ago accepted that his son was in a different class.
CHAPTER THREE
GEORGE DIDN’T CRY when his parents sent him away to prep school. Not because he didn’t want to, but because another boy, dressed in the same red blazer and short gray trousers, was bawling his head off on the other side of the carriage.
Guy Bullock came from a different world. He wasn’t able to tell George exactly what his father did for a living, but whatever it was, the word industry kept cropping up—something George felt confident his mother wouldn’t approve of. Another thing also became abundantly clear after Guy had told him about his