Rupert Mountjoy
The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.II
Green grow the rushes
O, Green grow the rushes O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, Were spent among the lasses O!
CHAPTER ONE. A Freshman's Tale
'Here's a little trick which will amuse the ladies at your party tonight,' said Barry Jacobs, a fellow undergraduate I met during my second week of the Varsity when we were both chosen to play football for the college team on the strength that we had both captained our school elevens at soccer. He was a clever chap and though our life paths took very different directions after leaving Oxford, Barry and I have remained close personal chums. 'Do you have a pencil and paper to hand? listen carefully now, Rupert-take your age and double it; then add five. Right? Now, think of any number between one and ninety-nine; and now take away the number of days in a year. Finally, add one hundred and fifteen and divide by one hundred.
Now see where the decimal point comes. Your age will be to the left of it and the number between one and ninety-nine that you chose will be to the right of it! Isn't that amazing?' But dear readers, I feel that I am in too much haste in beginning these recollections of my splendid years spent 'twixt the dreaming spires of the internationally famous University of Oxford, in the heart of England's green and pleasant land. For those of you who have yet to read of my early exploits in the grand l'art de faire l'amour I had best swiftly sketch the bare details of my life so far. Although my family seat is in Yorkshire, I attended boarding school down in Sussex at St Lionel's Academy For the Sons Of Gentlefolk. I was initiated into the joys of sensuality, however, by Diana Wigmore, the beautiful daughter of a neighbour and my friend Frank Folkestone (who also crossed the Rubicon during that never-to-be-forgotten summer holiday) and I enjoyed further liaisons at school with Prince Salman of Lockshenstan. Salman, the son of a fabulously wealthy maharajah, liked nothing better than to fuck himself into a stupor at any and every opportunity and the girls of the nearby village queued up to receive his spunky libations and twenty pound notes which he generously distributed to his female companions. Nevertheless, all play and no work is a recipe for disaster as Dr Keeleigh, our dear old headmaster used to say, and Salman took his wise words to heart. My Indian pal was a diligent scholar and I was sorry that he did not accept the place offered him at University College, Oxford but preferred to continue his scientific studies at Trinity College, Cambridge. However, we did keep in touch from time to time as will be recorded in this narrative. My other inseparable schoolfellow was Frank Folkestone and to our mutual delight we were both accepted by Balliol College to study law. Our rooms were on the same landing in college which pleased us both and, as will be noted, this arrangement proved to be extremely convenient for, how shall I best put it, our often joint extra mural activities.