THE WALL

AROUND

HIS WORLD

David A. Johnstone

As I walked in the great park this afternoon kicking up the golden leaves under the elms, I thought about my life. How strange it would seem to people if they knew the truth about the Squire's son. In this year 1798, when most of my teenage friends are fighting for their country in the Mediterranean against that French Devil Napoleon, I am here idling my life away.

It has been over three months now since I was forbidden to leave the house. In the daytime I am allowed to walk in the park or the gardens, but whenever visitors are expected, I must stay in my rooms in the tower. It is almost like being a prisoner in my own home. . . . The servants do not question my father's actions and I speak only to the cook who brings up my meals. Since that night over three months ago when my father found me in bed with my tutor, I have eaten every meal alone. He refuses to eat with me. Indeed, it is all he can do to speak to me when we meet.

I sat on the grass until five watching the sun sink down below the wall of the park and saw the deep red reflections on my windows in the tower. I wondered then just how long this could continue. My father's attitude towards my homosexuality is stupid. . . . He acts like a father whose daughter has been raped. My tutor was dismissed straight away. No scandal could be allowed to darken my father's house, so everything was kept quiet. Only my father, my tutor and myself know the truth. But when friends call now, they are told that I am away studying in London. It is as if I had died.

Fone

16