My Life

My Life - Oswald MosleyThis incident happened when a short-lived reconciliation with his father hadtemporarily placed the house at his disposal, some years after my first reunion withhim. He had previously obtained a Court order for his three sons to visit him in theholidays. The arrangement was soon frustrated; with the barbarous insensitivity ofwhich small boys alone are capable, we sat around the house in postures of gloom anddespair until he could bear it no longer and sent us back to my mother and her family.It must have been very wounding to his feelings, for he was on the whole a jollyfellow and simply wanted to show us affection. If you took him the right way, lifecould be quite happy with father. This I learned to do later, and established a genialrelationship by using our mutual love of horses; he rode superbly.His faults were mostly of a superficial character, but led to some rather disastrousresults. Abounding vitality and physical energy were wasted. All went well in hisyouth, when he had considerable success as an amateur jockey, but when years andweight brought this to an end he did not know what to do with himself. Art and musicwere certainly represented in his own little house. A picture over the fire was acontemporary drawing of an ample lady in a very tight skirt with a monocled dandywalking behind her; it bore the caption, 'Life is just one damn thing after another' - atthis point father's philosophy coincided with his art form. A wheezy gramophone ofearly date wafted the stentorian tones of a music-hall tenor insistently reiterating hisurgent demand: 'Put me among the girls, them with the rosy curls'. On less amorousbut even more festive occasions, the same favourite tenor would enjoin: 'Come alongnow, for a few of the boys are kicking up the hell of a noise - let's go round the town'.The short honeymoon between my father and grandfather did not last long, and theonly practical effect was temporarily to make my mother's situation more difficult.My grandfather's affectionate and spontaneous nature suddenly led him to feel that hemust both be reconciled with his son and promote a reconciliation between myparents. She felt she knew better, and a rift occurred. My father was duly installed atRolleston with a considerable supply of extra cash, and my grandfather retired to arelatively modest house and farm at Abinger near Pulborough in Sussex.Trouble was not long in coming. A prize bull failed to arrive from Rolleston on thedue date to consummate its nuptials at Abinger. Dark rumours circulated of a restlessand inconsequent energy draining all the lakes at Rolleston with no good reason, andlosing in the reckless process most of the much valued stock of fish. Finally there wasa disturbing tale about some of the extra money being used to buy the fastest car ofthe period - strong in the engine, but weak in the brake - with a flat-out trial spin inthe evening light which, in mistake of the road home, ran smack through the closedpark gates of a respected neighbour. My father landed, as usual in his innumerableaccidents, on his feet and unhurt; just as when he inadvertently cut a corner and turnedover a dogcart containing my pregnant mother shortly before the birth of one of mybrothers. It was not these vagaries which disturbed their happy marriage; she only lefthim when she chanced to open a carelessly unlocked drawer and found it full ofletters from other ladies. Then she packed her bags and departed the same day, forgood; obtaining not a divorce which was against her principles, but a judicialseparation, which included custody of the children and a meagre alimony.After a brief sojourn at Rolleston, which was available to me throughout, my fatherwas sent packing on his travels again. My grandfather returned and ran the estate until16 of 424