WELL shall I ever remember the last day of August in the year of grace 1642. The shadow of war, and civil war to boot, lay heavily over the length and breadth of the kingdom, and the usually peaceful Isle of Wight was no exception to the rule. It was owing to this fact that I, Humphrey Markham, was compelled to remain at school during the holidays instead of spending them, as was my wont, at my father's castle of Ashley, which lies betwixt the borders of Hamptonshire and Sussex, hard by the town of Petersfield. The call of ...
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WELL shall I ever remember the last day of August in the year of grace 1642. The shadow of war, and civil war to boot, lay heavily over the length and breadth of the kingdom, and the usually peaceful Isle of Wight was no exception to the rule. It was owing to this fact that I, Humphrey Markham, was compelled to remain at school during the holidays instead of spending them, as was my wont, at my father's castle of Ashley, which lies betwixt the borders of Hamptonshire and Sussex, hard by the town of Petersfield. The call of duty had obliged my father to travel northward to attend on the King's person, so that, much to my disappointment, I was compelled to forego one of my twice-yearly visits to my home. Yet, fortunately for me, I was not alone in my "exile," as I was tempted to call it. My closest companion, Ralph Granville, a nephew of the staunch Royalist, Sir Bevil Granville, of the Duchy of Cornwall, also remained at school for similar reasons, as did a score or more of other scholars, and, thanks to the kindness of the dominie, we were permitted a considerable amount of freedom, the only condition being that we should be within gates every night ere sundown.
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