So, on Alex’s twelfth birthday, 29th August 1929, and reverting to using their Russian names, the Countess Tatiana Ivanovna Karlova, and Aleksander Nikolayevich Karlov boarded the SS Jevington Court, which was a merchant steamer owned and operated by the United British Steamship Company of London. Being passengers on a merchant ship, they were shown quickly to their quarters by one of the ship’s junior officers and left in no doubt that they were expected to stay in their cabin until the ship was at sea. Only the young boy’s keenness for adventure tempered their sad departure from the land that Aleksander had known as his home for his entire life, as did the prospect of starting a new life in a new country where he knew nothing of the language, nor of the customs that would shape his future life.
*
Thus it was that on Friday 6th September 1929, after stopping at several places on the way, the ship docked at Tilbury Port for the disembarkation of passengers, who would be ferried up the River Thames to St Catherine’s Dock, where the British immigration officials would process them. After a brief interview with a disinterested customs officer and a perfunctory examination by a medical officer of the Port of London Sanitary Authority, to ensure that neither Tatiana Ivanovna nor her son was carrying any infectious diseases, they passed through the docks to be welcomed onto British soil by a horde of seething Londoners, all eager to catch a glimpse of who was arriving that day.
It was a very frightening place to be; nobody seemed to be interested in a newly arrived young woman and her child, neither of whom spoke any English. The arrivals shed was a hive of activity, with much pushing and shoving, and the noise was incredible; it seemed little more than a reception area, and a thoroughly foul and unwelcoming place at that. Tatiana Ivanovna wondered what she had done in bringing them both there.
A small and elegant little man, dressed in a dark jacket and striped trousers, pushed through the crowds, and introduced himself in Russian as Sergei Andreivich, the manservant of Count Vladimir Mikhailovich Komarov, who was awaiting their presence at his London home. Only then did she begin to hope that they had not made an enormous error in coming to England. The manservant collected their little luggage, and he invited Tatiana Ivanovna and Aleksander to accompany him to the waiting car. The young boy was astounded when a very large, very dark and very handsome car drew up to them. He was awestruck by the shining silver radiator, which looked like a Grecian temple that he had seen in his school books; atop the “temple” was a silver statue of a lady with her arms flung back as if she were flying.
A smart chauffeur leapt out of the car, and he held the door to the rear compartment open for Tatiana Ivanovna and Aleksander, while the man called Sergei Andreivich sat in the front next to the driver. Once all were in the car, they set off. As they passed through the streets of London, Tatiana Ivanovna was impressed by the luxury of the car; it was such luxury that she had almost forgotten from her days at court in St Petersburg. Aleksander, looking out of the windows of the Rolls-Royce at the buildings they were passing, just wondered at the immenseness of it all.
After travelling for nearly forty minutes, the great car swept up to a tall, black-brick house with an impressive entrance, which was in a quiet square of similar homes. Before the chauffeur had opened the door of the motorcar, the front door of the house was opened, and a large, bearded man in striped trousers and a grey waistcoat bounded towards them from the front door. To the astonishment of both Tatiana Ivanovna and Aleksander, this bear of a man flung open the door of the motor car.
‘Countess, my dear,’ he announced in a beautiful plummy tone, and in the most immaculate Russian that Aleksander had ever heard spoken by a man. ‘I am Count Vladimir Mikhailovich Komarov, but you, my dear, may call me Walter, and you…’ he exclaimed, smiling at Aleksander, ‘may call me Uncle Walter!’
The man said something in an unknown language, and a younger man arrived to take Tatiana Ivanovna’s and Aleksander’s luggage into the house.
‘The first thing we must do is get you some clothes that are better suited to London,’ announced Walter, ‘My wife Viktoriya Livovna and her maid will see to that. For you, young sire, we must find a tutor, so that when I talk in English, you will not look as bemused as a schoolboy introduced to trigonometry for the very first time!’
Aleksander warmed instantly to this avuncular man, who had seemingly adopted the boy as his nephew, and smiled nervously.
‘Come, come,’ said Uncle Walter, ushering them towards the house, ‘my home is your home.’
So, crossing the porchway to the imposing front door of the house on Bedford Square, Tatiana Ivanovna and Aleksander began their life in the capital city of England, London.
II
Shortly after the revolutions of 1917, and the assassination of Tsar Nikolai II and the Russian Imperial family, a group of White Russian émigrés who were supportive of the Russian monarchy in exile founded in Paris what became known as the Soyuz Russkih Monarkhistov, or the Russian Monarchist Union. Having gained the explicit approval of the head of the displaced Imperial Romanov dynasty, Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich, it aimed to help refugee members of the Russian aristocracy, both financially and in their resettlement in another country.
Vladimir Mikhailovich Komarov was a vladetel’nyy graf or proprietary count, whose family owned land in Russia, and whose title was hereditary. Having fled Russia in 1917, he and his wife had travelled to London via Paris, where he joined the fledgling society, agreeing to assist any Russian monarchist whom he might be called upon to help. It had also been in Paris that his wife, Viktoriya, had lost their son that she was carrying, and where she had been told by the most eminent of Parisian gynaecologists that she would not be able to have more children.
Having been notified of the imminent arrival of the Countess Tatiana Ivanovna and her son, Vladimir Mikhailovich accepted with alacrity the role of protector and mentor. Even if he had not been a member of the Russian Monarchist Union, he would have agreed to the task willingly, as his parents had been long-standing close friends of Count Nikolai Aleksandrovich’s parents. He had played regularly with the countess’s husband when he was a child, even though there was a good five years’ difference in age. He remembered those innocent days with fondness, recalling with delight the way he and Nikolai Aleksandrovich would explore their respective parental estates, entirely naive regarding the concerns of the world. He distinctly recollected reading of his friend’s marriage to Tatiana Ivanovna, but he could not for the life of him remember what crucially important matter had prevented him from attending the ceremony. However, his old friend’s wife and heir had arrived in London, and they needed help in settling into the ways of the British capital. Vladimir Mikhailovich accepted the responsibility not just willingly but eagerly.
*
The approach to the new decade was an exciting time for Aleksander and his mother. Both had daily lessons in the English language from a patient tutor called Dr Kingsley, a bespectacled and cadaverous hawk of a man who seemed only to possess one black suit. He was well versed in the art of English etiquette, and he very tolerantly accepted the innocent gaffes of his pupils, correcting them gently and giving ample opportunity to practise using their new skills. Although Dr Kingsley spoke good Russian, he did not use the language when he was teaching, but he insisted that the only language that he would accept was English. However, he forgave any lapses graciously when Tatiana Ivanovna and Aleksander, often out of frustration, slipped into their mother tongue.
As Christmas approached, Dr Kingsley thought it would be a milestone if Tatiana Ivanovna and her son could serenade their adoptive family with carols sung in English. Aleksander regularly rehearsed his rendition of his favourite Christmas hymn ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ while being accompanied by his mother on the grandest of grand pianos that the boy had ever seen.
Aleksander’s education under Dr Kingsley continued until the summer, and he developed into a most willing pupil, lea
rning the language of his adopted country until he could speak it fluently, although he still retained an accent. Aleksander began to comprehend mathematics to the point that he could work out complicated equations with minimal effort. He also cherished the history of Britain and its empire, appreciating that, on the globe, the “pink” of the British Empire was more widespread geographically than the vastness of his motherland. Dr Kingsley instilled in Aleksander the rudiments of Latin and also the beliefs of the great Greek philosophers.
It was during July 1930 that Vladimir Mikhailovich announced that he had secured a place for Aleksander at a private school, where he would be polished educationally in the hope that he would be able to qualify for one of the great British universities. Aleksander was excited, but then his euphoria dissipated when he realised that it was a boarding school at which the children slept as well as being educated. He was appalled that he would be unlikely to see his beloved mama, from whom he had not been parted for a single day since his birth, for several months at a time.
‘Come, come,’ said Vladimir Mikhailovich reassuringly, ‘many British children go away to school, and it will not be forever. You will enjoy it, I am sure.’
Bah! thought Aleksander to himself, British children may go away to school, but I am Russian and I do not want to go!
*
Lassiter’s School existed in a lovely, old manor house in the English county of Dorset, between Salisbury and Shaftesbury. It only took a maximum of fifty boys at any one time, ten in each of the years, between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, and Aleksander understood that he was to join a form called Lower Two, which meant logically that it was one year advanced from Lower One. Lassiter’s was one of those quintessentially English establishments that sought to give its young gentlemen the broad-based education and social refinement that would ensure they became neither specialist in nor ignorant of any matter. Such were the skills upon which centuries of Britons built the greatest empire since that of Rome.
The masters at Lassiter’s came from a similar background to that which the school aspired to for its pupils: minor-public-school educated, leading to a university degree from one of the country’s established universities. As the masters gathered for morning assembly, the various colours and styles of their university hoods added a welcome brightness to even the drabbest of mornings – all except one: Mr Drinkwater, the sports master, who boasted no academic honours and chose to wear for morning assembly a somewhat Victorian formal outfit of frock coat, cravat and striped trousers. Aleksander often wondered whether Mr Drinkwater also owned a silk top hat to go with his chosen attire.
Donald Drinkwater had achieved his qualification as a teacher on the field of champions. In 1922, when Yorkshire had dramatically won the County Cricket Championship, Don Drinkwater had been their star batsman, scoring an unbeaten 120 runs. It was to have been the zenith of his career, as he tore a hamstring the following year and retired from the game at the ripe old age of thirty.
The boys liked Mr Drinkwater; he was firm but fair, and he seldom felt the need to resort to corporal punishment. Under his tutorage, Lassiter’s had achieved a sporting reputation that was second to none in southwest England. Teams from other schools faced Lassiter’s on the sports field with mixed feelings – away teams looked forward to the lavish tea that they were assured when playing at Lassiter’s, but most acknowledged beforehand that they were likely to be beaten soundly.
Such was Mr Drinkwater’s standing that the children of Lassiter’s had bestowed on him a kindly nickname. His full Christian names were Donald Arthur Neville, and by adding his surname this gave him the initials D.A.N.D.; when coupled with his formal attire at morning assembly, this led to his nickname of “Dandy”. Unlike many of his contemporaries, who were known by far-less-complimentary handles, Dandy Drinkwater rather liked his soubriquet, and he was happy that even other members of staff adopted it.
*
Lassiter’s had taken several children of members of the displaced aristocracy from around Europe, and Alexander discovered that he was one of two Russians in the school. The other being a strapping fifteen-year-old whose name was Shimon Yakovlevich Potapov, whose parents had changed his name to Simon Potts, and whose Slavic accent only became noticeable when angry, at which point he would revert to his mother tongue and swear like a soldier!
Aleksander and Simon became firm friends, and the school was amazed that Simon (the boy of action) and Aleksander (the thinker) would find such camaraderie in their differing personalities. Simon’s parents had fled the Bolshevik uprising, not because they were of aristocratic birth but because Simon’s father had been a merchant who had supplied the court of Tsar Nikolai II in St Petersburg. That, together with their Jewish faith, was unlikely to stand the family in good stead with those who now governed Russia. They had understood the situation well and had escaped St Petersburg for the Netherlands, followed by the long haul to England in 1917, where Simon’s father had joined with another displaced Russian Jewish merchant in business and set up a store selling quality goods for a reasonable price. Soon, they had five stores serving much of London and the Home Counties of England.
Simon was a gifted sportsman and enjoyed most sports throughout the year, but Alexander restricted himself to understanding the game of cricket. Partly, it must be said, because he considered the game of rugby football to be rather boorish thuggery that was wholly devoid of any skill whatsoever. Mainly, however, because the ingenuity of being able to swing or spin a cricket ball to change how it was delivered, emphasising the guile of the bowler in trying to disguise how the batsman would read what was coming, appealed to Aleksander’s sense of ingenuity.
Often, Aleksander could be found trying to explain some complex area of calculus or declensions of Latin verbs to a perplexed Simon, and, at others, Simon could be seen demonstrating to Aleksander the statistical probability of a particular card being drawn from a pack or how the odds were worked out in horse racing. Of course, there was little academic gravitas in these latter pursuits; it was more the implementation of statistics that interested Simon than the theory.
It was Simon who helped Aleksander come to terms with the news that he received one spring morning: Viktoriya Livovna, Uncle Walter’s beloved wife, had died the previous day. Although he was never as close to “Aunt” Viktoriya, as he was to Uncle Walter, the news devastated him, and he felt deep sadness for his adopted uncle.
*
Aleksander’s elocution lessons were developing, and with his by then broken voice, he was able to recite even the most complex of English phrases with hardly a hint of an accent. He would listen to the nightly broadcasts of the news by the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) on the wireless, and he would replicate the tone of the newscaster until he had developed a beautifully modulated version of received pronunciation; this only lapsed when correcting the newsreader’s inaccurate articulation of Russian names, which they often mispronounced. Aleksander found himself being called upon more frequently to deliver one of the three Bible readings in chapel each Sunday, and he received the ultimate accolade of being invited, when he was in Upper Two, to be the orator at the annual school speech and prize-giving day. Always well attended by the proud parents of those receiving a prize, together with the great and the good of the local population, as well as distinguished alumni of the school, this was the highlight of the school year.
When the speech and prize-giving day arrived, and the audience had assembled, Aleksander was most surprised to see both his mother and Uncle Walter sitting in the audience. Moreover, he was even more astounded when, almost at the end of the proceedings, the headmaster, Dr Lassiter, called the school to order and interrupted with an announcement that was definitely not in the script that Aleksander was holding. The Chevening Cup for Best All-Round Student, which was traditionally the herald of being elected school captain in the final year at Lassiter’s, had been awarded to Aleksander Nikolayevich Ka
rlov. He was, for the first time that afternoon, utterly lost for words.
Following the service and the obligatory high tea in the headmaster’s study, Tatiana Ivanovna and Vladimir Mikhailovich took Aleksander into the local town for dinner at the hotel where they were staying. During the meal, Vladimir Mikhailovich discussed what was happening in Europe and Mother Russia. The year was 1934, and the world was again a troubled place, although this time economically rather than through the ravages of war.
Aleksander was astonished to hear Vladimir Mikhailovich mention that their adopted country was becoming less tolerant of those to whom it had offered the hand of welcome earlier in the century. Both he and the countess felt that, to avoid any unpleasantness or uncertainty in the future, it was time for Aleksander and his mother to anglicise their names to better fit into society in their adopted country. The names would not change much. indeed, Aleksander’s would change very little; he would revert to Alexander, but his patronymic would become Nicholas, and his surname would become Carlton. Thus, Aleksander Nikolayevich Karlov became Alexander Nicholas Carlton at the mere stroke of a notary’s pen, and his mother’s name became truncated to Anna Ivy, which she disliked intensely and seldom used.
*
Alexander’s final year at school passed uneventfully, and the eighteen-year-old left school with enough qualifications to sit the admissions tests to Oxford or Cambridge universities. Even so, Alexander had long since decided that, such had been the generosity of Vladimir Mikhailovich, the only responsible course of action would be to seek employment and start to pay his way in the world. Since a very early age, it seemed to Alexander, that he and his mother had been dependent on the generosity, almost charity, of others, and this sat ill on the shoulders of a bright, young lad. It was time to make his mark in the world, much to the disappointment of his mother, and the surprised understanding of his adoptive uncle.
Winston's Spy Page 2
