MORE FROM HARRY

My dear Peter,

Sex! Well, you do seem to be a bit preoccupied by it, if I may say. It crops up rather frequently in your letters, so much so that it reawakens my interest in what I learned all those years ago at university from Sigmund Freud. But I like to think that my interest was more theoretical. You seem unduly interested in my own sex life and I have to say you'd find it rather dull. But more of that later.

First, and most importantly, it continues to pain me horribly that I failed to protect you as a child from that man--I can't bring myself to use his name--who abused your innocence. I should not have allowed myself to be taken in by his friendly invitation and--you're right--the prospect of a weekend away with Peggy was appealing. What you describe in your letter about your experience that weekend is simply appalling. Honestly, so too was my behavior. I do remember that time when I came to your room to talk to you about it afterwards; I should have been able to ask you, gently, to tell me more. I should have given you that hug you so much wanted. I was embarrassed, foolishly, and foolishly I assumed it would embarrass you. Is it too late for a father to ask forgiveness from his son? 

It pains me, too, now that I know about it, that your early sexual experiences were so guilt-ridden and confusing. (I'd be happy to take back that St. Swithun's prayer book that I gave you as a confirmation present, with its endless list of sins!) That you only had other boys with whom to share your first, rather clumsy sexual experiences is helpful in understanding your lack of confidence in your early relationships with women. It took you a long time to "grow up" in this regard, and what you describe as your "desire"--that libidinous drive for sex--was the cause of a great deal of hurt to those you loved, and those who loved you. You write a lot about falling in love, but often--I'll be honest--it had nothing to do with love and everything to do with sex.

There are several occasions in your letters when you are curious about myself, and my own experience with sex. You're aware, of course, that your mother and I were brought up in a very different world than the one that you grew up in. We were not encouraged to "experiment" with sex. Rather, the opposite. We were taught that it was something that belonged only in the bedroom, after marriage, between a husband and wife; and it was otherwise not mentioned. You write quite freely about masturbation, as though that were something perfectly normal and natural--and in retrospect I don't disagree. Perhaps I'm wiser now. You even want to know if I indulged, which have to say I think is rather rude of you! In our day it was called "self-abuse." We were warned that our wickedness would be betrayed to everyone in the world by the warts on our hands--I remember yours!--and the spots on our face. 

You ask too, on several occasions, whether I was ever unfaithful to your mother. Another rude question! The only thing I'm going to say about that is that I was tempted--as I suspect is every man with blood running through his veins. You mention the Bletchley girls who lived in the Rectory, and who wouldn't be tempted by these vivacious and, well, yes, sexy young women? But I was the parish priest! Even so, I couldn't help myself, I loved to flirt with them, in ways that would be considered horribly inappropriate today. But that was all harmless fun, wasn't it? Or does that attitude date me? Did I hurt anyone with my banter? I'll confess I never stopped to ask.

Anyway, Peter, all in all I'm glad that things are easier today. The "sexual revolution" in the middle of our century came too late for your mother and me to be much more than puzzled bystanders, but I recognize that it brought about greater freedom for both men and women. In many ways, it's a more enlightened time. But I do still wonder: how much freedom is too much, and how much happiness does it bring? And how much unhappiness results? And hurt? I don't want to get preachy, but you have only to look at your own history, as you yourself have described it,  to know that freedom exercised without limits or responsibility can cause great harm--to yourself as well as those you claim to love

I'm beginning to feel a bit like Father William in that Lewis Carroll poem. Remember? "Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs."  No, not really! I continue to enjoy reading what you have to say, and will have more to add by way of response in a later letter. We haven't talked about religion yet. Nor the afterlife...  

With love,

Your father, Harry