TRURO


We all went off again to Truro in 1877, when my father was made Bishop.
The tradition was that as the train, leaving Lincoln, drew up after five
minutes at the first small station on the line, perhaps Navenby, a
little voice in the corner said: "Is this Truro?" A journey by train was
for many years a great difficulty for Hugh, as it always made him ill,
owing to the motion of the carriage.

At Truro he becomes a much more definite figure in my recollections. He
was a delicately made, light-haired, blue-eyed child, looking rather
angelic in a velvet suit, and with small, neat feet, of which he was
supposed to be unduly aware. He had at that time all sorts of odd
tricks, winkings and twitchings; and one very aggravating habit, in
walking, of putting his feet together suddenly, stopping and looking
down at them, while he muttered to himself the mystic formula, "Knuck,
Nunks." But one thing about him was very distinct indeed, that he was
entirely impervious to the public opinion of the nursery, and could
neither be ridiculed nor cajoled out of continuing to do anything he
chose to do. He did not care the least what was said, nor had he any
morbid fears, as I certainly had as a child, of being disliked or mocked
at. He went his own way, knew what he wanted to do, and did it.

My recollections of him are mainly of his extreme love of argument and
the adroitness with which he conducted it. He did not intend to be put
upon as the youngest, and it was supposed that if he was ever told to do
anything, he always replied: "Why shouldn't Fred?" He invented an
ingenious device which he once, and once only, practised with success,