19. John Gladstone
Mr. Gladstone had been teaching woodwork and seeing to the general upkeep of the house at least since the move to the Hatch. He was a gentle man with a mellow way of speaking. I remember him, alas, for a tragedy that struck his family. I can just remember, when I came to Caldecott, how proudly everyone spoke of Mr. Gladstone’s son, also called John, a highly intelligent boy with a brilliant future ahead of him, and a friendly, unassuming character into the bargain. One evening, when he was out cycling, John was knocked into the ditch by a hit-and-run motorist. He survived, but his brain was permanently damaged. We would see him pottering around with a strange gait. Sometimes he would remember your name, sometimes not. His conversation, at best, was on an infant level. Yet, in an odd way, he seemed perfectly happy. I think he simply did not know that life could be any different.
Mr. Gladstone was another of the old guard who left before I did. His place was taken by an Irishman, Mr. Mackie. He seemed nice enough, but I had little or nothing to do with him.