Clifford Edge - The early years
CLIFF, as he encouraged everyone he met to call him, (being an Edge he had no "side") - was a child of mixed parentage, that is, a male father and a female mother, as was the norm in his day.
He learnt his early climbing skills mainly at his mother's knee; his father's - he was a tall man especially about the legs - proving that bit too high. It was obvious during the rare times when he was lifted up on to his father's knee that Cliff was not at ease so far off the floor. This then was the young - soon to be older, Cliff.
And so it was that Cliff's future was genetically decided for him; it was not to be the high exciting peaks, but the flatness of the Fens. All Cliff had to master then was the utter monotony of the flatlands. He was helped in this by his father's musical bent, for it was he who composed that memorable symphonic monotone, "Fenlandia", and the teenage Cliff would often be found listening with a glazed expression, to a gramophone playing a shellac record of that mini-masterpiece.
His unusual party trick, worth mentioning here, and with which he entertained his chums in class, was to waggle his ears - independently!
His school's consultant phrenologist, with an uncharacteristic flash of perspicacity, wrote of him, in his final term's examination report, "--- a level headed young man who, though not likely to reach great physical heights, will undoubtedly make a name for himself in some, as yet unknown field of original endeavour".
It soon became clear that he had come to terms with his lot and had experienced a vision of exactly what his mission in life was to be; the pangs of ennui that might have adversely affected a man with higher aims were completely absent.
He loved to quote from his favourite Essex poet, Titmus Hardy; his particular poem being, as one would expect, the one entitled, "Childhood among the Fens"
I sat one sprinkling day upon the Lea
Where flat, flat fens spread out from me
And nothing, but flat fens there I could see.
The rain gained strength, and damped the ground
Whereon I sat, and very soon I found
The shaped slow creeping rivulets were all around
With pride, my reed-roofed house; and though anon
Some drops pierced its green rafters - I sat on
Making pretence I was not rained upon.
The sun then burst and brought forth a sweet scent
From the wet fen, as though it meant
That I should rise and go with good intent
To find myself some clothing - somewhat dryer
And put my soaking clothes before the fire,
Then reappear in far more suitable attire.