A couple of times, we heard Mrs Gillingham call out ‘boys – keep that noise down!’ but barring a minute or two straight after such commands, we didn’t really pay much heed.

The crunch (literally) came when Andrew decided to get past a doorway by swinging on the door – only he swung a bit too far and crashed into a side table. Nothing was broken, thank goodness, but it made an awful racket – which brought in Mrs Gillingham, not looking very happy.

“How many times have I told you two to be quiet? Now look what you have done! Andrew – go to your room right now and you, young man” – she looked straight at me – “you stay right here. I will be down shortly.” With that, she followed her son upstairs.

Well, I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble and no matter how I tried to persuade myself otherwise, I couldn’t but admit I was quite as guilty as Andrew and we had both, without a doubt, been more than a little naughty.

I had never asked Andrew what happened when he was naughty at home (we knew about school – we were both hardened criminals, well used to treading the path to the housemaster’s study at bedtime for three quick whacks of the cane) but it dawned on me that I was about to find out.

I had my suspicions that it was not just a telling-off heading my way. I didn’t dare move from the chair that had been indicated to me but I listened.