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    Only Time Will Tell
    Only Time Will Tell
    Only Time Will Tell
    Ebook496 pages8 hours

    Only Time Will Tell

    By Jeffrey Archer

    4/5

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    From the internationally bestselling author Jeffrey Archer comes Only Time Will Tell, the first in the ambitious Clifton Chronicles series that tells the story of one family across generations, across oceans, from heartbreak to triumph.

    The epic tale of Harry Clifton's life begins in 1920, with the words "I was told that my father was killed in the war." A dock worker in Bristol, Harry never knew his father, but he learns about life on the docks from his uncle, who expects Harry to join him at the shipyard once he's left school. But then an unexpected gift wins him a scholarship to an exclusive boys' school, and his life will never be the same again.

    As he enters into adulthood, Harry finally learns how his father really died, but the awful truth only leads him to question, was he even his father? Is he the son of Arthur Clifton, a stevedore who spent his whole life on the docks, or the firstborn son of a scion of West Country society, whose family owns a shipping line?

    This introductory novel in Archer's engrossing series The Clifton Chronicles includes a cast of colorful characters and takes us from the ravages of the Great War to the outbreak of the Second World War, when Harry must decide whether to take up a place at Oxford or join the navy and go to war with Hitler's Germany. From the docks of working-class England to the bustling streets of 1940 New York City, Only Time Will Tell takes readers on a journey through to future volumes, which will bring to life one hundred years of recent history to reveal a family story that neither the reader nor Harry Clifton himself could ever have imagined.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateAug 30, 2011
    ISBN9781429984379
    Author

    Jeffrey Archer

    Jeffrey Archer, whose novels include the Clifton Chronicles, the William Warwick novels and Kane and Abel, has topped bestseller lists around the world, with sales of over 300 million copies. He is the only author ever to have been a #1 bestseller in fiction, short stories and non-fiction (The Prison Diaries). A member of the House of Lords for over a quarter of a century, the author is married to Dame Mary Archer, and they have two sons, two granddaughters and two grandsons.

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    Reviews for Only Time Will Tell

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    • 4/5
      Only Time Will Tell” is the opening volume in a new series from Jeffrey Archer. It covers the life of Harry Clifton, an English boy whose life starts out rather simply and then follows as he goes on to more interesting things.

      The plot starts when we take up Harry’s life starting around six, when he escapes the mundane life by getting a scholarship to a boarding school. The first half of the book takes full advantage of pretty much every cliche you’ve ever heard about English boarding schools — outgrown clothes, family sacrifice to buy required attire, sadistic prefects, social snobbery, cruel mockery, best friends acquired instantly, caning, critically important exams, crime blamed on the wrong party, nobility of character leading to brink of disaster, wise advice from a odd old man...

      The pace picks up as the story progresses. Harry’s mother struggles to find employment, becomes a tea-shop waitress, finally buys a tea shop (which then burns to the ground) and then resorts to prostitution... all to keep her boy in school. Harry finds love (but discovers they cannot be together), and prepares himself as his beloved Britain prepares for war once again.

      Although it is pretty clear that Archer has a good understanding of the class culture and attitudes of Britain between the two wars, this is not the type of historical fiction that will immerse readers in the times. Rather we only get brief glimpses of clothes, movies, cars and food, as they are woven into a well-constructed plot.

      The writing is slick, clear, smooth, drawing the reader along from page to page, but the thing driving this story is the plot. Archer knows how to dole out crumbs of suspense right up to the last page, which ends with an excellent cliffhanger, clearly meant to push the reader into purchasing Volume 2.


      This is a review of an ARC received in a First-Reads giveaway.
    • 5/5
      A great yarn, told from different perspectives. A refreshing change from many of the books I have recently read, and I can't wait to continue the Clifton Chronicles to find out what happens next! Will definitely change my reading plans next year as I continue this trilogy. I'd forgotten how good a story teller Jeffrey Archer could be.
    • 3/5
      I was hoping for something that was lighter. This is just not the type of book I wanted to read at this time so I found it uninteresting;
    • 4/5
      The beginning of a family saga that starts off with Harry Clifton and his origins as son of a single mother and mysteries surrounding his father. We follow his childhood as he comes under the influence of various mentors who urge him to make the most of his musical talent and intelligence. His friendships and the solid adults who watch out for him help to balance the forces against him that seem truly evil as they escalate. This is a quick and easy page-turner, ending with a cliff-hanger that leaves the reader hungering for the next installment.
    • 5/5
      As usual Jeffrey Archer writes a great story. You won't want to put it down. Great characters and evolving story that is easy to follow with an intriguing story line. I can't wait to read the next two books. The end of the first book is a jaw dropper!
    • 5/5
      Only Time Will Tell is the first book in The Clifton Chronicles series. It is historical fiction at its best. Archer is a master story-teller who weaves together unlikely characters and situations. This book reminds me of Steinbeck's [East of Eden] with the Barringtons and the Cliftons. The story begins shortly after the end of the Great War and ends with the beginning of the WWII. What a cliff-hanger. I can hardly wait to get the 2nd book, [Sins of the Father]. 5 Stars!
    • 4/5
      Archer is a master of the rags to riches story and he completely enthralled me with this one. Harry Clifton is the lad who goes from poverty to attending a premiere boys school and eventually Oxford. He must face extreme obstacles along the way--not only is his mother widowed and poor, but he has a powerful enemy working behind the scenes to see that he does not succeed. One the one side there is Harry, his determined mum--Maisie, a mysterious figure called "Old Jack" who Harry befriends at the dockyards, and Harry's best friend at school, Giles. These people will do anything to see Harry succeed, but they often don't know the forces on the other side that are working against them. A deep, dark secret lies at the heart of it all and as the story moves along the reader--and Harry--get closer to knowing the truth. There is a lot of tension and drama as Harry takes two steps forward toward success, only to suffer setback after setback as his nemesis works against him.This story was chock full of drama and I keep wanting to read on to find out how Harry was going to succeed when the odds were so stacked against him. It ends with a twist that sets the story up for sequel. Fans of family dramas and stories about people overcoming the odds by using their brainpower with the help of their friends will greatly enjoy this one.
    • 4/5
      Only Time Will Tell (Advance Readers’ Edition)I received this book from the Amazon Vine program, thinking that Jeffrey Archer wrote mystery/thrillers. Reading just a few pages proved me wrong. “Only Time Will Tell” is the first of a five-part saga centered on the life of Henry Clifton, a British youth. Despite my misconception, the story grabbed me from page 1, and I couldn’t put it down. This well-told tale follows a classic formula. Henry, a pure, intelligent, gifted protagonist of common birth whose widowed mother works herself to the bone to support and educate Henry, suffers at the hand of the powerful Hugh Barrington, a wealthy, evil amoral man. With the help of his few virtuous friends, Henry must overcome the obstacles to his development to ultimately triumph.This family epic is told by the major characters, each having a separate section of several chapters, with the exception of Henry, who has two sections.As other reviewers noted, the book suffers from a few factual glitches. Archer uses the color blindness of all the men in a family to imply the parentage of Henry. In fact, common color blindness is not passed on from male to male in a family. Male children of a father with color blindness and a non-color blind mother will not inherit color blindness; however, all of the female children in the family will be carriers. Unfortunately, the book ends on a glaring error. In 1940, the police make an arrest in the United States and read the subject his “Miranda Rights.” This practice began in 1966 following the Supreme Court case of Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436 (1966). (I hope this is corrected in the final print.)Until I reached the last chapter, I had planned to read the other books in the saga. However, based on the path Henry chooses in the conclusion of Only Time Will Tell, I can’t go through the classic good v. evil drama again. I felt that Archer was toying with my emotions in the contrived twist ending this book, and I don’t want to ride this merry-go-round, again.
    • 4/5
      Jeffrey Archer is a wonderful storyteller. I enjoyed this first in the Clifton Chronicles series just as much as I have his other titles. If you like stories involving generations of families and their intertwining lives, you should definitely read Jeffrey Archer. Highly recommended.
    • 5/5
      The first of the "Clifton Chronicles", this book has certainly captured my interest. It begins the story of two families in Britain in the years between the world wars, as we are introduced to Harry, his mother, best friend, girl friend, and others important to his story. Although Harry is the central character, I became really interested in his mother's story -- that's how well these characters have been developed. I'm looking forward to the rest of the series. The only reason I didn't give it 5 stars is that I think cliffhanger endings are a cheap trick in a series.
    • 4/5
      Many authors have tried to tell stories from multiple character perspectives. Unfortunately, most times it creates more problems than it solves. Not so with Jeffrey Archer's Only Time Will Tell. In this case, the sum of the storytelling is far greater than the parts. Archer weaves a tale filled with twists and turns along with new insights with each character's new perspective. Rather than bogging the flow of the story down, Archer is able to enhance the overall story and provide a level of depth to each character than would be impossible otherwise. And it's a look at pre-WW2 England as well. How good is Only Time Will Tell? So good that I can't stop thinking about Harry and Emma. So good that I have to pick up the sequel right away. That's pretty darn good.
    • 2/5
      Multi book story, told from multiple points of view. Story told and retold from the perspective of many characters, which got somewhat tiresome. Interesting story, but I could have done without the retelling.i plan on reading the subsequent books in this story.
    • 5/5
      This is the first in a projected series and tells the story of Harry Clifton from elementary school to Oxford. Throughout the novel, Old Jack encourages Harry to do well in school and become his very best, but he never tells Harry how his father really died. Harry has been told that he died in the first World War, but the dates just don't match up. Old Jack is also influential behind the scenes in providing opportunities for Harry. His best friend's father dislikes him for no apparent reason, eventually, leading to the questions of not only how his father died, who was responsible for his death, and who is really his dad? There are great characters and storytelling in this novel, probably one of Archer's best among his recent books (but only time will tell if it is as good as The Prodigal Daughter or Kane & Abel). The final twist in the tale will make the reader want more as neither Harry's nor the reader's questions are fully answered.
    • 3/5
      This was a good story written in an interesting style. There were several parts each with the title of one of the characters. Each part began with a chapter telling the story in the first person. The remaining chapters of the part was in the third person, but in the point of view of that same character. The next part repeated at least part of the story already told, but in the point of view of another character. More of the story was revealed as well. There was good mystery and intrigue with well-developed characters. I found it well worth reading and enjoyable, but was disappointed with the cliff-hanger ending. I do not find myself invested enough in this story to continue reading the many sequels which I anticipate will also lead to such endings.
    • 5/5
      Harry Clifton is the only child of a deceased dock worker and a waitress, though it doesn't take long for his intelligence and choral talent to shine through and he's whisked away to some of the best schools in England- those rarely attended by anyone in the lower class. He grows up blissfully ignorant of the scandals surrounding his entire existence, as hints that expose several deep-rooted lies begin to fall into his lap. The story takes place in World War II era England- a dramatic, violent backdrop for an equally tumultuous series of events. Harry must learn to accept the truths he discovers, among them are the circumstances of his father's death, his uncle's imprisonment, and his true parentage.I was amazed at how quickly the book sucked me in. Archer's multigenerational points of view naturally develop the plot more and more with each character's side of the story. The reader gets to experience the conflict from not just the eyes of the primary protagonist, but from five other major characters of varying age, social class, and occupation and learns each character's deep, dark secrets firsthand.Being the first book in The Clifton Chronicles, documenting Harry's life from 1919 to 1940, I immediately craved its sequel as I finished the last page, desperate to know what happens to Harry Clifton as another great event begins to unfold. Archer's chosen ending to this installment leaves the reader in awe of what could possibly happen next! A job very well done! Giving Only Time Will Tell five out of five stars still doesn't seem to do it justice.
    • 4/5
      Only time will tell… how many years it will take to get the full story!Remember decades ago when Jeffrey Archer used to write those fantastic epics? Kane & Able, As the Crow Flies; that’s what I’m talking about! Here’s the good news: His latest novel, Only Time Will Tell harkens back to his glory days. It’s the most entertaining thing he’s written in years, in my humble opinion. Here’s the bad news: What once would have been a juicy epic tale has fallen victim to the publishing industry’s current trend of trilogizing. (New word. I coined it.) Except, except, this is NOT a trilogy—this is, in fact, the first of the FIVE planned novels that will comprise The Clifton Chronicles. And as entertaining as the book is, and I’ll get back to that in a moment, this is very annoying. Back in the day, you write an epic, it’s 600 or 800 or even 1,000 pages. James Michener did it. James Clavell did it. And, yes, Jeffrey Archer did it. But in the very recent past, some marketing genius realized that you could get readers to pay a lot more for a long book by chopping it into pieces. Maybe pad the text a little, and leave some white space on the pages. What once might have been an 800-page novel is now three 300-page novels. It is the era of the trilogy. And writers don’t even have to worry about writing in story arcs to end each segment. No, just end them wherever—or even better, end on cliff-hanger! And don’t warn readers that they’re only getting a very incomplete portion of the story they signed on to read! And make them wait years to get to the conclusion!Sorry, was I ranting? It’s true that Mr. Archer (Sir Jeffrey?) and his publishers are guilty of most of my complaints above. For instance, this novel ends very abruptly, with no sort of resolution at all, on a cliff-hanger. So, yes, this new trend is really bugging me. I’ll move on now.The series is named the Clifton Chronicles after the protagonist, Harry Clifton. This novel opens in 1919, when Harry is a mere gleam in his father’s eye. What follows is roughly the first 20 years of that young man’s life. Despite his very modest circumstances, Harry, it turns out, is a gifted fellow. In addition to being very bright, he’s a truly exceptional singer. Harry’s talents are recognized by several people in a position to nurture them, and so it comes to pass that this dock worker’s son has an opportunity for an education and a future his family could not have imagined.This first book covers Harry’s school years—the friends and enemies he makes along the way, the triumphs and setbacks, the secrets and lies, and the many, many melodramas. Archer is at his soapy best, and Harry’s story is engaging, eventful, and fast-paced. He’s a likable protagonist, a veritable paragon of virtue, as are his mother, friends, educators, and so forth. You’ll know the baddies when you see them. Archer’s characters are not nuanced. What you see is what you get. But none of this takes away from the fun of the story being told. Only Time Will Tell is not challenging or literary; it’s just good old-fashioned escapist fiction. I had a great time reading it. And as much as I grumble, I will be back for part two. Grrr.
    • 2/5
      I bought this book in London to read on flight back home. I liked the way it was written; that is from different points of view and I liked the plot. Other than the rotten ending, I felt the story was well-paced until the last couple of chapters when it went by way fast! However, I must say I was dreadfully irritated at the close of the story - which, of course, was no close at all. This is a cheap piece of 'buy my next book to see what happens.' I expected more - much more - from this author who is now made my 'don't bother' list.
    • 5/5
      While reading the complimentary copy of "Only Time Will Tell" that I received from Goodreads First Reads, I continuously suffered the torment of not telling my spouse (who never ever wants to hear one word of a book before he picks it up) the wonderful news of this extraordinary story line. But, the read was so very good that I repeatedly toyed with encountering the great wrath of the pure virgin reader throughout. The brilliantly developed characters are fascinating, the complex plot line is beautifully woven, and the book is so thrilling that it kept me reading (to my employer's dismay) later each night. Yes, the ten foot tall person who wrote "Kane & Abel" is alive and doing extremely well in "Only Time Will Tell." As someone memorably said to me before I read "Kane & Abel," I am now envious of each of you who have not yet experienced the joy of such a read.
    • 4/5
      First line:~ This story never would have been written if I hadn’t become pregnant~Amazon clearly knows their marketing! Offer a free book, the first of a series, and get people interested just before the next book is to be released! The 6th book of the Clifton Chronicles is being released on the 25th of Feb and by offering me a freebie they got me hooked on the series.I read a lot of reviews from professionals after I read this book and I have to say, disagree with these so-called “experts”. Most of them found the book lacking in manyareas. However, I really, really enjoyed it and have already recommended it to quite a few people. I found the characters believable and likeable, except for the ones we are supposed to dislike! I was connected to the main characters, Harry, his mother, his best friends and his lover. I found the intrigue of the mysterious aspects of the story to be compelling and I could hardly put the book down. Archer has a writing style that works for me. Fast paced, realistic dialogue, good character development, excellent descriptive prose. Archer tells this story from multiple points of view. The protagonist, Harry Clifton; his mother, Maisie; Harry’s best friend Giles Barrington; Hugo Barrington, the Antagonist and Giles father; Old Jack Tar, an older man and very good friend of Harry’s; and Emma Barrington, Harry’s lover and fiancée. Because of this, the story winds back and forth in time but never does it seem repetitive. Because each character has so much to add to the story, rather than boring me, I found it was an enriching experience that gave me more insight into the characters and what makes them tick. I found myself deeper and deeper into the story really caring about the characters and what was happening to them.Clearly I like family sagas! One summer, my early 20’s, I read all 16 novels in Mazo de la Roche’s Jalna series and practically cried when I came to the end and there was nothing more to read about this family. Wonder what will happen when I get to the end of book seven in the Clifton Chronicles?I can’t wait to start “The Sins of the Father’. I give this one 4.0 stars
    • 5/5
      Story told from multiple points of view. I liked it so much i was straight on to the net to order the sequel. The twists in Archers writing never cease to keep you wondering
    • 5/5
      I have never read a book written by Jeffrey Archer before. After reading this book I will be looking out for more of his books. What an amazing storyteller!Only Time Will Tell tells the story of two families, the Barringtons, a well to do family and the Cliftons, a struggling family. The Barringtons are shipping magnates while the Cliftons are hard working people. Young Harry Clifton's mother, Maisie is a waitress while his uncle is a dock worker as was his father. Young Harry believes his father died in the war. Maisie will do what she needs to do to get her son the type of education he needs to break the cycle. Harry has a phenomenal voice which just may be his ticket to a good school. When Harry goes off to school he meets Giles Barrington and the two become fast friends. The two boys become connected without realizing they may have always been connected. As Harry learns the truth about his father, the world is getting closer to being at war and decisions are made which will affect them all.Each chapter is told from the viewpoint of another character. I found this extremely interesting even though some of the same storyline was retold. It gave me a different look at the situation as it happened. Seeing the same situation through the eyes of another can be quite eye-opening.The characters are well developed. I felt I knew each character very well. The author does a fantastic job creating each character's personality. Each character seems to be harboring some sort of secret by the time this book ends. Some of the characters are not very likeable but make for great reading. Every saga needs a good villain or two. Other characters such as Maisie and Harry will capture your heart. You can't help but feel for Harry and Maisie. I kept hoping life would get easier for them.The book ends with a huge cliffhanger that has me dying to get my hands on the next installment of this series. I find myself wondering what will happen to each of the characters in the book. This book ends with many unanswered questions but I knew going into this book it was a series spanning many years and many generations. I adore a good family saga and this one does not disappoint! I loved all the unexpected twists. I can't wait to see where Mr. Archer plans on taking this storyline next! He has made me a big fan! I just hope we don't have to wait too long for the next book! I know I'll be reading all installments of The Clifton Chronicles. You don't want to miss this series!
    • 4/5
      Jeffrey Archer's latest book comes out this month. Only Time Will Tell is the first volume in a trilogy, the story of the Clifton family and therefore called The Clifton Chronicles. It begins in Bristol, England and at the end of the first book Harry Clifton comes to New York City.The plot of this book is as old as storytelling and so it takes a master writer to make it fresh, new, different from all the other versions. Archer solves this problem with an unsettled time period and with the characters he creates to populate his story. His characters, after all, have to be real enough and interesting enough for the reader to care what will happen to them in the next volume of this trilogy. As I finished the book yesterday afternoon I was anxious to know what will happen next, particularly since there is a fascinating twist at the end that throws everything up in the air. The major character is Harry Clifton, a boy of only about five when the story begins and a young man at the end of the book. He is a character so believable and vividly drawn that I'm sure he will stay with me until the next book comes out. The poor kid goes through struggles that would make most people give up, but Harry struggles on showing he is truly his mother's son. She works as a waitress and has her own difficulties as she works to make enough money for Harry's schooling. His amazing voice helps him get ahead for several years, but puberty sends him to the drama department where his maturing voice and theatrical talent added to his determination to make good grades ensure his success.The other character I love in this book is known as Old Jack Tar. He lives at the docks and befriends Harry, becoming a father to this fatherless boy. You'll be surprised at who Jack really is, as is most everyone in the town.There are many other wonderful characters in the book, all of whom raise this story above the ordinary telling of this well-worn plot. I do recommend the book which I won from the blog "Tutu's Two Cents."
    • 4/5
      I chose this title because it was FREE on my Kindle Paperwhite. I am always apprehensive to try a new author, but I REALLY liked this book.

      Harry Clifton has been raised by his widowed mother, his Uncle, and grandparents. He has always been told that his father died in the war. He knows this isn't true, but the secret has never been revealed to him as to what actually happened. Did he run off? Or did something more sinister happen?

      The story that unravels is not for the faint of heart...because of his voice, Harry is given an unexpected gift of a scholarship to the boys' school. His fate might not end up being the shipyard after all...many secrets and lies are revealed throughout Harry's journey to adulthood.

      When his wedding is ruined and life as he knows it is changed, Harry finds a way to prepare himself for the upcoming war. While on a ship learning the ins and outs of being an officer, the ship that he is on is attacked and sinks. Harry survives the ordeal, and sets to assume a new identity...however, the identity he has chosen belongs to an alleged murderer...so Harry's first steps in America begin with handcuffs...

      Can't wait to read the next book in the Clifton Chronicles...



    • 4/5
      Okay this turned out to be a page turner. The story of the early life and times of Harry Clifton born into the lower class of English society but was he the first born son of an English lord. Through the auspicious of some guardian angels he goes off to a privat school where he mixes with the upperclass and surprisingly or maybe not so surprisingly becomes the best friend of Giles Babbington his potentially half brother, falls in love with potentially his half sister, goes off and joins the navy only to have his ship torpedoed on the first days of World War 2. Being the only survivor he decides to change his fate and that of his friends by assuming the identity of a fellow officerTom Bradshaw. Arriving in the United States he finds himself being arrested and charged with murder. And thus we must wait breathlessly for the sequel.
    • 5/5
      Another fantastic Jeffrey Archer epic tale.The life of Harry Clifton is intertwined with so many others, and through the stories of Maisie, his mum; Harry himself; Hugo Barrington; Old Jack; his best friend Giles; and Giles' sister Emma the story unfolds - yet becomes more of a tangled web as it does so.A fabulous book!
    • 3/5
      I must start with a disclaimer: “Please note that this book is the first in a new series from Jeffrey Archer.” I read that before I started the book, but managed to forget that along the way…so when I reached the last page of the book, and then flipped through the next few blank pages looking for more and finding nothing…I almost threw it against the wall.Talk about a cliffhanger!!!This was a good book for a vacation (which is where I read it) and it was classic Archer. Extremely readable, easy style, interesting (though not exactly deep) characters.I enjoyed it and will HAVE to get the next book in the series when it comes out. My one complaint was that there was a major secret between two of the major characters…that snapped many years…and when things came to a head and reached a horrible and life changing conclusion…the less likable character received all the blame for keeping the secret. It’s hard to explain without giving away a major plotline…but I found it ridiculous that of two people who know a secret…the one less likely to know that it is absolute fact receives the blame and disgust and consequences, and the other who also says nothing even when the situation reaches a completely unacceptable point, is held up as a shining example of a person.This is a good start to a saga…but “Only Time Will Tell” if thin plot points strengthen in the follow up novels.
    • 4/5
      Only Time Will Tell may be concerned with the British aristocracy and its secrets, but it holds no delusions of grandeur. This book - the first of Jeffrey Archer's 'Clifton Chronicles' series - is entertaining historical fiction, pure and simple. Archer makes engaging use of multiple narrators to introduce working class hero Harry Clifton, whose encounters with the wealthy Barrington family profoundly change his life. Its twists and turns are sometimes obvious, yet the book remains the sort of light and engaging page-turner that Archer's legion of fans have come to expect. Great fun.
    • 3/5
      Enjoyable and like all Archer books an easy read. However, it is by no means anywhere up to the standard of previous books, such as Kane & Able.In any case now onto Book 2 now.
    • 5/5
      The story of Harry Clifton born in the early 1920s with every strike against him, which he overcomes by being watched over by a rather large group of adults who all served together during the Boer War. Naturally, the father of his best friend (who is very wealthy) turns out to be Harry's father as well, and of course he falls in love with his best friend's younger sister who he discovers at his wedding could be his half-sister....it goes on like that, but its pretty entertaining for a soap opera in a book.
    • 3/5
      The first book in a series introduces to young Harry Clifton, a young boy from a poor family who shows an extraordinary gift for learning things quickly and is thus sent off to increasingly more prestigious schools while his single mother Maisie scraps by a living to pay for his education in any way she can. Unbeknownst to Harry, his mother had a one-time fling with a wealthy local who may or may not be Harry's real father. To stir up the pot a little bit more, when Harry first attends boarding school, he quickly becomes best friends with Giles Barrington, the legitimate son of Harry's possible father. Considering I've heard so much about Jeffrey Archer's remarkable prowess as a writer, I found that this book was not by any means mind blowing or out of the ordinary. The boarding school setting, the English countryside, the society/genteel manners versus the underclass, the poor boy making good, and so forth all feel like common enough themes in both literature and TV/movies that this book will feel a bit like echoes of other works. Apparently it's also semi-autobiographical as well, with Archer noting that the inspiration for Maisie was his own mother. That fact, along with many aspects of the story's plot/characters, reminded me a bit of Charles Dickens' David Copperfield. Despite the somewhat clichéd melodrama, the book was interesting and compelling enough as well as decently written, even if it's not great literature. The characters are engaging, especially Maisie Clifton, although they are sometimes a bit one-sided. For instance, Harry is the quintessential good guy while Hugo is horrible all around; even his section doesn't give you much to go by in terms of allowing you to see his good side or to pity him/sympathize with him somewhat.Speaking of sections, this book is told from various characters' points of views, sometimes overlapping years as a different character will shed new light on a situation that we already saw through someone else's eyes. I didn't mind the multiple re-tellings of certain events/periods in time from various viewpoints as we learn something new/different each time, but I greatly disliked like that Archer switches back and forth between first person and third person point-of-view with each new character's section. I found the first person parts the most compelling and wished he would have done more of those. But either way, I think it would have been better just to stick with either first person or third person and be done with it.The love story between Harry and Emma seemed a bit tacked on to me and was not given enough time to fully develop realistically. Towards this part of the book, I was not sure whether I would continue on with the series, although I felt that would be most likely. But when Archer, cunning man that he is, ended with a cliffhanger, I knew I would immediately move on the next book in the series!On a final note, Roger Allam and Emilia Fox both did very well at reading the book for the audio version.

    Book preview

    Only Time Will Tell - Jeffrey Archer

    HARRY CLIFTON

    1920–1933

    1

    I was told my father was killed in the war.

    Whenever I questioned my mother about his death, she didn’t say any more than that he’d served with the Royal Gloucestershire Regiment and had been killed fighting on the Western Front only days before the Armistice was signed. Grandma said my dad had been a brave man, and once when we were alone in the house she showed me his medals. My grandpa rarely offered an opinion on anything, but then he was deaf as a post so he might not have heard the question in the first place.

    The only other man I can remember was my uncle Stan, who used to sit at the top of the table at breakfast time. When he left of a morning I would often follow him to the city docks, where he worked. Every day I spent at the dockyard was an adventure. Cargo ships coming from distant lands and unloading their wares: rice, sugar, bananas, jute and many other things I’d never heard of. Once the holds had been emptied, the dockers would load them with salt, apples, tin, even coal (my least favorite, because it was an obvious clue to what I’d been doing all day and annoyed my mother), before they set off again to I knew not where. I always wanted to help my uncle Stan unload whatever ship had docked that morning, but he just laughed, saying, All in good time, my lad. It couldn’t be soon enough for me, but, without any warning, school got in the way.

    I was sent to Merrywood Elementary when I was six and I thought it was a complete waste of time. What was the point of school when I could learn all I needed to at the docks? I wouldn’t have bothered to go back the following day if my mother hadn’t dragged me to the front gates, deposited me and returned at four o’clock that afternoon to take me home.

    I didn’t realize Mum had other plans for my future, which didn’t include joining Uncle Stan in the shipyard.

    Once Mum had dropped me off each morning, I would hang around in the yard until she was out of sight, then slope off to the docks. I made sure I was always back at the school gates when she returned to pick me up in the afternoon. On the way home, I would tell her everything I’d done at school that day. I was good at making up stories, but it wasn’t long before she discovered that was all they were: stories.

    One or two other boys from my school also used to hang around the docks, but I kept my distance from them. They were older and bigger, and used to thump me if I got in their way. I also had to keep an eye out for Mr. Haskins, the chief ganger, because if he ever found me loitering, to use his favorite word, he would send me off with a kick up the backside and the threat: If I see you loiterin’ round here again, my lad, I’ll report you to the headmaster.

    Occasionally Haskins decided he’d seen me once too often and I’d be reported to the headmaster, who would leather me before sending me back to my classroom. My form master, Mr. Holcombe, never let on if I didn’t show up for his class, but then he was a bit soft. Whenever my mum found out I’d been playing truant, she couldn’t hide her anger and would stop my halfpenny-a-week pocket money. But despite the occasional punch from an older boy, regular leatherings from the headmaster and the loss of my pocket money, I still couldn’t resist the draw of the docks.

    I made only one real friend while I loitered around the dockyard. His name was Old Jack Tar. Mr. Tar lived in an abandoned railway carriage at the end of the sheds. Uncle Stan told me to keep away from Old Jack because he was a stupid, dirty old tramp. He didn’t look that dirty to me, certainly not as dirty as Stan, and it wasn’t long before I discovered he wasn’t stupid either.

    After lunch with my uncle Stan, one bite of his Marmite sandwich, his discarded apple core and a swig of beer, I would be back at school in time for a game of football; the only activity I considered it worth turning up for. After all, when I left school I was going to captain Bristol City, or build a ship that would sail around the world. If Mr. Holcombe kept his mouth shut and the ganger didn’t report me to the headmaster, I could go for days without being found out, and as long as I avoided the coal barges and was standing by the school gate at four o’clock every afternoon, my mother would never be any the wiser.

    *   *   *

    Every other Saturday, Uncle Stan would take me to watch Bristol City at Ashton Gate. On Sunday mornings, Mum used to cart me off to Holy Nativity Church, something I couldn’t find a way of getting out of. Once the Reverend Watts had given the final blessing, I would run all the way to the recreation ground and join my mates for a game of football before returning home in time for dinner.

    By the time I was seven it was clear to anyone who knew anything about the game of football that I was never going to get into the school team, let alone captain Bristol City. But that was when I discovered that God had given me one small gift, and it wasn’t in my feet.

    To begin with, I didn’t notice that anyone who sat near me in church on a Sunday morning stopped singing whenever I opened my mouth. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if Mum hadn’t suggested I join the choir. I laughed scornfully; after all, everyone knew the choir was only for girls and sissies. I would have dismissed the idea out of hand if the Reverend Watts hadn’t told me that choirboys were paid a penny for funerals and tuppence for weddings; my first experience of bribery. But even after I’d reluctantly agreed to take a vocal test, the devil decided to place an obstacle in my path, in the form of Miss Eleanor E. Monday.

    I would never have come across Miss Monday if she hadn’t been the choir mistress at Holy Nativity. Although she was only five feet three, and looked as though a gust of wind might blow her away, no one tried to take the mickey. I have a feeling that even the devil would have been frightened of Miss Monday, because the Reverend Watts certainly was.

    I agreed to take a vocal test, but not before my mum had handed over a month’s pocket money in advance. The following Sunday I stood in line with a group of other lads and waited to be called.

    You will always be on time for choir practice, Miss Monday announced, fixing a gimlet eye on me. I stared back defiantly. You will never speak, unless spoken to. I somehow managed to remain silent. And during the service, you will concentrate at all times. I reluctantly nodded. And then, God bless her, she gave me a way out. But most importantly, she declared, placing her hands on her hips, within twelve weeks, you will be expected to pass a reading and writing test, so that I can be sure you are able to tackle a new anthem or an unfamiliar psalm.

    I was pleased to have fallen at the first hurdle. But as I was to discover, Miss Eleanor E. Monday didn’t give up easily.

    What piece have you chosen to sing, child? she asked me when I reached the front of the line.

    I haven’t chosen anything, I told her.

    She opened a hymn book, handed it to me and sat down at the piano. I smiled at the thought that I might still be able to make the second half of our Sunday morning football game. She began to play a familiar tune, and when I saw my mother glaring at me from the front row of pews, I decided I’d better go through with it, just to keep her happy.

    "All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small. All things wise and wonderful…" A smile had appeared on Miss Monday’s face long before I reached "the Lord God made them all."

    What’s your name, child? she asked.

    Harry Clifton, miss.

    Harry Clifton, you will report for choir practice on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at six o’clock sharp. Turning to the boy standing behind me, she said, Next!

    I promised my mum I’d be on time for the first choir practice, even though I knew it would be my last, as Miss Monday would soon realize I couldn’t read or write. And it would have been my last, if it hadn’t been obvious to anyone listening that my singing voice was in a different class to that of any other boy in the choir. In fact, the moment I opened my mouth, everyone fell silent, and the looks of admiration, even awe, that I had desperately sought on the football field, were happening in church. Miss Monday pretended not to notice.

    After she dismissed us, I didn’t go home, but ran all the way to the docks so I could ask Mr. Tar what I should do about the fact that I couldn’t read or write. I listened carefully to the old man’s advice, and the next day I went back to school and took my place in Mr. Holcombe’s class. The schoolmaster couldn’t hide his surprise when he saw me sitting in the front row, and was even more surprised when I paid close attention to the morning lesson for the first time.

    Mr. Holcombe began by teaching me the alphabet, and within days I could write out all twenty-six letters, if not always in the correct order. My mum would have helped me when I got home in the afternoon but, like the rest of my family, she also couldn’t read or write.

    Uncle Stan could just about scrawl his signature, and although he could tell the difference between a packet of Wills’s Star and Wild Woodbines, I was fairly sure he couldn’t actually read the labels. Despite his unhelpful mutterings, I set about writing the alphabet on any piece of scrap paper I could find. Uncle Stan didn’t seem to notice that the torn-up newspaper in the privy was always covered in letters.

    Once I’d mastered the alphabet, Mr. Holcombe introduced me to a few simple words: dog, cat, mum and dad. That was when I first asked him about my dad, hoping that he might be able to tell me something about him. After all, he seemed to know everything. But he seemed puzzled that I knew so little about my own dad. A week later he wrote my first four-letter word on the blackboard, book, and then five, house, and six, school. By the end of the month, I could write my first sentence, The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, which, Mr. Holcombe pointed out, contained every letter in the alphabet. I checked, and he turned out to be right.

    By the end of term I could spell anthem, psalm and even hymn, although Mr. Holcombe kept reminding me I still dropped my aitches whenever I spoke. But then we broke up for the holidays and I began to worry I would never pass Miss Monday’s demanding test without Mr. Holcombe’s help. And that might have been the case, if Old Jack hadn’t taken his place.

    *   *   *

    I was half an hour early for choir practice on the Friday evening when I knew I would have to pass my second test if I hoped to continue as a member of the choir. I sat silently in the stalls, hoping Miss Monday would pick on someone else before she called on me.

    I had already passed the first test with what Miss Monday had described as flying colors. We had all been asked to recite The Lord’s Prayer. This was not a problem for me, because for as long as I could remember my mum knelt by my bed each night and repeated the familiar words before tucking me up. However, Miss Monday’s next test was to prove far more demanding.

    By this time, the end of our second month, we were expected to read a psalm out loud, in front of the rest of the choir. I chose Psalm 121, which I also knew off by heart, having sung it so often in the past. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. I could only hope that my help cometh from the Lord. Although I was able to turn to the correct page in the psalm book, as I could now count from one to a hundred, I feared Miss Monday would realize that I was unable to follow every verse line by line. If she did, she didn’t let on, because I remained in the choir stalls for another month while two other miscreants—her word, not that I knew what it meant until I asked Mr. Holcombe the next day—were dispatched back to the congregation.

    When the time came for me to take the third and final test, I was ready for it. Miss Monday asked those of us who remained to write out the Ten Commandments in the correct order without referring to the Book of Exodus.

    The choir mistress turned a blind eye to the fact that I placed theft ahead of murder, couldn’t spell adultery, and certainly didn’t know what it meant. Only after two other miscreants were summarily dismissed for lesser offenses did I realize just how exceptional my voice must be.

    On the first Sunday of Advent, Miss Monday announced that she had selected three new trebles—or little angels, as the Reverend Watts was wont to describe us—to join her choir, the remainder having been rejected for committing such unforgivable sins as chattering during the sermon, sucking a gobstopper and, in the case of two boys, being caught playing conkers during the Nunc Dimittis.

    The following Sunday, I dressed up in a long blue cassock with a ruffled white collar. I alone was allowed to wear a bronze medallion of the Virgin Mother around my neck, to show that I had been selected as the treble soloist. I would have proudly worn the medallion all the way back home, even to school the next morning, to show off to the rest of the lads, if only Miss Monday hadn’t retrieved it at the end of each service.

    On Sundays I was transported into another world, but I feared this state of delirium could not last forever.

    2

    WHEN UNCLE STAN rose in the morning, he somehow managed to wake the entire household. No one complained, as he was the breadwinner in the family, and in any case he was cheaper and more reliable than an alarm clock.

    The first noise Harry would hear was the bedroom door slamming. This would be followed by his uncle tramping along the creaky wooden landing, down the stairs and out of the house. Then another door would slam as he disappeared into the privy. If anyone was still asleep, the rush of water as Uncle Stan pulled the chain, followed by two more slammed doors before he returned to the bedroom, served to remind them that Stan expected his breakfast to be on the table by the time he walked into the kitchen. He had a wash and a shave only on Saturday evenings before going off to the Palais or the Odeon. He took a bath four times a year on quarter-day. No one was going to accuse Stan of wasting his hard-earned cash on soap.

    Maisie, Harry’s mum, would be next up, leaping out of bed moments after the first slammed door. There would be a bowl of porridge on the stove by the time Stan came out of the privy. Grandma followed shortly afterward, and would join her daughter in the kitchen before Stan had taken his place at the head of the table. Harry had to be down within five minutes of the first slammed door if he hoped to get any breakfast. The last to arrive in the kitchen would be Grandpa, who was so deaf he often managed to sleep through Stan’s early morning ritual. This daily routine in the Clifton household never varied. When you’ve only got one outside privy, one sink and one towel, order becomes a necessity.

    By the time Harry was splashing his face with a trickle of cold water, his mother would be serving breakfast in the kitchen: two thickly sliced pieces of bread covered in lard for Stan, and four thin slices for the rest of the family, which she would toast if there was any coal left in the sack dumped outside the front door every Monday. Once Stan had finished his porridge, Harry would be allowed to lick the bowl.

    A large brown pot of tea was always brewing on the hearth, which Grandma would pour into a variety of mugs through a silver-plated Victorian tea strainer she had inherited from her mother. While the other members of the family enjoyed a mug of unsweetened tea—sugar was only for high days and holidays—Stan would open his first bottle of beer, which he usually gulped down in one draft. He would then rise from the table and burp loudly before picking up his lunch box, which Grandma had prepared while he was having his breakfast: two Marmite sandwiches, a sausage, an apple, two more bottles of beer and a packet of five coffin nails. Once Stan had left for the docks, everyone began to talk at once.

    Grandma always wanted to know who had visited the tea shop where her daughter worked as a waitress: what they ate, what they were wearing, where they sat; details of meals that were cooked on a stove in a room lit by electric light bulbs that didn’t leave any candle wax, not to mention customers who sometimes left a thruppenny-bit tip, which Maisie had to split with the cook.

    Maisie was more concerned to find out what Harry had done at school the previous day. She demanded a daily report, which didn’t seem to interest Grandma, perhaps because she’d never been to school. Come to think of it, she’d never been to a tea shop either.

    Grandpa rarely commented, because after four years of loading and unloading an artillery field gun, morning, noon and night, he was so deaf he had to satisfy himself with watching their lips move and nodding from time to time. This could give outsiders the impression he was stupid, which the rest of the family knew to their cost he wasn’t.

    The family’s morning routine only varied at weekends. On Saturdays, Harry would follow his uncle out of the kitchen, always remaining a pace behind him as he walked to the docks. On Sunday, Harry’s mum would accompany the boy to Holy Nativity Church, where, from the third row of the pews, she would bask in the glory of the choir’s treble soloist.

    But today was Saturday. During the twenty-minute walk to the docks, Harry never opened his mouth unless his uncle spoke. Whenever he did, it invariably turned out to be the same conversation they’d had the previous Saturday.

    When are you goin’ to leave school and do a day’s work, young’un? was always Uncle Stan’s opening salvo.

    Not allowed to leave until I’m fourteen, Harry reminded him. It’s the law.

    A bloody stupid law, if you ask me. I’d packed up school and was workin’ on the docks by the time I were twelve, Stan would announce as if Harry had never heard this profound observation before. Harry didn’t bother to respond, as he already knew what his uncle’s next sentence would be. And what’s more I’d signed up to join Kitchener’s army before my seventeenth birthday.

    Tell me about the war, Uncle Stan, said Harry, aware that this would keep him occupied for several hundred yards.

    Me and your dad joined the Royal Gloucestershire Regiment on the same day, Stan said, touching his cloth cap as if saluting a distant memory. After twelve weeks’ basic training at Taunton Barracks, we was shipped off to Wipers to fight the Boche. Once we got there, we spent most of our time cooped up in rat-infested trenches waiting to be told by some toffee-nosed officer that when the bugle sounded, we was going over the top, bayonets fixed, rifles firing as we advanced toward the enemy lines. This would be followed by a long pause, after which Stan would add, I was one of the lucky ones. Got back to Blighty all ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Harry could have predicted his next sentence word for word, but remained silent. You just don’t know how lucky you are, my lad. I lost two brothers, your uncle Ray and your uncle Bert, and your father not only lost a brother, but his father, your other grandad, what you never met. A proper man, who could down a pint of beer faster than any docker I’ve ever come across.

    If Stan had looked down, he would have seen the boy mouthing his words, but today, to Harry’s surprise, Uncle Stan added a sentence he’d never uttered before. And your dad would still be alive today, if only management had listened to me.

    Harry was suddenly alert. His dad’s death had always been the subject of whispered conversations and hushed tones. But Uncle Stan clammed up, as if he realized he’d gone too far. Maybe next week, thought Harry, catching his uncle up and keeping in step with him as if they were two soldiers on a parade ground.

    So who are City playin’ this afternoon? asked Stan, back on script.

    Charlton Athletic, Harry replied.

    They’re a load of old cobblers.

    They trounced us last season, Harry reminded his uncle.

    Bloody lucky, if you ask me, said Stan, and didn’t open his mouth again. When they reached the entrance to the dockyard, Stan clocked in before heading off to the pen where he was working with a gang of other dockers, none of whom could afford to be a minute late. Unemployment was at an all-time high and too many young men were standing outside the gates waiting to take their place.

    Harry didn’t follow his uncle, because he knew that if Mr. Haskins caught him hanging around the sheds he would get a clip round the ear, followed by a boot up the backside from his uncle for annoying the ganger. Instead, he set off in the opposite direction.

    Harry’s first port of call every Saturday morning was Old Jack Tar, who lived in the railway carriage at the other end of the dockyard. He had never told Stan about his regular visits because his uncle had warned him to avoid the old man at all costs.

    Probably hasn’t had a bath in years, said a man who washed once a quarter, and then only after Harry’s mother complained about the smell.

    But curiosity had long ago got the better of Harry, and one morning he’d crept up to the railway carriage on his hands and knees, lifted himself up and peeped through a window. The old man was sitting in first class, reading a book.

    Old Jack turned to face him and said, Come on in, lad. Harry jumped down, and didn’t stop running until he reached his front door.

    The following Saturday, Harry once again crawled up to the carriage and peered inside. Old Jack seemed to be fast asleep, but then Harry heard him say, Why don’t you come in, my boy? I’m not going to bite you.

    Harry turned the heavy brass handle and tentatively pulled open the carriage door, but he didn’t step inside. He just stared at the man seated in the center of the carriage. It was hard to tell how old he was because his face was covered in a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard, which made him look like the sailor on the Players Please packet. But he looked at Harry with a warmth in his eyes that Uncle Stan had never managed.

    Are you Old Jack Tar? Harry ventured.

    That’s what they call me, the old man replied.

    And is this where you live? Harry asked, glancing around the carriage, his eyes settling on a stack of old newspapers piled high on the opposite seat.

    Yes, he replied. It’s been my home for these past twenty years. Why don’t you close the door and take a seat, young man?

    Harry gave the offer some thought before he jumped back out of the carriage and once again ran away.

    The following Saturday, Harry did close the door, but he kept hold of the handle, ready to bolt if the old man as much as twitched a muscle. They stared at each other for some time before Old Jack asked, What’s your name?

    Harry.

    And where do you go to school?

    I don’t go to school.

    Then what are you hoping to do with your life, young man?

    Join my uncle on the docks, of course, Harry replied.

    Why would you want to do that? said the old man.

    Why not? Harry bristled. Don’t you think I’m good enough?

    You’re far too good, replied Old Jack. When I was your age, he continued, I wanted to join the army, and nothing my old man could say or do would dissuade me. For the next hour Harry stood, mesmerized, while Old Jack Tar reminisced about the docks, the city of Bristol, and lands beyond the sea that he couldn’t have been taught about in geography lessons.

    The following Saturday, and for more Saturdays than he would remember, Harry continued to visit Old Jack Tar. But he never once told his uncle or his mother, for fear they would stop him going to see his first real friend.

    *   *   *

    When Harry knocked on the door of the railway carriage that Saturday morning, Old Jack had clearly been waiting for him, because his usual Cox’s Orange Pippin had been placed on the seat opposite. Harry picked it up, took a bite and sat down.

    Thank you, Mr. Tar, Harry said as he wiped some juice from his chin. He never asked where the apples came from; it just added to the mystery of the great man.

    How different he was from Uncle Stan, who repeated the little he knew again and again, whereas Old Jack introduced Harry to new words, new experiences, even new worlds every week. He often wondered why Mr. Tar wasn’t a schoolmaster—he seemed to know even more than Miss Monday, and almost as much as Mr. Holcombe. Harry was convinced that Mr. Holcombe knew everything, because he never failed to answer any question Harry put to him. Old Jack smiled across at him, but didn’t speak until Harry had finished his apple and thrown the core out of the window.

    What have you learned at school this week, the old man asked, that you didn’t know a week ago?

    Mr. Holcombe told me there are other countries beyond the sea that are part of the British Empire, and they are all reigned over by the King.

    He’s quite right, said Old Jack. Can you name any of those countries?

    Australia. Canada. India. He hesitated. And America.

    No, not America, said Old Jack. That used to be the case, but it isn’t any more, thanks to a weak Prime Minister and a sick King.

    Who was the King, and who was the Prime Minister? demanded Harry angrily.

    King George III was on the throne in 1776, said Old Jack, but to be fair, he was a sick man, while Lord North, his Prime Minister, simply ignored what was taking place in the colonies, and, sadly, in the end our own kith and kin took up arms against us.

    But we must have beaten them? said Harry.

    No, we didn’t, said Old Jack. Not only did they have right on their side—not that that’s a prerequisite for victory—

    What does prerequisite mean?

    Required as a pre-condition, said Old Jack, who then continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. But they were also led by a brilliant general.

    What was his name?

    George Washington.

    You told me last week that Washington was the capital of America. Was he named after the city?

    No, the city was named after him. It was built on an area of marshland known as Columbia, through which the Potomac River flows.

    Is Bristol named after a man too?

    No, chuckled Old Jack, amused by how quickly Harry’s inquisitive mind could switch from subject to subject. Bristol was originally called Brigstowe, which means the site of a bridge.

    So when did it become Bristol?

    Historians differ in their opinions, said Old Jack, although Bristol Castle was built by Robert of Gloucester in 1109, when he saw the opportunity to trade wool with the Irish. After that, the city developed into a trading port. Since then it’s been a center of shipbuilding for hundreds of years, and grew even more quickly when the navy needed to expand in 1914.

    My dad fought in the Great War, said Harry with pride. Did you?

    For the first time, Old Jack hesitated before answering one of Harry’s questions. He just sat there, not saying a word. I’m sorry, Mr. Tar, said Harry. I didn’t mean to pry.

    No, no, said Old Jack. It’s just that I haven’t been asked that question for some years. Without another word, he opened his hand to reveal a sixpence.

    Harry took the little silver coin and bit it, something he’d seen his uncle do. Thank you, he said before pocketing

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