'He was a very large man, very fair in colouring, plainly of great strength. His expression was absolutely English in its complete absence of curiosity, its certainty that it knew the best about everything, its suspicion, its determination not to be taken in by anybody, and its latent kindliness.'

Hugh Walpole was one of the most successful authors of the twenties and thirties and this short extract is culled from one of his many novels. It is from The Cathedral and the description is loosely based on Harold Cheevers, Walpole's. It is impossible to imagine now what the reaction would have been had his readers known at the time that Walpole was not only describing an employee but his lover too.

Throughout his life, Walpole had searched high and low for what he termed 'the ideal friend': "I'd give a lot", he once wrote "for the real right man". Despite a hectic professional life (he was preposterously prolific) never interfered with his quest for love.

There is an apocryphal story of Walpole as a young man, who had hero-worshipped Henry James, a man forty years his senior, attempting to seduce his idol. The elderly James broke into tears, pleading, "I can't... I can't!"

Among those who nearly qualified were Percy Anderson, artist and designer. Konstantin Somoff, one of Russia's most acclaimed painters and James Annand, an officer in the Canadian Highlanders. True love still proved elusive until he heard a voice.

It belonged to Lauritz Melchior, an internationally renowned opera singer. In the thirties and forties, this Danish Heldentenor became a virtual household name by first playing Tristan to Kirsten Flagstad's Isolde at the Met, then appearing in several bland musicals for MGM. Louis B Meyer would certainly have baulked at the knowledge that Melchior had once been the lover of Hugh Walpole, who had himself once made a cameo appearance in David Copperfield, as the Vicar of Blunderstone, with W C Fields.

Hugh began his affair with Melchior in a mood of great optimism, convinced that he had discovered his love of his life. Generous to a fault, he prepared to aid Melchior's career both financially as well as planning a campaign, which would ensure that Melchior would be "the greatest Wagner tenor in the world". They travelled to Copenhagen, Munich and Bayreuth, where the magnificent Dane made even the Fuehrer cry.

The eventual break occurred in Chicago, when Melchior announced he was marrying for a second time (he had already parted from his first wife). A L Rowse recounts the end of the affair as recounted to him by a friend who witnessed Hugh's anguish at the end of the affair:

"... My friend went round to look up Hugh at his hotel, but was astonished to find the room full of feathers, as if Mother Goose had been there. What could the explanation be? Hugh, in hysterics, was tearing up his feather-bed, crying 'He has left me! He has left me!'"

There could have no greater contrast to Melchior than Harold Cheevers, a bluff Cornishman, ten years Hugh's junior. In 1924, needing a driver, he employed the services of this ex-bobby. Harold was dependable, where the Dane had been flighty. By Christmas 1925, Harold had become a 'jewel beyond price'. On closer examination, one can understand why.

Harold had been a constable in the Metropolitan Police, where he had been police revolver champion, winning the All England Police championship three years in a row. He had also served in the navy, so it was no surprise that he was also a prize swimmer, winning races up to five miles. A good all-rounder, as they say in cricketing circles. As with E M Forster's policeman-lover, Bob Buckingham, Harold's heterosexual credentials were impeccable; he was married with two sons.

Many times they returned to their native Cornwall - Hugh having Cornish blood through the Carylons - sunbathing at Mullion or swimming in the sea at Penbarth near Land's End, or at St Buryan; Hugh sat on the rocks reading, as Harold fished. Walpole could not have been happier:

'These days have been marvellous, showing me that at last, after so many searchings, I have found a human being I can utterly trust and believe in.'

Having always been of a nervous disposition, Walpole paid dearly for his reluctance to leave his London flat, as the capital suffered in the blitz. Eventually, after losing many of his prize possessions in the German raids, he retired to Brackenburn, his country retreat in the Lake District.

Harold, who had travelled up from Cornwall, sat by his bedside, as he talked of their life together and the happiness they had shared. By the following morning, when Harold took his hand for the last time, Hugh was dead.

© Howard Watson 2009