Poor dear Jaggi died on the day I went back to Badminton, but before I got there. Fred, the groundsman, put him into a Kleenex box for me. And I went to the shed and saw his tiny little dead form in the box with a few leaves round him and cried and cried. To be honest, I didn’t love him quite as much as Mustard who had been my first, but I still loved him very much. His was the first death I’d had to contend with; my father’s mother had died when I’d been too young to form an attachment and both grandfathers were dead before I was born. Now I was heartbroken....

a difficult start to the new term. Find out how things developed here