I WAS just starting prep school when I first encountered Benjamin Disraeli . . . but I didn't realise it at the time because he was using another identity. Nor did I realise the strong effect he would have on my life.Always an avid reader, I was working my way through books in my grandparents' remarkably varied library. A vintage, elaborately-bound green volume, lavishly embellished with gold trim titled Endymion carried the byline, "Earl of Beaconsfield". A first edition was published in 1880.

As has often been my downfall, I raced through it. Once into its unusual plot, it was impossible to put it back down no matter how late the hour.

Within years, two things happened almost simultaneously. An English history course revealed Disraeli's complicated climb to Prime Minister in Queen Victoria's era, his struggle to succeed, and frequent parliamentary conflict with William Gladstone, another Prime Minister of his era.

The other was more personal. Dinner-table conversation in our home usually included something especially interesting we'd learned in school that day. Family friends and relatives used to tease my parents about what they called our two-hour round-table dinner discussions.

And, indeed, it was around a century-old antique round table. I always appreciated being blessed with remarkable parents who took such great interest in their children's education.

It was at just such a "dinner round-table discussion" that I mentioned what had been discussed in class about Disraeli that day. My father immediately asked: "Did your teacher tell you about Disraeli's Drawer?"

And so began one of his "lessons-in-life" discussions. So intriguing was that story, repeated with regularity to be sure we got the message, that when I finally arrived at Disraeli's Hughenden Manor country estate near High Wycombe years later, my first question was: "Where is his desk?"

But I'm getting ahead of myself. England has such a wealth of historic sights it would quite literally take a lifetime to see most of them. But Disraeli's country home and that famous drawer were definitely on my list.

But early trips to the British Isles were filled with other more isolated must-see wonders like Scotland's Outer Hebrides, Shetland and Orkney, the Scilly Isles, Wales, and the Isle of Wight. Our first attempt was ill-fated. It was early spring and although there are many advantages to off-season travel, early closing times at attractions are not one of them.MY brother Jim and I had mostly made our headquarters in London on that early 1970s trip, driving out to the country on jam-packed excursions. That particular one, we'd visited the Duke of Marlborough's Blenheim Palace and gone to Winston Churchill's grave there.Then came an in-depth tour of Woburn Abbey and some delightful lingering at George Bernard Shaw's very interesting home (more about that another time) and finally realised Disraeli's country estate would be closed by the time we covered the distance to get there.

Give us a map and it's our downfall, since we're always determined to see as much territory as possible, especially when it involves history. With an Open to View catalogue in hand, we noticed nearby West Wycombe was listed as a village of exceptional interest now owned by the National Trust.

It turned out to be something eerily different, an experience so chilling just thinking about it is scary. It's been mentioned here in passing as the ultimate, too-realistic Halloween experience and perhaps a more in-depth re-visit should be this year's Halloween feature!

Ironically, it was Halloween 1986 while staying at historic coaching inns at Stow-on-the-Wold and Tewkesbury that I was again within striking distance of Disraeli's Hughenden Manor.

It had been a quite long and certainly very diversified trip. It began with a transatlantic crossing via the QEII on the last voyage under steam, then a driving side-trip to Ireland, back to England for several days, then off to Malta. For this traveller, the Disraeli detour turned out to be worth the effort.

Disraeli lived in very contentious times and an adversarial relationship with Gladstone added tension. Many "slings and arrows" were cast at him and his Jewish heritage also brought opposition from those anxious to bring him down. The anti-Semitism often reached horrendous proportions.

But rather than strike back and try to avenge things that were maliciously done to him, he chose another path. He wrote the name of the offender who had done something particularly devastating to him on a slip of paper and put it in his desk drawer.

It was Disraeli's feeling that those who seek revenge lower themselves to the level of those who offended them . . . either verbally, physically, whatever. "Tell the truth, then let the chips fall where they may."

After writing the offender's name and putting it in the drawer, Disraeli would put any thought of revenge out of his mind. Occasionally, after months passed, he would open that drawer, leaf through some of those slips and it was amazing what had happened to those offenders.

Disraelli did not need to take revenge . . . they'd got back what they deserved, often in far worse measure than he would have suggested. In modern parlance, the quote, "Time heals all wounds, or wounds all heels", would apply.

My father's oft-repeated lesson about following Disraeli's example and not lowering yourself seeking revenge has become a family mantra. When something happens that truly calls for it, that person's name is mentally put in "Disraeli's Drawer". And it's quite stunning to see how the guilty do get far worse than you would ever imagine.SO Disraeli took on a unique place in our young minds rather than simply a famous name from the pages of history. His impact on British politics was quite remarkable when one considers his early life.Born in London in 1804, his father Isaac D'Israeli was well known as an author, scholar, friend of Byron, and encouraged his son to follow the same career. So young Benjamin spent his late teens and twenties travelling abroad, thanks to his father's generosity.

He, too, began writing novels whose plots interwove high society and politics. Although his mother came from a prestigious Jewish family and "thought politics a waste of time", his father had insisted his children be baptised Christian when reaching the age 13.

If he had not been, Parliament would have been totally off-limits since Jews were excluded until 1858. He stood for Parliament four times before finally being elected, went on to serve twice as Prime Minister, last time 1874 to 1880 when he was succeeded again by Gladstone. Many considered Disraeli the founder of Britain's modern Conservative Party . . . interesting, since he was a member of an often-persecuted minority. Always colourful and controversial, he's one of those historical personages one would like to know more about.

We've been wanting to write more about famous English writers, their homes and environment influencing their work. This is certainly the time to do so, with British Airways' new daily service from Bermuda to London now making those interesting sites more accessible than ever.

In Disraeli, one finds not only a famous politician, but surprise of a writer, as well. (Vivian Grey, Lothair, Tancred, Coningsby, Contarini Fleming, Alroy, The Young Duke, Venetia, Henretta Temple, Endymion.) And homes that played important roles in his life are all interesting.

Of course, heading that list is 10 Downing Street where he lived twice as Prime Minister. In 1845 he unsuccessfully tried to buy Bradenham Manor in Buckinghamshire, once owned by his father. (It's described in Endymion, written in 1880 after his retirement from politics.) Its gardens are occasionally open to the public . . . make local inquiry.

Instead, he purchased Hughenden Manor in 1847 for $35,000, $25,000 of it borrowed, and it was used frequently as a country escape until his death. In fact, it became the place he preferred to write and it was there the novels Lothair (1870) and Endymion (1880) were written. He was created Earl of Beaconsfield in 1876, and it was under that identity this young teenager first encountered his work.

The impressive large brick estate (open April through October and March and November on weekends) dates back to 1738 and its 189 acres are now operated by the National Trust. The study remains exactly as he left it, with personal books, manuscripts, letters, even locks of hair and other personal items. His tomb is in the estate's churchyard.

Views from the library with its walls of books are gorgeous, looking out over unspoiled hills. An interesting collection of pictures by the fireplace is so unusual I drew a layout of it in my notebook. The Order of the Garter is also on display.

Curious the things that impress a visitor. An upstairs "blue" bedroom with a bedspread of silk pieces sewn into a quite unusual design was so attractive I sketched its pattern into that same notebook.

After his marriage to a widow in 1839, "Dizzy" lived in her London townhouse, except for the years at 10 Downing Street. After her death in 1872, he purchased a London townhouse at 19 Curzon Street. Following his death July 16, 1881, there was a sale of his townhouse effects there, bought by Viscount Barrington.

Wife Mary Anne was enthusiastic about gardens and carefully planned those at Hughenden Manor. Visitors will want to stroll through them, enjoying tranquil paths overlooking the river, just as Disraeli did so often.HE wrote: "I have a passion for books and trees. I like to look at them. When I come down to Hughenden, I pass the first week in sauntering about my park and examining all the trees, and then I saunter in the library and survey the books. My collection is limited to Theology, The Classics and History."He truly loved Hughenden, spent every possible hour there. "I can't tear myself away from this place. This is my great planting time." Disraeli enjoyed talking to his workmen, was fascinated by his "German Forest". He wrote: "A forest is like the ocean, monotonous only to the ignorant."

A great favourite of Queen Victoria, Disraeli was noted for his witty ways with words. Many phrases from his speeches and novels are much remembered today. For example . . . "Talk to a man about himself and he will listen for hours". In his novel, The Young Duke, he proclaimed: "We are indeed a nation of shopkeepers."

How about: "Genius is one per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration." One of my favourites is: "There are three kinds of lies . . . lies, damned lies and statistics."

Others: "There is no wisdom like frankness" . . . "Patience is a necessary ingredient of genius" . . . "The mystery of government is not how it works, but how to make it stop."

Queen Victoria wanted to pay a personal visit during his final illness, but he declined. In light of her very prolonged period of deep mourning for her husband, he told friends: "She would probably want me to take a message to Albert."