Few family dramas in London history can match a 1930 display of brotherly love and exasperation in the front garden at Woodfield, old family home to the Cronyns. On one side was Hume Cronyn, the actor who died last week at the age of 91. On the other was one of his older brothers, Verschoyle P. (Verse) Cronyn. Both men wrote about the confrontation in their memoirs. Their separate accounts came to mind upon reading an affectionate comment from a present-day Cronyn in an obituary for the London-born stage and screen star.

"The whole family was shocked when Hume went off to New York to become an actor. But he was born to be an actor and was one of the finest people you could meet," said John B. Cronyn, son of Verschoyle and nephew to Hume.

Verse's account is in his delightful autobiography, Other Days. He died in 1978. Hume opens A Terrible Liar: A Memoir, published in 1991, with his version.

In a later interview, he remembered the "council of war" in 1930 when his family debated his wish to leave McGill University and study at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts.

Here's the scene. The Depression is sweeping the land. It is 1930. The setting is Woodfield, majestic home to the Cronyns, a London family already known for producing religious, political, military, social and business leaders -- but not actors.

Woodfield, at 580 Dundas St., was then a family seat in the centre of the city block bounded by Dundas, Adelaide and William streets and Queens Avenue. It was demolished in 1968.

The setting includes a japonica tree, rose bushes, hollyhocks and poppies. Tea is being served. The atmosphere is tense -- quiet, but tense.

On stage are Hume, his older brothers Verse and Dick, and their mother, Frances Amelia (Labatt) Cronyn. Their sister seems to have missed the "war council." Their father, Hume B. Cronyn, is absent because of a serious illness.

There are two leading men, both heroes. Hume represents Art, while Verse stands for Commerce. Seldom in London lore can those symbolic forces have been so evenly matched.

Hume is 19 and "getting nowhere fast" while studying to be a lawyer at McGill. He is "playing in every amateur production that came along." He is known as Junior and the family refrain, he recalls, is "What are we going to do about Junior?"

Verse is more than 15 years older than his little brother. Verse has already overcome childhood illness and injury to become a fighter pilot in the First World War. When times are tight during the 1920s, he rides a bicycle to his downtown London office. Stung by the comments of an uncle who thought he would "never amount to much" because of his illness, he is practical and determined.

In Other Days, he praises Hume as "one of the leading actors in Canada and the United States." But in 1930, that is all in the future. The family does not "(know) a thing about the subject" of a stage career, Verse writes, but is concerned. Verse wants to know what Hume plans to do with himself.

Hume knows what he wants to do -- leave McGill and go to a professional drama school. In fact, he has precipitated the crisis by leaving university and taking a job with a theatre company in Washington, D.C. The family has wired him money when he was broke in the U.S.

This is the background. In the scene itself, Verse holds his teacup "chest high, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair, staring at me like a basilisk," Hume writes. For his part, Dick drowns a caterpillar in his tea. Hume identifies with the unfortunate caterpillar.

Hume writes there were no lulls in the conversation, "only a series of ominous silences."

A faithful retainer arrives to remove the cucumber, tomato and watercress sandwiches. They have not been touched. Frances Cronyn puts her hand on the tea cosy to show it is still needed.

Hume writes the hour grows late and the shadows reach the garden. There is the smell of nicotina and the sound of nighthawks, dropping from the sky to hunt, "making a sound like a tuning fork."

The family group waits. Finally, Verse breaks the silence.

According to Hume, he asks: "How many years do you think you can afford to waste?"

In Verse's own story, the tone is sharper: "How long do you think your family is going to support you in this idiotic waste of time at play acting?"

Either way, the effect is electric.

In Other Days, Verse writes that Hume immediately leaves for the end of the garden, visibly upset, but saying nothing. Verse instantly regrets what he calls his "impetuous query."

Eventually, the great actor-to-be blows his nose "noisily" and sits down again. Hume still doesn't say anything, but Frances Cronyn breaks the impasse. If this is what Hume wants to do, she says, "Some instruction (will be necessary) so as to avoid mistakes and start on the right course."

Shortly after, Hume and his mother go abroad to begin those studies. "I believe he has also forgiven me," Verse writes of Hume, ending the older brother's version of the drama on a quiet, graceful note.

(The brothers' reconciliation was deeply felt, to judge by the joyous family Christmas photo from about 1935, included in A Terrible Liar.)

Hume's own story in A Terrible Liar is different and is much longer. He doesn't know the answer to Verse's question -- even in the milder version he recalls. Not bothering to reply, he pushes back his chair and stalks away. He may even hear his mother call out a quiet "Hume?" as he walks on. He takes the brick path under the pergola to the north gate.

"The gate was on a spring and banged behind me. I had left Woodfield," he writes.

After a long walk, a bewildered and hurt Hume returns. As he heads up the stairs to his bedroom, he hears his mother's soothing voice. She has been waiting for her youngest child.

"You must not be angry with them. They are only thinking of your own good," she says of his brothers. If Hume will return to university for another year and still wants to go to theatre school after that, she will help him choose the best one.

Hume is overjoyed. He kisses her. He runs downstairs, thrilled with the opportunity. He strides along the broad Woodfield verandah.

"I had already left home," the chapter concludes.