A prodigious adventure

Tuesday, February 13th., Cadogan Square, London.

How one changes over time! I was browsing in my old journals and found that 25 years ago I had taken it into my head to live 'in the country'. Specifically at Trinity Hall Farm in Bedfordshire. In fairness it was partly to do with my father's ill health and the need to find somewhere quiet and suitable for him to be looked after. But I had some romantic notion about 'the country' and seized it by the throat. Of course I soon discovered that there is no such thing as 'the country', which is an entity only existing in the brains of an urban population. Still, I was pleased with myself.

I well remember my first day. I, who had never owned an orchard before, stood in my orchard. Behind me were phalanx of fruit trees - my fruit trees. Also a double-greenhouse, and a meadow upon which I discerned the possibility of football or cricket. And visible through a high hedge a very white highway; not just any highway, but Watling Street. I have to admit now, though I would have resisted the admission then, that the idea of living actually on Watling Street, a real Roman road, was a powerful factor in my choice of abode. Who says there is no romance in my soul? Only persons of imagination can enter into my feelings at that moment.

Keep in mind that all this happened before the advent of the nature-book, and the sublime invention of weekending. The motor car was a thing oftener heard of than seen. London seemed not just over the horizon (at the end of Watling Street) but on another continent. I plunged into this unknown, inscrutable and recondite 'country' as I might have plunged fully clothed and unable to swim into the sea. It was a prodigious adventure!"

I called to see friends before the day of exodus. They favoured me with knowing looks. "Goodbye," I said. "Au revoir" they replied with calm vaticinatory assurance "we shall see you back again in a year." They were right of course.