I looked down at the green, slimy lake and at the grey fields beyond. I felt as if I were in a giant’s head, staring out of his eye-socket.

We went down through the house, closing the shutters until each room was swallowed up and dead again. There was only one more thing to see; the smoking-room in the basement.

I did not expect anything so strange. There was a large seat of stuffed and buttoned leather round the central pillar, and built into the walls were divans framed in alcoves of Arabian fretwork. Palm fronds stood in the corners and groups of dusty pink electric-light shades hung from the ceding. There were some pictures of Edwardian young men playing billiards. There were jokes written underneath each scene.

I tried to take everything in, to remember it as a perfect period piece. I wondered what I should give the woman or whether I should give her anything at all.

When I said good-bye. I held my hand out with a shilling in it. The woman, thinking I meant to shake hands, grasped mine and I left the coin in her palm. She gave a start, saying, “What’s this ?” then she said “Oh” as if she had been insulted, but she did not give the shilling back.

I smiled, feeling awkward and rude. Then I left. It was too late to go on to the church, so I passed over the balustraded bridge and out of the main gates.

The tip of a rotten punt stuck out of the mossy boathouse.

         

The week after the confirmation an “old boy” arrived with a pack of beagles. We all collected round the village cross, dressed in our vests and running shorts. The huntsmen, or whatever they are called, wore green velvet coats, black caps and snow-white breeches. I enjoyed looking at them as they walked in and out amongst the squat little beagles, talking to them and keeping them in order.

I grew cold listening to the little speech on the glory of the sport, and was glad when the beagles streamed out across the fields in front of the Priory, and we followed. I was running alone and so could race or go slowly as I wished.

When we got to the stream, some people boldly dashed in, getting wet up to the waist. Others took the footbridge. I did, but wished afterwards that I had splashed through the water. Couples tore by, looking as if they were being hunted themselves, but I was content to be left behind. There was a feeling of licence in the air and I enjoyed being free and alone.

Soon we were ploughing up a hill. We had spread out now, like a jet of water. The beagles were worrying round in circles in the copse at the top. The huntsmen yelled and the air was full of excitement. People broke through the bushes with a cracking, tearing sound. Everyone was tense. Something was hidden in the heart of the wood.

I sat down on a stile to wait and rest. Hot, panting groups ran by, their faces shining with sweat. I looked down and saw something bright on the ground. It was a sixpence. I picked it up, feeling delighted. There was no possible chance of finding its owner in all this crowd.

When I looked up again, I saw someone tearing a way through a thick tangle of branches.