Their eyes seemed to take in the whole four hundred and fifty of us at once. One was rather fatter than the others, with fluffy hair and a fluttering scarf. I think she was the favourite.

No one was ever seen talking to them; they only boldly stared at us as they went on their way.

It was said that they lived at Findern.  

Brophy and I made no real plan, we just decided to walk to Findern in the hope of seeing them. The snow had half melted and then frozen again, so we had the deserted road to ourselves. We walked along, Brophy swinging his umbrella and sucking an icicle. We had seen them glistening in the sun, hanging from the roof of a cow-shed, and Brophy had scythed one down.

He began to tell me about his family, who lived at Purley. It was not exactly London, it was not exactly the country, and it wasn’t exactly a suburb. He told me about his sister and about their telephone which was red, not black. You had to pay a little more for this.

My eyes wandered over the white fields. Brophy was being very dull. He was not at all like Geoffrey, who was always singing or being violent. I had to think of something that would interest us both.

Suddenly I burst out, “O London, London! Just think, Brophy, of leaving all this in a few weeks’ time and going back to civilization !”

You could do this sort of thing with Brophy; he was too sluggish to be irritated by affectation. All he said was:

“You sounded just like an actor, Welch, in a play, saying, ‘O my country, the country!'

We could not stop talking after this, about the end of term. My fingers and toes were being bitten, but I felt very warm inside.

Leaving the road, we went down to the river-bank. I walked on to the ice and then tried to entice Brophy, but just as he was about to follow me I took fright, thinking how terrible it would be if he fell in and was not able to save himself because of his truss.

I had a religious fear of his truss. I told him how dangerous the ice was. It might give way at any moment. He looked rather puzzled at my change of front, but followed me up to the road again.

I went on talking, not caring what I said.

“I can’t believe, Brophy, that I shall never come back here again. After two years of being a fag and being beaten and hustled about, it seems too good to be true. I know I shall never send any of my children to a public school. Not that I shall marry or have any children,” I added as an afterthought.

“Don’t you ever want to marry, Welch?” he asked.

“Not unless I found a very old woman with plenty of money.”

“What a swine you are, Welch. Besides, you’d have to go to bed with her.”

“No, I shouldn’t. There’d be an agreement that we only met at meals or when other people were there.”

“Then what do you think she’d marry you fori” he jeered.

“She might like to have young life about the place,” I answered weakly.

We had nearly reached Findern by now, but we had quite forgotten about the Fillies. The village street was deserted. Fine, dusty snow blew round the whitened doorsteps, making them look dirty. It was getting darker, the clouds seemed to be sinking down like a press.

We hurried through the village, Brophy still telling me about his idea of marriage. The homeward journey was depressing. It was getting so dark that we both began to hurry. I thought of tea and jam. I don’t know what Brophy thought about.