I didn't know he was gone. I'm sorry. Was he chasing your
sheep?'
'No, you're lucky. I'm not a farmer. But it's a point to
watch.'
'I reckon it is an' all,' said Mr Death, untying the dog
and gripping it by the collar as he shut the back door of the
car. 'You bugger, I won't half skin you one of these days!
Go on, Rastus, get in the shed and stay there!'
The dog slunk off as it was told.
'Rastus - that's because he's black?'
'Well, that's just what we call him, kind o' style. It was
my daughter named him, actually. She's studying Classics
at Cambridge, you know,' said Mr Death with modest and
proper pride, 'and she christened him "Orestes".'
He laughed deprecatingly. I wanted to be off, but did not
wish to seem unmannerly. So.
'Why that?' said he that took it upon himself not to conceive.
'Well, apparently Orestes was some bloke in Greek mythology
who didn't stick at anything to revenge his family. So
238
Susie, she says that's the right name for a good house dog.
But it's a bit highfalutin, don't you think? So we just
shortened it to "Rastus". A dog needs a name he can recognize
when he hears it. He certainly can be a bit nasty at
times. 'Hope he didn't give you any trouble?'
'No, not really. He looks quite a lad, though, doesn't he,
when you come on him roaming in the gloaming?'
'Well, it's a lonely place, this, and it doesn't hurt to have
a dog that looks a bit of a sod, as you might say. I'm sorry
you had the trouble. Care for a cup of tea?'
'Can't stop now, thanks all the same. Some other time.
Good night!'
When I returned in the last light, Kathe was sitting on the
grass with her back against the foot of the Gibbet, looking
out across the darkened Kennet valley. She jumped up and
ran across to the car.
'You were quick, Alan! Oh, I'm ready for a huge supper
after all that, aren't you?'
'Yes, I certainly am. How was Dorothy?'
'Oh, she asked if I wasn't frightened all alone by her
Galgen, and I told her I had nerves of steel. We're great
friends now.'
19
FROM Newbury to Faringdon by road is not thirty miles, but
for Kathe's enjoyment I drove slowly and made the most of
it - up the Lambourn valley to Great Shefford and over the
White Horse downs to Wantage. She was the most rewarding
companion, taking pleasure in everything she saw - the
thatched brick cottages, the dog roses and elder bloom in
the hedges and the glimpses of the shallow little river itself hardly
more than a brook - slipping between its pollarded
willows.
'You say it's good fishing? But it's so small!'
'Small is beautiful. It's a chalk stream - strictly dry fly
and no wading - one of the nicest bits of water in the south
239
country. The trout come about half a pound if you're lucky
- nice, one-man size, I always think.'
'Well, when I'm a ceramic modeller I'll make a figure of
Mr Desland with his great long rod and his landing-net;
oh, and a trout, of course. "Ritterlich befreit' ich dann die
Prinzessin Fisch."'
' "Und ihr Kuss war Himmelsbrot.
gluhend wie der Wein." That's you, you wonderful girl!'
Where the road crossed the Ridgeway I stopped the car.
We walked a little way along the crest and I pointed out to
her the line of the Combe downs, fifteen miles south across
the valley.
'Look - that's where we were last Wednesday.'
'You say these are the White Horse downs? Why are they
called that?'
Til show you why in about an hour from now.'
We stopped in Wantage for a drink at 'The Bear'. Kathe
was as full of questions as a six-year-old.
'Why's it called "The Bear"? What's a ragged staff? Who
was the Earl of Warwick? Is that King Alfred - the statue?
You say he fought the Danes?'
Driving westward down the White Horse Vale, I stopped
again for her to see the Blowing Stone. I had never been able
to get a sound out of it all my life, and was no more successful
this morning, but Kathe, catching the knack immediately,
produced its low, booming note three or four times before
standing back, flushed and triumphant, to be congratulated
by myself and the good lady in charge.
'Well, if that brings them running over the hill,' she said,
Til lead them in a chariot with knives on the wheels.'
We bought Mars Bars at the little shop and ate them as
we drove on and up to Uffington Castle. There was no one
about and we disregarded the notice about not walking on
the Horse.
'I don't see why I shouldn't,' I said. Tm a Berkshireman;
and there never used to be any damned notice when I was a
little boy.'
Tm going to stand in his eye and wish, like you said.'
240
About to step forward, she suddenly hesitated.
'Could he - could he harm me, do you think?'
'How d'you mean?'
'Well, this is his place, isn't it? For me to come into his
own place -'
Taking a coin from her bag, she knelt and pressed it edgeways
into the ground.
'Versohnung! What d'you call that?'
'Propitiation?'
She stepped into the eye and stood there silently, looking
down at Dragoa Hill and out towards the octagonal tower
of Uffington church beyond.
'It is old, the church?' And then, without waiting for
an answer, 'What was that rhyme you told me for the for
the scouring of the Horse? Something about setting to
rights ?'
' "Th" old White 'Arse wants zett'n to roights,
An' the Squire 'ave promised good cheer -" '
She heard it through, then suddenly sprang out of the eye
into my arms, almost knocking me over.
'I've wished -'
'Stop! If you want it to come true you musn't tell anyone
- not even me!'
She pouted. 'Well, all ihe same, I have wished. And if the
Horse is up to his job - and I'm sure he is - you're in for a
shock, my dearest. Last one back to the car's a cuck-oo!'
She turned and ran. I called after her, 'It's too hot and too
far! I'll give it to you!' She stopped and we walked back together,
holding hands, round the vallum of the Castle.
The house where the sale was to take place stands a little
way south of Faringdon - a Queen Anne mansion of red
brick and white-painted sash windows, tile-roofed, with a
deep, plastered cornice overhung on one side by a magnolia
tree. A policeman was directing cars into a meadow opposite
and a considerable number of people were coming and going
through the high, wrought-iron gates. There were smells of
azalea, trodden grass and here and there a cigar.
'I quite wish it was ours,' I said to Kathe as we crunched
241
over the gravel and stopped to admire the columned and
pedimented doorway.
'Ach, nein! Of course you don't! We'd have to leave
Bull
Banks!'
'It's worth a lot more money than Bull Banks.'
'It may be. But I'd never feel so happy or safe anywhere
else. Bull Banks ist mein Schlossl'
The sale was to be conducted by a local firm of auctioneers
who had put up a marquee on the lawn to one side of the
house. Here, everything except the largest items of furniture
had been set out for viewing. People with catalogues and
pencils were walking between the tables and groups of lots,
conferring and making notes, while in one corner two
cheerful-looking, grey-haired ladies in check aprons were
selling tea and coffee. Altogether a jolly, traditional English
scene. I couldn't help wondering who was going to buy the
house itself. At least that couldn't be taken abroad.
There was no particular hurry for Kathe and me to get
down to serious work, and we spent some time wandering
among the furniture, the silver, linen and bedding and garden
equipment, before applying ourselves seriously to the pottery
and porcelain.
'You know, some of this kitchen stuff's rather nice,' said
Kathe, looking over the job lots of mincing machines, rolling
pins and sugar castors, lumped together with lidded and unlidded
saucepans, brass salvers, iron door-stops and chipped
bowls containing darning-eggs, old fairings, sepia picturepostcards
and worn strings of beads. 'I'd love a tea-cosy
made like a cottage.'
'Gemutlichkeit.'
'I like Gemutlichkeit. I'm gemutlich myself.'
'Never!'
'Well, before we go I may have another look round these
- what did you call them -?'
'Job lots.'
'Job lots. I might even bid for one or two, tomorrow.'
'Well, don't get carried away - it's all too easy at a sale.
Remember the impoverished Deslands. Incidentally, I see
all these have got high lot numbers. That means they won't
242
come up for some time. You'd have to stay over lunch to bid.'
'Well, I may, so. Oh, look, a clockwork flies' tfap, cornplete
with broken spring! Lovely!'
The china section was fully as exciting as the catalogue
had led me to expect. The first thing I saw was a Worcester
blue-scale tea-service, circa 1765.1 stood reverently before it,
noting each detail - the hexagonal teapot stand, the sparrowbeak
milk jug, the lidded sugar-box - and decided to go up
to �1,600. Kathe, who always liked china birds and animals,
had moved on to a pair of owls, backed up by a hawk and a
whip-poor-will.
'Oh, Alan, they really have stolen my heart - thanks to
you and your books! You can't say I haven't learnt anything-'
'I never would -*
'What are they?'
'Chelsea Red Anchor, mid-eighteenth-century. Mr Sprimont's
best. The owls'll go for God knows what, but if you
like we can have a shot at the hawk. We'll go to �800 for
him, shall we?'
'And then we have to sell him?'
' 'Fraid so. Beezness is beezness.'
And indeed there were all too many ladies and gentlemen
present to whom it clearly was. I heard French spoken, and
German. There was a nasty, ruthless atmosphere which
boded, I felt, no good to the honest one-man dealer of
limited capital. As I was meditating on the improbability of
doing much good as a light armoured car amongst all this
heavy panzer, I heard myself greeted by name and turned to
see a Reading dealer called Joe Matthewson, a somewhat
rough diamond whom I had known for several years past
and rather liked. I gave him a wry grin and shrugged my
shoulders, jerking my thumb at the Red Anchor.
'Not a bloody hope, old boy,' said Matthewson cheerfully.
'These buggers, they're all into the ackers - swamp us tomorrow
before we can make two bids. 'Don't know why I
bother to come to these do's, I really don't. Frogs, bloody
Germans comin' over, I dunno -'
'Never mind, Joe; it's a day out. By the way, can I intro243
duce my bloody German wife? Kathe, this is Joe Matthewson,
a fellow pirate.'
'You know, I don't think I would call her a bloody German
exactly,' said Mr Matthewson, shaking hands without the
least embarrassment. 'You mustn't mind me, m' dear, it's
only my proletarian style, y' know. I saw your picture in
the Newbury News week before last, but I don't think that
really did you justice, did it? How are you getting on in the
porcelain racket, eh? Is Alan teaching you all about it, or are
you bored stiff?'
'I'm certainly not bored stiff,' answered Kathe. 'Anything
but. I'd just like to buy it all and not have to sell it again.'
'Oh, you're one of those, are you?' said Mr Matthewson.
'You'll have to grow out of that, m' dear. What you need
for this game is the mentality of a Circassian slave trader.
It doesn't matter how beautiful she is; if getting rid of her's
to your advantage, then get rid of her and never turn a hair.
How much has he really taught you, eh? What's that, I
wonder? No, don't you go telling her, Alan. I want to see
how much this beautiful lady of yours knows.'
He pointed to a Miles Mason dessert service which I had
already spotted. It was a real beauty, with four shell dishes,
four square dishes, twelve plates and a centre dish on corner
legs, decorated with botanical specimens named on the backs.
There were a few chips, but nothing to signify. Kathe, taking
her time, looked at it carefully.
'Well, it is English,' she said. 'I woulds say quite early
nineteenth century -'
'Well done! And what d'you reckon it'll go for?' asked Mr
Matthewson. 'That's all that matters in this game, you know,
ducks.'
'Fifteen hundred pounds, perhaps.'
'I'd say two bloody thousand's more like it,' said Mr
Matthewson, 'with this lot we got in the ring tomorrow.
But you're comin' on very well, love. Alan knows his onions in
more ways than one, I bet.' He squeezed Kathe's arm.
'You know, Joe,' I said, 'if you fancy it, we could pool our
resources over a few items tomorrow and split the profit
later when one of us sells the thing, whatever it is.'
244
'Yeah, good idea, old boy. I'm game. Let's 'ave a crafty
shufti round with that in mind, shall we?'
We agreed to try for a Bow polychrome imperial shepherd
and shepherdess, which I thought we might get for about
�1,500, and a pair of Chelsea Gold Anchor Ranelagh dancers.
'But they'll be all of thirteen hundred, you know,' said Mr
Matthewson. 'In fact, I'd say we'll be lucky to get them at
that.'
We conferred for some minutes longer until I, looking
round for Kathe, found that she seemed to have disappeared.
'You've lost her, old boy,' said Matthewson. 'Not safe to
take yer eye off a girl like that in a place like this, y' know.
No, don't worry,' he added paternally, as though he thought
I might. 'There she is, look, over there in the rough stuff
&n
bsp; section. Funny 'ow women can't resist the rubbish, isn't it?
She'll be the ruin of you, you see if she won't. Only my joke,
ha ha.1
Kathe was again moving down the job lots table, peering
into jugs and bowls, holding cracked cut-glass vases up to
the light and lifting the lids of saucepans with concentration
and a kind of poker-faced nonchalance.
'Well, I reckon I've seen all I need to, Alan,' said Mr
Matthewson. 'What about a jar or two up the road, eh, and a
spot of something for the inner man? What say we put a stop
to your missus wastin' 'er time and repair to some salubrious
hostelry in the vicinity?'
We returned after lunch, but not for long. I had already
made my plans for next day, but for interest's sake accompanied
Joe in his inspection of the furniture, of which
he had better hopes than the ceramics. The house itself
was as beautiful inside as out - though in a sad state of disrepair
- and included a fine oak-panelled drawing-room, with
heavy, folding shutters recessed into the window embrasures.
A Steinway grand was standing by the south window and
Kathe, having coaxed consent from a somewhat detached
lady wearing an orange sash as a sign of authority, sat down
and played for a few minutes, attracting a little crowd.
'Is ze lady for sale wiz ze piano?' inquired a tubby, finickylooking
gentleman with pince-nez and a pointed black beard.
245
'For zis I am pay!' His companions laughed sycophantically.
On the way back we drove through a shower, and one of
the windscreen wipers stopped working. I left the car at the
garage in the village, to be picked up in the morning, and we
strolled home along the lane and up through the shrubbery.
'I love the wild bits of this garden,' said Kathe. 'How tall
the grass is! Who cuts it, Alan, or do you just leave it?'
'Jack'll take his swap to it when he's got a moment. If he
doesn't, I'll have to. I never order him about if I can help
it: fatal with a jobbing gardener as a rule - especially one
who's known you since you were three.'
'What's that, in the grass over there? Oh, it's a tap! Does
it work?' She turned it on. 'Yes, it does, how lovely! Look,
there's a kind of little hollow in the grass underneath it.'
'When Flick and I were small, we were sometimes allowed
to fill that up from the tap on hot days and lie in it.'
'You had a happy childhood, didn't you?'
'Didn't you, my darling?' She made no answer and I
added, 'You've never told me.'
To myself, tired from the day's work and the drive, my
voice seemed to contain a touch of petulance, and inwardly
I drew back from what I had just asked.
Kathe paused for a few moments. Then, with deliberation,
she turned and faced me in the long grass.
'Very well. I'll tell you all about myself if you like. Everything.
Before I met you.'
I returned her gaze uncertainly, and she stood laughing,
saying nothing more to help me to a reply; teasing me, aware
of the flooding of my hesitation and confusion even before
I had recognized them in myself.
'Come on,' she said. 'Let's sit down. Here, on the grass.'
And she knelt at my feet, reaching up her hands to take mine
and draw me down beside her.
Suddenly I understood that the ignorance with which I
had always been content rested not, as I had vaguely supposed,
upon my indulgence of her reticence, upon delicacy,
good manners or even upon that special wonder, shot with
awe, which filled me even when I lay dominant in her embrace.
These had indeed played their part; but deeper still,
246
and far stronger, was plain jealousy. I was not indifferent to
her past: I hated it as an intruder, a rival. I wanted to remain
untaught where she had lived, what she had done,
whom she might have known - much less loved - before we
met. I had supposed that I was magnanimous in refraining
from questions; but that bluff - that self-bluff - she had now
called. And she already knew what I was going to reply.
'fto!' I said quickly. And then, realizing that I had spoken
sharply, almost harshly, like someone trying to deny bad
news or an accusation, I laughed in my turn and went on,
kissing her up-stretched hands, 'You were foam-born at
Paphos. I know - I was there. You haven't got a past, my
Kathe.'
'Ach, nein, but I will tell you! Come on, Alan, you're not
frightened ?'
'What on earth could I be frightened of? Well, then, perhaps
later to-night, darling - or even some other night. But
look, just let me turn the tap off. 'Mustn't have all that water
The Girl in a Swing Page 28
