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said Shoesmith。
〃Shut it；〃 said Naylor modestly。
〃Exactly；〃 said Cossington。 〃That gives us three features；〃
touching them off on his fingers； 〃Epigram； Literary Section；
Sports。 Then we want a section to shove anything into； a joke； a
notice of anything that's going on。 So on。 Our Note Book。〃
〃Oh； Hell！〃 said Britten； and clashed his boots； to the silent
disapproval of every one。
〃Then we want an editorial。〃
〃A WHAT？〃 cried Britten； with a note of real terror in his voice。
〃Well； don't we？ Unless we have our Note Book to begin on the front
page。 It gives a scrappy effect to do that。 We want something
manly and straightforward and a bit thoughtful； about Patriotism；
say； or ESPRIT DE CORPS； or After…Life。〃
I looked at Britten。 Hitherto we had not considered Cossington
mattered very much in the world。
He went over us as a motor…car goes over a dog。 There was a sort of
energy about him； a new sort of energy to us； we had never realised
that anything of the sort existed in the world。 We were hopelessly
at a disadvantage。 Almost instantly we had developed a clear and
detailed vision of a magazine made up of everything that was most
acceptable in the magazines that flourished in the adult world about
us； and had determined to make it a success。 He had by a kind of
instinct； as it were； synthetically plagiarised every successful
magazine and breathed into this dusty mixture the breath of life。
He was elected at his own suggestion managing director； with the
earnest support of Shoesmith and Naylor； and conducted the magazine
so successfully and brilliantly that he even got a whole back page
of advertisements from the big sports shop in Holborn； and made the
printers pay at the same rate for a notice of certain books of their
own which they said they had inserted by inadvertency to fill up
space。 The only literary contribution in the first number was a
column by Topham in faultless stereotyped English in depreciation of
some fancied evil called Utilitarian Studies and ending with that
noble old quotation：
〃To the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome。〃
And Flack crowded us out of number two with a bright little paper on
the 〃Humours of Cricket；〃 and the Head himself was profusely
thoughtful all over the editorial under the heading of 〃The School
Chapel； and How it Seems to an Old Boy。〃
Britten and I found it difficult to express to each other with any
grace or precision what we felt about that magazine。
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
ADOLESCENCE
1
I find it very difficult to trace how form was added to form and
interpretation followed interpretation in my ever…spreading； ever…
deepening； ever…multiplying and enriching vision of this world into
which I had been born。 Every day added its impressions； its hints；
its subtle explications to the growing understanding。 Day after day
the living interlacing threads of a mind weave together。 Every
morning now for three weeks and more （for to…day is Thursday and I
started on a Tuesday） I have been trying to convey some idea of the
factors and early influences by which my particular scrap of
subjective tapestry was shaped； to show the child playing on the
nursery floor； the son perplexed by his mother； gazing aghast at his
dead father； exploring interminable suburbs； touched by first
intimations of the sexual mystery； coming in with a sort of confused
avidity towards the centres of the life of London。 It is only by
such an effort to write it down that one realises how marvellously
crowded； how marvellously analytical and synthetic those ears must
be。 One begins with the little child to whom the sky is a roof of
blue； the world a screen of opaque and disconnected facts； the home
a thing eternal； and 〃being good〃 just simple obedience to
unquestioned authority； and one comes at last to the vast world of
one's adult perception； pierced deep by flaring searchlights of
partial understanding； here masked by mists； here refracted and
distorted through half translucent veils； here showing broad
prospects and limitless vistas and here impenetrably dark。
I recall phases of deep speculation； doubts and even prayers by
night； and strange occasions when by a sort of hypnotic
contemplation of nothingness I sought to pierce the web of
appearances about me。 It is hard to measure these things in
receding perspective； and now I cannot trace； so closely has mood
succeeded and overlaid and obliterated mood； the phases by which an
utter horror of death was replaced by the growing realisation of its
necessity and dignity。 Difficulty of the imagination with infinite
space； infinite time； entangled my mind； and moral distress for the
pain and suffering of bygone ages that made all thought of
reformation in the future seem but the grimmest irony upon now
irreparable wrongs。 Many an intricate perplexity of these
broadening years did not so much get settled as cease to matter。
Life crowded me away from it。
I have confessed myself a temerarious theologian； and in that
passage from boyhood to manhood I ranged widely in my search for
some permanently satisfying Truth。 That； too； ceased after a time
to be urgently interesting。 I came at last into a phase that
endures to this day； of absolute tranquillity； of absolute
confidence in whatever that Incomprehensible Comprehensive which
must needs be the substratum of all things； may be。 Feeling OF IT；
feeling BY IT； I cannot feel afraid of it。 I think I had got quite
clearly and finally to that adjustment long before my Cambridge days
were done。 I am sure that the evil in life is transitory and finite
like an accident or distress in the nursery； that God is my Father
and that I may trust Him； even though life hurts so that one must
needs cry out at it； even though it shows no consequence but
failure； no promise but pain。 。 。 。
But while I was fearless of theology I must confess it was
comparatively late before I faced and dared to probe the secrecies
of sex。 I was afraid of sex。 I had an instinctive perception that
it would be a large and difficult thing in my life； but my early
training was all in the direction of regarding it as an irrelevant
thing； as something disconnected from all the broad significances of
life； as hostile and disgraceful in its quality。 The world was
never so emasculated in thought； I suppose； as it was in the
Victorian time。 。 。 。
I was afraid to think either of sex or （what I have always found
inseparable from a kind of sexual emotion） beauty。 Even as a boy I
knew the thing as a haunting and alluring mystery that I tried to
keep away from。 Its dim presence obsessed me none the less for
all the extravagant decency； the stimulating silences of my
upbringing。 。 。 。
The plaster Venuses and Apollos that used to adorn the vast aisle
and huge grey terraces of the Crystal Palace were the first
intimations of the beauty of the body that ever came into my life。
As I write of it I feel again the shameful attraction of those
gracious forms。 I used to look at them not simply； but curiously
and askance。 Once at least in my later days at Penge； I spent a
shilling in admission chiefly for the sake of them。 。 。 。
The strangest thing of all my odd and solitary upbringing seems to
me now that swathing up of all the splendours of the flesh； that
strange combination of fanatical terrorism and shyness that fenced
me about with prohibitions。 It caused me to grow up； I will not say
blankly ignorant； but with an ignorance blurred and dishonoured by
shame； by enigmatical warnings； by cultivated aversions； an
ignorance in which a fascinated curiosity and desire struggled like
a thing in a net。 I knew so little and I felt so much。 There was
indeed no Aphrodite at all in