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all over me and the Agricultural Chemistry Class at six！ Bah！
AAAAAAH！〃
My mother would never learn not to attempt to break him of swearing
on such occasions。 She would remain standing a little stiffly in
the scullery refusing to assist him to the adjectival towel he
sought。
〃If you say such things〃
He would dance with rage and hurl the soap about。 〃The towel！〃 he
would cry； flicking suds from big fingers in every direction； 〃the
towel！ I'll let the blithering class slide if you don't give me the
towel！ I'll give up everything； I tell youeverything！〃 。 。 。
At last with the failure of the lettuces came the breaking point。 I
was in the little arbour learning Latin irregular verbs when it
happened。 I can see him still； his peculiar tenor voice still
echoes in my brain； shouting his opinion of intensive culture for
all the world to hear； and slashing away at that abominable mockery
of a crop with a hoe。 We had tied them up with bast only a week or
so before； and now half were rotten and half had shot up into tall
slender growths。 He had the hoe in both hands and slogged。 Great
wipes he made； and at each stroke he said； 〃Take that！〃
The air was thick with flying fragments of abortive salad。 It was a
fantastic massacre。 It was the French Revolution of that cold
tyranny； the vindictive overthrow of the pampered vegetable
aristocrats。 After he had assuaged his passion upon them； he turned
for other prey； he kicked holes in two of our noblest marrows；
flicked off the heads of half a row of artichokes； and shied the hoe
with a splendid smash into the cucumber frame。 Something of the awe
of that moment returns to me as I write of it。
Well； my boy；〃 he said； approaching with an expression of beneficent
happiness； 〃I've done with gardening。 Let's go for a walk like
reasonable beings。 I've had enough of this〃his face was convulsed
for an instant with bitter resentment〃 Pandering to cabbages。〃
4
That afternoon's walk sticks in my memory for many reasons。 One is
that we went further than I had ever been before； far beyond Keston
and nearly to Seven…oaks； coming back by train from Dunton Green；
and the other is that my father as he went along talked about
himself； not so much to me as to himself； and about life and what he
had done with it。 He monologued so that at times he produced an
effect of weird world…forgetfulness。 I listened puzzled； and at
that time not upderstanding many things that afterwards became plain
to me。 It is only in recent years that I have discovered the pathos
of that monologue； how friendless my father was and uncompanioned in
his thoughts and feelings； and what a hunger he may have felt for
the sympathy of the undeveloped youngster who trotted by his side。
〃I'm no gardener；〃 he said； 〃I'm no anything。 Why the devil did I
start gardening？
〃I suppose man was created to mind a garden。 。 。 But the Fall let
us out of that！ What was I created for？ God！ what was I created
for？ 。 。 。
〃Slaves to matter！ Minding inanimate things！ It doesn't suit me；
you know。 I've got no hands and no patience。 I've mucked about
with life。 Mucked about with life。〃 He suddenly addressed himself
to me； and for an instant I started like an eavesdropper discovered。
〃Whatever you do； boy； whatever you do； make a Plan。 Make a good
Plan and stick to it。 Find out what life is aboutI never have
and set yourself to do whatever you ought to do。 I admit it's a
puzzle。 。 。 。
〃Those damned houses have been the curse of my life。 Stucco white
elephants！ Beastly cracked stucco with stains of greenblack and
green。 Conferva and soot。 。 。 。 Property； they are！ 。 。 。 Beware
of Things； Dick； beware of Things！ Before you know where you are
you are waiting on them and minding them。 They'll eat your life up。
Eat up your hours and your blood and energy！ When those houses came
to me； I ought to have sold themor fled the country。 I ought to
have cleared out。 Sarcophagieaters of men！ Oh！ the hours and
days of work； the nights of anxiety those vile houses have cost me！
The painting！ It worked up my arms； it got all over me。 I stank of
it。 It made me ill。 It isn't livingit's minding。 。 。 。
〃Property's the curse of life。 Property！ Ugh！ Look at this
country all cut up into silly little parallelograms； look at all
those villas we passed just now and those potato patches and that
tarred shanty and the hedge！ Somebody's minding every bit of it
like a dog tied to a cart's tail。 Patching it and bothering about
it。 Bothering！ Yapping at every passer…by。 Look at that notice…
board！ One rotten worried little beast wants to keep us other
rotten little beasts off HIS patch；God knows why！ Look at the
weeds in it。 Look at the mended fence！ 。 。 。 There's no property
worth having； Dick； but money。 That's only good to spend。 All
these things。 Human souls buried under a cartload of blithering
rubbish。 。 。 。
〃I'm not a fool； Dick。 I have qualities； imagination； a sort of go。
I ought to have made a better thing of life。
〃I'm sure I could have done things。 Only the old people pulled my
leg。 They started me wrong。 They never started me at all。 I only
began to find out what life was like when I was nearly forty。
〃If I'd gone to a university； if I'd had any sort of sound training；
if I hadn't slipped into the haphazard places that came easiest。 。 。 。
〃Nobody warned me。 Nobody。 It isn't a world we live in； Dick； it's
a cascade of accidents； it's a chaos exasperated by policemen！ YOU
be warned in time； Dick。 You stick to a plan。 Don't wait for any
one to show you the way。 Nobody will。 There isn't a way till you
make one。 Get education； get a good education。 Fight your way to
the top。 It's your only chance。 I've watched you。 You'll do no
good at digging and property minding。 There isn't a neighbour in
Bromstead won't be able to skin you at suchlike games。 You and I
are the brainy unstable kind； topside or nothing。 And if ever those
blithering houses come to youdon't have 'em。 Give them away！
Dynamite 'emand off！ LIVE； Dick！ I'll get rid of them for you if
I can； Dick； but remember what I say。〃 。 。 。
So it was my father discoursed； if not in those particular words；
yet exactly in that manner； as he slouched along the southward road；
with resentful eyes becoming less resentful as he talked； and
flinging out clumsy illustrative motions at the outskirts of
Bromstead as we passed along them。 That afternoon he hated
Bromstead； from its foot…tiring pebbles up。 He had no illusions
about Bromstead or himself。 I have the clearest impression of him
in his garden…stained tweeds with a deer…stalker hat on the back of
his head and presently a pipe sometimes between his teeth and
sometimes in his gesticulating hand； as he became diverted by his
talk from his original exasperation。 。 。 。
This particular afternoon is no doubt mixed up in my memory with
many other afternoons； all sorts of things my father said and did at
different times have got themselves referred to it； it filled me at
the time with a great unprecedented sense of fellowship and it has
become the symbol now for all our intercourse together。 If I didn't
understand the things he said； I did the mood he was in。 He gave me
two very broad ideas in that talk and the talks I have mingled with
it； he gave them to me very clearly and they have remained
fundamental in my mind； one a sense of the extraordinary confusion
and waste and planlessness of the human life that went on all about
us； and the other of a great ideal of order and economy which he
called variously Science and Civilisation； and which； though I do
not remember that he ever used that word； I suppose many people
nowadays would identify with Socialism；as the Fabians