I came towards Lower Binfield over Chamford Hill. There are four roads into Lower Binfield, and it would have been more direct to gh Walton. But I』d wao e over Chamford Hill, the way we used to go when we biked home from fishing ihames. When you get just past the of the hill the trees open out and you see Lower Binfield lying in the valley below you.
It』s a queer experieo go over a bit of try you haven』t seen iy years. You remember it i detail, and you remember it all wrong. All the distances are different, and the landmarks seem to have moved about. You keep feeling, surely this hill used to be a lot steeper—surely that turning was oher side of the road? And oher hand you』ll have memories which are perfectly accurate, but whily belong to one particular occasion. You』ll remember, for instance, a er of a field, on a wet day in winter, with the grass so green that it』s almost blue, and a rotten gatepost covered with li and a cow standing in the grass and looking at you. And you』ll go back after twenty years and be surprised because the cow isn』t standing in the same plad looking at you with the same expression.
As I drove up Chamford Hill I realized that the picture I』d had of it in my mind was almost entirely imaginary. But it was a fact that certain things had ged. The road was tarmac, whereas in the old days it used to be macadam (I remember the bumpy feeling of it uhe bike), and it seemed to have got a lot wider. And there were far less trees. In the old days there used to be huge beeches growing in the hedgerows, and in places their boughs met across the road and made a kind of arow they were all gone. I』d nearly got to the top of the hill when I came on something which was certainly o the right of the road there was a whole lot of fake-picturesque houses, with ing eaves and rose pergolas and what-not. You know the kind of houses that are just a little too high-class to stand in a row, and so they』re dotted about in a kind of y, with private roads leading up to them. And at the entrao one of the private roads there was a huge white board which said:
THE KENNELS
PEDIGREE SEALYHAM PUPS
DOGS BOARDED
Surely THAT usen』t to be there?
I thought for a moment. Yes, I remembered! Where those houses stood there used to be a little oak plantation, and the trees grew too close together, so that they were very tall and thin, and in spring the ground underh them used to be smothered in anemones. Certainly there were never any houses as far out of the town as this.
I got to the top of the hill. Another minute and Lower Binfield would be in sight. Lower Binfield! Why should I pretend I wased? At the very thought of seeing it again araordinary feeling that started in my guts crept upwards and did something to my heart. Five seds more and I』d be seeing it. Yes, here we are! I declutched, trod on the foot-brake, and—Jesus!
Oh, yes, I know you knew what was ing. But I didn』t. You say I was a bloody fool not to expect it, and so I was. But it hadn』t even occurred to me.
The first question was, where WAS Lower Binfield?
I don』t mean that it had been demolished. It had merely been swallowed. The thing I was looking down at was a good-sized manufacturing town. I remember—Gosh, how I remember! and in this case I don』t think my memory is far out—what Lower Binfield used to look like from the top of Chamford Hill. I suppose the High Street was about a quarter of a mile long, and except for