CLEAR WATERS 



in that it was aroused by any sample of the one type of 

 country and as indiscriminately repelled by the other. 

 Just before the summer holidays, after which I was 

 going to a public school, I heard to my delight that 

 instead of the usual move to Switzerland of my 

 parents we were going en famille to North Wales. 

 Visions of real mountains, of lakes and streams, visions 

 partly romantic and partly trouty rose gloriously 

 before me. I fairly shivered as it occurred to me that 

 Norfolk or the Isle of Wight might for strong reasons 

 have been the alternative. Marvellous to relate, too, 

 came a maternal intimation that my father had some 

 idea of taking up trout-fishing and that I was at once 

 to choose him a rod. It appears that my boyish 

 ardour had proved infectious in a most unsuspected 

 quarter. So an order was dispatched to Bowden of 

 Exeter, and when the samples came a committee of 

 three, the rector in the chair, myself, and another, 

 undertook the selection of a rod for a middle-aged 

 academic dignitary who had never even seen a fly 

 thrown. I hope I may be forgiven for an ulterior 

 interest in that rod. It was impossible to resist the 

 conviction that it would in no long time be mine, 

 which indeed proved correct and I used it for years. 

 Indeed the rector I am sure privately shared these 

 unworthy anticipations, for he winked quite obviously 

 as he gave his casting vote for a serviceable little rod 

 * very like my own.' 



Llanfairfechan, a small place in those days, proved 



to be our prospective headquarters, and as we sped 



along the Holyhead line towards it I watched the hills 



growing into real mountains with profound exaltation. 



26 



