222 THE CHANGE 



those springs and summers of boyhood 

 we fished, never catching anything bigger 

 than a small roach or dace. We used to 

 argue about the merits of different baits: 

 aniseed paste, small boiled potatoes, brand- 

 ling worms and broad beans. Do you 

 know what that pond is like now ? " he 

 cried, tragic eyes looking into mine. " All 

 the people from the suburbs have cast their 

 unwanted cats and split boots into the 

 water. There are no fish in it now, not 

 even an eft remains to float to the surface, 

 turn over and show a stain of fire as he 

 swims to the bottom. Everything is dead, 

 dead! When the sun slants through the 

 trees at its edge, you can see the blur of rust- 

 ing tins and papers deep underneath. But 

 in those days it was beautiful and beloved 

 of a wandering kingfisher. By the shallow 

 drinking-place the cattle came down to 

 ponder, as with soft stare they stood in the 

 mud. Sometimes a bullfinch came, and a 

 turtle dove from the hawthorn : all the 



