62 MOSTLY ABOUT TROUT 



a salmon jump in a deep, turbulent run at 

 the head of a glorious pool. 



What a holiday ! Yesterday, a run in a 

 car down the Torridge Valley to Bideford and 

 Barnstaple. The historic bridge over Tor- 

 ridge at Bideford. Appledore. The junction 

 of the Taw and Torridge. The faint blue 

 outline of Lundy Island in the distance out 

 to seaward. Bideford again, on the way home, 

 and a few minutes spent in the old church, 

 with the evening light making the brilliant 

 eastern windows sparkle like jewels in contrast 

 with the dark interior. We had the good 

 fortune to have rested in the church at a 

 time when some unknown lady was practising 

 upon the wonderful organ and filling the 

 church with the sweetness of sounds indescrib- 

 able as the colours of a sunset sky. 



To-day's delights I have described* To- 

 morrow, London again, for work at the hub 

 of affairs, in a Whitehall office where the threads 

 of policy are collected. But besides the red 

 and black ink, the stationery, and the traditional 

 red-tape, there will be on my table a consoler, 

 a bunch of wild daffodils from the banks of the 

 Torridge, and the memory of the North Devon 

 holiday will long survive them. 



