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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 underneath 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 wasn’t excited？ at the very thought of seeing it again an extraordinary feeling that started in my guts crept upwards and did something to my heart。 five seconds 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 can 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 a few outlying houses the town was roughly the shape of a cross。 the chief landmarks were the church tower and the chimney of the brewery。 at this moment i couldn’t distinguish either of them。 all i could see was an enormous river of brand…new houses which flowed along the valley in both directions and half…way up the hills on either side。 over to the right there were what looked like several acres of bright red roofs all exactly alike。 a big council housing estate； by the look of it。
but where was lower binfield？ where was the town i used to know？ it might have been anywhere。 all i knew was that it was buried somewhere in the middle of that sea of bricks。 of the five or six factory chimneys that i could see； i couldn’t even make a guess at which belonged to the brewery。 towards the eastern end of the town there were two enormous factories of glass and concrete。 that accounts for the growth of the town； i thought； as i began to take it in。 it occurred to me that the population of this place （it used to be about two thousand in the old days） must be a good twenty…five thousand。 the only thing that hadn’t changed； seemingly； was binfield house。 it wasn’t much more than a dot at that distance； but you could see it on the hillside opposite； with the beech trees round it； and the town hadn’t climbed that high。 as i looked a fleet of black bombing planes came over the hill and zoomed across the town。
i shoved the clutch in and started slowly down the hill。 the houses had climbed half…way up it。 you know those very cheap small houses which run up a hillside in one continuous row； with the roofs rising one above the other like a flight of steps； all exactly the same。 but a little before i got to the houses i stopped again。 on the left of the road there was something else that was quite new。 the cemetery。 i stopped opposite the lych… gate to have a look at it。
it was enormous； twenty acres； i should think。 there’s always a kind of jumped…up unhomelike look about a new cemetery； with its raw gravel paths and its rough green sods； and the machine…made marble angels that look like something off a wedding…cake。 but what chiefly struck me at the moment was that in the old days this place hadn’t existed。 there was no separate cemetery then； only the churchyard。 i could vaguely remember the farmer these fields used to belong to—blackett； his name was； and he was a dairy… farmer。 and somehow the raw look of the place brought it home to me how things have changed。 it wasn’t only that the town had grown so vast that they needed twenty acres to dump their corpses in。 it was their putting the cemetery out here； on the edge of the town。 have you noticed that they always do that nowadays？ every new town puts its cemetery on the outskirts。 shove it away—keep it out of sight！ can’t bear to be reminded of death。 even the tombstones tell you the same story。 they never say that the chap underneath them ‘died’； it’s always ‘passed away’ or ‘fell asleep’。 it wasn’t so in the old days。 we had our churchyard plumb in the middle of the town； you passed it every day； you saw the spot where your grandfather was lying and where some day you were going to lie yourself。 we didn’t mind looking at the dead。 in hot weather； i admit； we also had to smell them； because some of the family vaults weren’t too well sealed。
i let the car run down the hill slowly。 queer！ you can’t imagine how queer！ all the way down the hill i was seeing ghosts； chiefly the ghosts of hedges and trees and cows。 it was as if i was looking at two worlds at once； a kind of thin bubble of the thing that used to be； with the thing that actually existed shining through it。 there’s the field where the bull chased ginger rodgers！ and there’s the place where the horse…mushrooms used to grow！ but there weren’t any fields or any bulls or any mushrooms。 it was houses； houses everywhere； little raw red houses with their grubby window…curtains and their scraps of back…garden that hadn’t anything in them except a patch of rank grass or a few larkspurs struggling among the weeds。 and blokes walking up and down； and women shaking out mats； and snotty…nosed kids playing along the pavement。 all strangers！ they’d all e crowding in while my back was turned。 and yet it was they who’d have looked on me as a stranger； they didn’t know anything about the old lower binfield； they’d never heard of shooter and wetherall； or mr grimmett and uncle ezekiel； and cared less； you bet。
it’s funny how quickly one adjusts。 i suppose it was five minutes since i’d halted at the top of the hill； actually a bit out of breath at the thought of seeing lower binfield again。 and already i’d got used to the idea that lower binfield had been swallowed up and buried like the lost cities of peru。 i braced up and faced it。 after all； what else do you expect？ towns have got to grow； people have got to live somewhere。 besides； the old town hadn’t been annihilated。 somewhere or other it still existed； though it had houses round it instead of fields。 in a few minutes i’d be seeing it again； the church and the brewery chimney and father’s shop… window and the horse…trough in the market…place。 i got to the bottom of the hill； and the road forked。 i took the left…hand turning； and a minute later i was lost。
i could remember nothing。 i couldn’t even remember whether it was hereabouts that the town used to begin。 all i knew was that in the old days this street hadn’t existed。 for hundreds of yards i was running along it—a rather mean； shabby kind of street； with the houses giving straight on the pavement and here and there a corner grocery or a dingy little pub—and wondering where the hell it led to。 finally i pulled up beside a woman in a dirty apron and no hat who was walking down the pavement。 i stuck my head out of the w