town。 but it isn’t that at all。 i don’t mind towns growing； so long as they do grow and don’t merely spread like gravy over a tablecloth。 i know that people have got to have somewhere to live； and that if a factory isn’t in one place it’ll be in another。 as for the picturesqueness； the sham countrified stuff； the oak panels and pewter dishes and copper warming…pans and what… not； it merely gives me the sick。 whatever we were in the old days； we weren’t picturesque。 mother would never have seen any sense in the antiques that wendy had filled our house with。 she didn’t like gateleg tables—she said they ‘caught your legs’。 as for pewter； she wouldn’t have it in the house。 ‘nasty greasy stuff’； she called it。 and yet； say what you like； there was something that we had in those days and haven’t got now； something that you probably can’t have in a streamlined milk…bar with the radio playing。 i’d e back to look for it； and i hadn’t found it。 and yet somehow i half believe in it even now； when i hadn’t yet got my teeth in and my belly was crying out for an aspirin and a cup of tea。
and that started me thinking again about the pool at binfield house。 after seeing what they’d done to the town； i’d had a feeling you could only describe as fear about going to see whether the pool still existed。 and yet it might； there was no knowing。 the town was smothered under red brick； our house was full of wendy and her junk； the thames was poisoned with motor…oil and paper bags。 but maybe the pool was still there； with the great black fish still cruising round it。 maybe； even； it was still hidden in the woods and from that day to this no one had discovered it existed。 it was quite possible。 it was a very thick bit of wood； full of brambles and rotten brushwood （the beech trees gave way to oaks round about there； which made the undergrowth thicker）； the kind of place most people don’t care to penetrate。 queerer things have happened。
i didn’t start out till late afternoon。 it must have been about half past four when i took the car out and drove on to the upper binfield road。 half…way up the hill the houses thinned out and stopped and the beech trees began。 the road forks about there and i took the right…hand fork； meaning to make a detour round and e back to binfield house on the road。 but presently i stopped to have a look at the copse i was driving through。 the beech trees seemed just the same。 lord； how they were the same！ i backed the car on to a bit of grass beside the road； under a fall of chalk； and got out and walked。 just the same。 the same stillness； the same great beds of rustling leaves that seem to go on from year to year without rotting。 not a creature stirring except the small birds in the tree…tops which you couldn’t see。 it wasn’t easy to believe that that great noisy mess of a town was barely three miles away。 i began to make my way through the little copse； in the direction of binfield house。 i could vaguely remember how the paths went。 and lord！ yes！ the same chalk hollow where the black hand went and had catapult shots； and sid lovegrove told us how babies were born； the day i caught my first fish； pretty near forty years ago！
as the trees thinned out again you could see the other road and the wall of binfield house。 the old rotting wooden fence was gone； of course； and they’d put up a high brick wall with spikes on top； such as you’d expect to see round a loony…bin。 i’d puzzled for some time about how to get into binfield house until finally it had struck me that i’d only to tell them my wife was mad and i was looking for somewhere to put her。 after that they’d be quite ready to show me round the grounds。 in my new suit i probably looked prosperous enough to have a wife in a private asylum。 it wasn’t till i was actually at the gate that it occurred to me to wonder whether the pool was still inside the grounds。
the old grounds of binfield house had covered fifty acres； i suppose； and the grounds of the loony…bin weren’t likely to be more than five or ten。 they wouldn’t want a great pool of water for the loonies to drown themselves in。 the lodge； where old hodges used to live； was the same as ever； but the yellow brick wall and the huge iron gates were new。 from the glimpse i got through the gates i wouldn’t have known the place。 gravel walks； flower…beds； lawns； and a few aimless…looking types wandering about—loonies； i suppose。 i strolled up the road to the right。 the pool—the big pool； the one where i used to fish—was a couple of hundred yards behind the house。 it might have been a hundred yards before i got to the corner of the wall。 so the pool was outside the grounds。 the trees seemed to have got much thinner。 i could hear children’s voices。 and gosh！ there was the pool。
i stood for a moment； wondering what had happened to it。 then i saw what it was—all the trees were gone from round its edge。 it looked all bare and different； in fact it looked extraordinarily like the round pond in kensington gardens。 kids were playing all round the edge； sailing boats and paddling； and a few rather older kids were rushing about in those little canoes which you work by turning a handle。 over to the left； where the old rotting boat… house used to stand among the reeds； there was a sort of pavilion and a sweet kiosk； and a huge white notice saying upper binfield model yacht club。
i looked over to the right。 it was all houses； houses； houses。 one might as well have been in the outer suburbs。 all the woods that used to grow beyond the pool； and grew so thick that they were like a kind of tropical jungle； had been shaved flat。 only a few clumps of trees still standing round the houses。 there were arty… looking houses； another of those sham…tudor colonies like the one i’d seen the first day at the top of chamford hill； only more so。 what a fool i’d been to imagine that these woods were still the same！ i saw how it was。 there was just the one tiny bit of copse； half a dozen acres perhaps； that hadn’t been cut down； and it was pure chance that i’d walked through it on my way here。 upper binfield； which had been merely a name in the old days； had grown into a decent…sized town。 in fact it was merely an outlying chunk of lower binfield。
i wandered up to the edge of the pool。 the kids were splashing about and making the devil of a noise。 there seemed to be swarms of them。 the water looked kind of dead。 no fish in it now。 there was a chap standing watching the kids。 he was an oldish chap with a bald head and a few tufts of white hair； and pince…nez and very sunburnt face。 there was something vaguely queer about his appearance。 he was wearing shorts and sandals and one of those celanese shirts open at the neck； i noticed； but what really struck me was the look in his eye。 he had very blue eyes that kind of twinkled at you from behind his spectacles。 i could see that he was one of those old men who’ve never grown up。 they’re always either health…food cranks or else they have something to do with the boy scouts—in either case they’re great ones for nature and the open air。 he was looking at me as if he’d like to speak。
‘upper binfield’s grown a great deal；’ i said。
he twinkled at me。
‘grown！ my dear sir； we never allow upper binfield to grow。 we pride ourselves on being rather exceptional people up here； you know。 just a little colony of us all by ourselves。 no interlopers—te…hee！’
‘i mean pared with before the war；’ i said。 ‘i used to live here as a boy。’
‘oh…ah。 no doubt。 that was before my time； of course。 but the upper binfield estate is something rather special in the way of building estates； you know。 quite a little world of its own。 all designed by young edward watkin； the architect。 you’ve heard of him； of course。 we live in the midst of nature up here。 no connexion with the town down there’—he waved a hand in the direction of lower binfield—‘the dark satanic mills—te…hee！’
he had a benevolent old chuckle； and a way of wrinkling his face up； like a rabbit。 immediately； as though i’d asked him； he began telling me all about the upper binfield estate and young edward watkin； the architect； who had such a feeling for the tudor； and was such a wonderful fellow at finding genuine elizabethan beams in old farmhouses and buying them at ridiculous prices。 and such an interesting young fellow； quite the life and soul of the nudist parties。 he repeated a number of times that they were very exceptional people in upper binfield； quite different from lower binfield； they were determined to enrich the countryside instead of defiling it （i’m using his own phrase）； and there weren’t any public houses on the estate。
‘they talk of their garden cities。 but we call upper binfield the woodland city—te…hee！ nature！’ he waved a hand at what was left of the trees。 ‘the primeval forest brooding round us。 our young people grow up amid surroundings of natural beauty。 we are nearly all of us enlightened people； of course。 would you credit that three…quarters of us up here are vegetarians？ the local butchers don’t like us at all—te…hee！ and some quite eminent people live here。 miss helena thurloe； the novelist—you’ve heard of her； of course。 and professor woad； the psychi