Agahta Christie - An autobiography Part 5

The next excitement was going to bed in the train. I shared a compartment with my mother and was hoisted up on to the top bunk. My mother always had a pa.s.sion for fresh air, and the steam heat of the wagon lits wagon lits carriages was agony to her. All that night it seemed to me I woke up to see mother with the window pushed down and her head out, breathing great gasps of night air. carriages was agony to her. All that night it seemed to me I woke up to see mother with the window pushed down and her head out, breathing great gasps of night air.

Early the next morning we arrived at Pau. The Hotel Beausejour bus was waiting so we piled into it, our eighteen pieces of luggage coming separately, and in due course arrived at the hotel. It had a large terrace outside it facing the Pyrenees.

'There!' said father. 'See? There are the Pyrenees. The snow mountains.'

I looked. It was one of the great disillusionments of my life, a disillusionment that I have never forgotten. Where was that soaring height going up, up, up into the sky, far above my headsomething beyond contemplation or understanding? Instead, I saw, some distance away on the horizon, what looked like a row of teeth standing up, it seemed, about an inch or two from the plain below. Those? Those? Were those Were those mountains? mountains? I said nothing, but even now I can still feel that terrible disappointment. I said nothing, but even now I can still feel that terrible disappointment.

II

We must have spent about six months at Pau. It was an entirely new life for me. My father and mother and Madge were soon caught up in a whirl of activity. Father had several American friends staying there, he made a lot of hotel acquaintances, and we also had brought letters of introduction to people in various hotels and pensions.

To look after me, mother engaged a kind of daily nursery governessactually an English girl, but one who had lived in Pau all her life and who spoke French as easily as English, if not, in fact, rather better. The idea was that I should learn French from her. This plan did not turn out as expected. Miss Markham called for me every morning and took me for a walk. In its course she drew my attention to various objects and repeated their names in French. 'Un chien.' Une maison.' 'Un gendarme.' 'Le boulanger.' 'Un chien.' Une maison.' 'Un gendarme.' 'Le boulanger.' I repeated these dutifully, but naturally when I had a question to ask I asked it in English and Miss Markham replied in English. As far as I can remember I was rather bored during my day; interminable walks in the company of Miss Markham, who was nice, kind, conscientious and dull. I repeated these dutifully, but naturally when I had a question to ask I asked it in English and Miss Markham replied in English. As far as I can remember I was rather bored during my day; interminable walks in the company of Miss Markham, who was nice, kind, conscientious and dull.

My mother soon decided that I should never learn French with Miss Markham, and that I must have regular French lessons from a French-woman who would come every afternoon. The new acquisition was called Mademoiselle Mauhourat. She was large, buxom and dressed in a multiplicity of little capes, brown in colour.

All rooms of that period were overcrowded, of course. There was too much furniture in them, too many ornaments and so on. Mlle Mauhourat was a flouncer. She flounced about the room, jerking her shoulders, gesticulating with her hands and elbows, and sooner or later she invariably knocked an ornament off the table and broke it. It became quite a family joke. Father said, 'She reminds me of that bird you had, Agatha. Daphne. Always big and awkward and knocking her seed pans over.'

Mlle Mauhourat was particularly full of gush, and gush made me feel shy. I found it increasingly difficult to respond to her little cooing squeals of: 'Oh, la chere mignonne! Quelle est gentille, cette pet.i.te! Oh, la chere mignonne! Nous allons prendre des lefons tres amusantes, n'est ce pas?' 'Oh, la chere mignonne! Quelle est gentille, cette pet.i.te! Oh, la chere mignonne! Nous allons prendre des lefons tres amusantes, n'est ce pas?' I looked at her politely but with a cold eye. Then, receiving a firm look from my mother, I muttered unconvincingly, I looked at her politely but with a cold eye. Then, receiving a firm look from my mother, I muttered unconvincingly, 'Oui, merci', 'Oui, merci', which was about the limit of my French at that time. which was about the limit of my French at that time.

The French lessons went on amiably. I was docile as usual, but apparently bone-headed as well. Mother, who liked quick results, was dissatisfied with my progress.

'She's not getting on as she should, Fred,' she complained to my father. My father, always amiable, said, 'Oh, give her time, Clara, give her time. The woman's only been here ten days.'

But my mother was not one to give anybody time. The climax came when I had a slight childish illness. It started, I suppose, with local flu and led to catarrhal trouble. I was feverish, out of sorts, and in this convalescent stage with still a slight temperature I could not stand the sight of Mlle Mauhourat.

'Please,' I would beg, 'please don't let me have a lesson this afternoon. I don't want to.'

Mother was always kind enough when there was real cause. She agreed. In due course Mlle Mauhourat, capes and all, arrived. My mother explained that I had a temperature, was staying indoors, and perhaps it would be better not to have a lesson that day. Mlle Mauhourat was off at once, fluttering over me, jerking her elbows, waving her capes, breathing down my neck. 'Oh, la pauvre mignonne, la pauvre pet.i.te mignonne.' 'Oh, la pauvre mignonne, la pauvre pet.i.te mignonne.' She would read to me, she said. She would tell me stories. She would amuse She would read to me, she said. She would tell me stories. She would amuse 'la pauvre pet.i.te'. 'la pauvre pet.i.te'.

I cast the most agonising glances at mother. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear another moment of it! Mlle Mauhourat's voice went on, high-pitched, squeakyeverything I most disliked in a voice. My eyes implored: 'Take her away. Please take her away.' away.' Firmly, my mother drew Mlle Mauhourat towards the door. Firmly, my mother drew Mlle Mauhourat towards the door.

'I think Agatha had better be kept quite quiet this afternoon,' she said. She ushered Mlle Mauhourat out, then she returned and shook her head at me. 'It's all very well,' she said, 'but you must not make such terrible faces.' faces.'

'Faces?' I said.

'Yes. All that grimacing and looking at me. Mlle Mauhourat could see perfectly that you wanted her to go away.'

I was upset. I had not meant to be impolite.

'But, Mummy,' I said, 'those weren't French French faces that I was making. They were faces that I was making. They were English English faces.' faces.'

My mother was much amused, and explained to me that making faces was a kind of international language which was understood by people of all countries. However, she told my father that Mlle Mauhourat was not being much of a success and she was going to look elsewhere. My father said it would be just as well if we did not lose too many more china ornaments. He added, 'If I were in Agatha's place, I I should find that woman insupportable, just as she does.' should find that woman insupportable, just as she does.'

Freed from the ministrations of Miss Markham and Mlle Mauhourat, I began to enjoy myself. Staying in the hotel was Mrs Selwyn, the widow or perhaps the daughter-in-law of Bishop Selwyn, and her two daughters, Dorothy and Mary. Dorothy (Dar) was a year older than I was, Mary a year younger. Pretty soon we were inseparable.

Left to myself I was a good, well-behaved and obedient child, but in company with other children I was only too ready to engage in any mischief that was going. In particular we three plagued the life out of the unfortunate waiters in the table d'hote. table d'hote. One evening we changed the salt to sugar in all of the salt cellars. Another day we cut pigs out of orange peel and placed them on everyone's plate just before the One evening we changed the salt to sugar in all of the salt cellars. Another day we cut pigs out of orange peel and placed them on everyone's plate just before the table d'hote table d'hote bell was rung. bell was rung.

Those French waiters were the kindliest men I'm ever likely to know. In particular there was Victor, our own waiter. He was a short square man with a long jerking nose. He smelt to my mind, quite horribly (my first acquaintance with garlic). In spite of all the tricks that we played upon him, he seemed to bear no malice and, indeed, went out of his way to be kindly to us. In particular, he used to carve us the most glorious mice out of radishes. If we never got into serious trouble for what we did, it was because the loyal Victor never complained to the management or to our parents.

My friends.h.i.+p with Dar and Mary meant far more to me than any of my former friends.h.i.+ps. Possibly I was now of an age when co-operative enterprise was more exciting than doing things alone. We got up to plenty of mischief together and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly all through those winter months. Of course we often got into trouble through our pranks, but on only one occasion did we really feel righteous indignation at the censure that fell upon us.

My mother and Mrs Selwyn were sitting together happily talking when a message was brought by the chambermaid. 'With the compliments of the Belgian lady who lived in the other block of the hotel. Did Mrs Selwyn and Mrs Miller know that their children were walking round the fourth floor parapet?'

Imagine the senation of the two mothers as they stepped out into the courtyard, looked up and caught sight of three cheerful figures balancing themselves on a parapet about a foot in width and walking along it in single file. The idea that there was any danger attached to it never entered our heads. We had gone a little far in teasing one of the chamber-maids and she had managed to inveigle us into a broom cupboard and then shut the door on us from outside, triumphantly turning the key in the lock. Our indignation was great. What could we do? do? There was a tiny window, and sticking her head out of it Dar said she thought possibly that we could wriggle through and then walk along the parapet, round the corner and get in at one of the windows along there. No sooner said than done. Dar squeezed through first, I followed, and then Mary. To our delight we found it was quite easy to walk along the parapet. Whether we looked down the four storeys below I don't know, but I don't suppose, even if we had, that we would have felt giddy or been likely to fall. I've always been appalled by the way children can stand on the edge of a cliff, looking down with their toes over the edge, with no sense of vertigo or other grown-up complaints. There was a tiny window, and sticking her head out of it Dar said she thought possibly that we could wriggle through and then walk along the parapet, round the corner and get in at one of the windows along there. No sooner said than done. Dar squeezed through first, I followed, and then Mary. To our delight we found it was quite easy to walk along the parapet. Whether we looked down the four storeys below I don't know, but I don't suppose, even if we had, that we would have felt giddy or been likely to fall. I've always been appalled by the way children can stand on the edge of a cliff, looking down with their toes over the edge, with no sense of vertigo or other grown-up complaints.

In this case we had not to go far. The first three windows, as I remember, were shut, but the next one, which led into one of the public bathrooms, was open, and we had gone in through this to be met to our surprise with the demand, 'Come down at once to Mrs Selwyn's sitting-room.' Both mothers were excessively angry. We could not see why. why. We were all banished to bed for the rest of the day. Our defence was simply not accepted. And yet it was the truth. We were all banished to bed for the rest of the day. Our defence was simply not accepted. And yet it was the truth.

'But you never told us,' we said, each in turn. 'You never told us that we weren't weren't to walk round the parapet.' to walk round the parapet.'

We withdrew to bed with a strong feeling of injustice.

Meanwhile, my mother was still considering the problem of my education. She and my sister were having dresses made for them by one of the dressmakers of the town, and there, one day, my mother was attracted by the a.s.sistant fitter, a young woman whose main business was to put the fitted garment on and off and hand pins to the first fitter. This latter was a sharp-tempered, middle-aged woman, and my mother, noticing the patient good-humour of the young girl's manner, decided to find out a little more about her. She watched her during the second and third fitting and finally retained her in conversation. Her name was Marie Sije, she was twenty-two years of age. Her father was a small cafe proprietor and she had an elder sister, also in the dressmaking establishment, two brothers and a little sister. Then my mother took the girl's breath away by asking her in a casual voice if she would care to come to England. Marie gasped her surprise and delight.

'I must of course talk to your mother about it,' said my mother. 'She might not like her daughter to go so far away.'

An appointment was arranged, my mother visited Madame Sije, and they went into the subject thoroughly. Only then did she approach my father on the subject.

'But, Clara,' protested my father, 'this girl isn't a governess or anything anything of that kind.' of that kind.'

My mother replied that she thought Marie was just the person they needed. 'She knows no English at all, not a word of it. Agatha will have have to learn French. She's a really sweet-natured and good-humoured girl. It's a respectable family. The girl would like to come to England and she can do a lot of sewing and dressmaking for us' to learn French. She's a really sweet-natured and good-humoured girl. It's a respectable family. The girl would like to come to England and she can do a lot of sewing and dressmaking for us'

'But are you sure about this, Clara?' my father asked doubtfully. My mother was always sure.

'It's the perfect answer,' she said.

As was so often the case with my mother's apparently unaccountable whims, this proved to be true. If I close my eyes I can see dear Marie today as I saw her then. Round, rosy face, snub nose, dark hair piled up in a chignon. Terrified, as she later told me, she entered my bedroom on the first morning having primed herself by laboriously learning the English phrase with which to greet me: 'Good morning, mees. I hope you are well.' Unfortunately, owing to Marie's accent I did not understand a word. I stared at her suspiciously. We were, for the first day, like a couple of dogs just introduced to each other. We said little and eyed each other in apprehension. Marie brushed my hairvery fair hair always arranged in sausage-curlsand was so frightened of hurting me that she hardly put the brush through the hair at all. I wanted to explain to her that she must brush much harder, but of course it was impossible as I did not know the right words.

How it came about that in less than a week Marie and I were able to converse I do not know. The language used was French. A word here and a word there, and I could make myself understood. Moreover, at the end of the week we were fast friends. Going out with Marie was fun. Doing anything with Marie was fun. It was the beginning of a happy partners.h.i.+p.

In the early summer it grew hot in Pau, and we left, spending a week at Argeles and another at Lourdes, then moving up to Cauterets in the Pyrenees. This was a delightful spot, right at the foot of the mountains. (I had got over my disappointment about mountains now, but although the position at Cauterets was more satisfactory you could not really look a long way up.) Every morning we had a walk along a mountain path which led to the spa, where we all drank gla.s.ses of nasty water. Having thus improved our health we purchased a stick of sucre d'orge. sucre d'orge. Mother's favourite was aniseed, which I could not bear. On the zigzag paths by the hotel I soon discovered a delightful sport. This was to toboggan down through the pine trees on the seat of my pants. Marie took a poor view of this, but I am sorry to say that from the first Marie was never able to exert any authority over me. We were friends and playmates, but the idea of doing what she told me never occurred to me. Mother's favourite was aniseed, which I could not bear. On the zigzag paths by the hotel I soon discovered a delightful sport. This was to toboggan down through the pine trees on the seat of my pants. Marie took a poor view of this, but I am sorry to say that from the first Marie was never able to exert any authority over me. We were friends and playmates, but the idea of doing what she told me never occurred to me.

Authority is an extraordinary thing. My mother had it in full measure. She was seldom cross, hardly ever raised her voice, but she had only gently to p.r.o.nounce an order and it was immediately fulfilled. It always was odd to her that other people had not not got this gift. Later, when she was staying with me after I was first married and had a child of my own, I complained how tiresome some little boys were who lived in the next house and who were always coming in through the hedge. Though I ordered them away, they would not go. got this gift. Later, when she was staying with me after I was first married and had a child of my own, I complained how tiresome some little boys were who lived in the next house and who were always coming in through the hedge. Though I ordered them away, they would not go.

'But how extraordinary,' said my mother. 'Why don't you just tell them to go away?'

I said to her, 'Well, you try it.' At that moment the two small boys arrived and were preparing as usual to say, 'Yah. Boo. Shan't go,' and throw gravel on the gra.s.s. One started pelting a tree and shouting and puffing. My mother turned her head.

'Ronald,' she said. 'Is that your name?'

Ronald admitted it was.

'Please don't play so near here. I don't like being disturbed,' said my mother. 'Just go a little further away.'

Ronald looked at her, whistled to his brother, and departed immediately.

'You see, dear,' said my mother, 'it's quite quite simple.' simple.'

It certainly was for her. I really believe that my mother would have been able to manage a cla.s.s of juvenile delinquents without the least difficulty.

There was an older girl at the hotel in Cauterets, Sybil Patterson, whose mother was a friend of the Selwyns. Sybil was the object of my adoration. I thought her beautiful, and the thing I admired about her most was her budding figure. Bosoms were much in fas.h.i.+on at that time. Everyone more or less had one. My grandmother and great-aunt had enormous jutting shelves, and it was difficult for them to greet each other with a sisterly kiss without their chests colliding first. Though I took the bosoms of grown-up people for granted, Sybil's possession of one aroused all my most envious instincts. Sybil was fourteen. How long should I have to wait until I, too, could have that splendid development? Eight years? Eight years of skinniness? I longed for these signs of female maturity. Ah well, patience was the only thing. I must be patient. And in eight years' time, or seven perhaps, if I was lucky, two large rounds would miraculously spurt forth on my skinny frame. I only had to wait. wait.

The Selwyns were not at Cauterets as long as we were. They went away, and I then had the choice of two other friends: a little American girl, Marguerite Prestley, and another, Margaret Home, an English girl. My father and mother were great friends by now with Margaret's parents, and naturally they hoped that Margaret and I would go about and do things together. As is usual in these cases, however, I had an enormous preference for the company of Marguerite Prestley, who used what were to me extraordinary phrases and odd words that I had never heard before. We told each other stories a good deal, and there was one story of Marguerite's which entailed the dangers encountered on meeting a scarrapin scarrapin which thrilled me. which thrilled me.

'But what is a scarrapin?' I kept asking.

Marguerite, who had a nurse called f.a.n.n.y whose southern American drawl was such that I could seldom understand what she said, gave me a brief description of this horrifying creature. I applied to Marie but Marie had never heard of scarrapins. Finally I tackled my father. He had a little difficulty, too, at first, but at last realisation dawned on him and he said, 'I expect what you mean is a scorpion.' scorpion.'

Somehow the magic then departed. A scorpion did not seem nearly so horrifying as the imagined scarrapin.

Marguerite and I had quite a serious dispute on one subject, which was the way babies arrived. I a.s.sured Marguerite that babies were brought by the angels. This had been Nursie's information. Marguerite, on the other hand, a.s.sured me that they were part of a doctor's stock-in-trade, and were brought along by him in a black bag. When our dispute on this subject had got really heated, the tactful f.a.n.n.y settled it once and for all.

'Why, that's just the way it is, honey,' she said. 'American babies come in a doctor's black bag and English babies are brought by the angels. It's as simple as that.'

Satisfied, we ceased hostilities.

Father and Madge made a good many excursions on horseback, and in answer to my entreaties one day I was told that on the morrow I should be allowed to accompany them. I was thrilled. My mother had a few misgivings, but my father soon overruled them.

'We have a Guide with us,' he said, 'and he's quite used to children and will see to it that they don't fall off.'

The next morning the three horses arrived, and off we went. We zigzagged along up the precipitous paths, and I enjoyed myself enormously perched on top of what seemed to me an immense horse. The Guide led it up, and occasionally picking little bunches of flowers, handed them to me to stick in my hatband. So far all was well, but when we arrived at the top and prepared to have lunch, the Guide excelled himself. He came running back to us bringing with him a magnificent b.u.t.terfly he had trapped. 'Pour la pet.i.te mademoiselle,' 'Pour la pet.i.te mademoiselle,' he cried. Taking a pin from his lapel he transfixed the b.u.t.terfly and stuck it in my hat! Oh the horror of that moment! The feeling of the poor b.u.t.terfly fluttering, struggling against the pin. The agony I felt as the b.u.t.terfly fluttered there. And of course I couldn't he cried. Taking a pin from his lapel he transfixed the b.u.t.terfly and stuck it in my hat! Oh the horror of that moment! The feeling of the poor b.u.t.terfly fluttering, struggling against the pin. The agony I felt as the b.u.t.terfly fluttered there. And of course I couldn't say say anything. There were too many conflicting loyalties in my mind. This was a kindness on the part of the Guide. He had brought it to me. It was a special kind of present. How could I hurt his feelings by saying I didn't like it? How I wanted him to take it off! And all the time, there was the b.u.t.terfly, fluttering, dying. That horrible flapping against my hat. There is only one thing a child can do in these circ.u.mstances. I cried. anything. There were too many conflicting loyalties in my mind. This was a kindness on the part of the Guide. He had brought it to me. It was a special kind of present. How could I hurt his feelings by saying I didn't like it? How I wanted him to take it off! And all the time, there was the b.u.t.terfly, fluttering, dying. That horrible flapping against my hat. There is only one thing a child can do in these circ.u.mstances. I cried.

The more anyone asked me questions the more I was unable to reply. 'What's the matter?' demanded my father. 'Have you got a pain?' My sister said, 'Perhaps she's frightened at riding on the horse.' I said No and No. I wasn't frightened and I hadn't got a pain. 'Tired,' said my father.

'No,' I said.

'Well, then, what is the matter?' the matter?'

But I couldn't say. Of course I couldn't say. The Guide was standing there, watching me with an attentive and puzzled face. My father said rather crossly: 'She's too young a child. We shouldn't have brought her on this expedition.'

I redoubled my weeping. I must have ruined the day for both him and my sister, and I knew I was doing so, but I couldn't stop. All I hoped and prayed was that presently he, or even my sister, would guess guess what was the matter. Surely they would look at that b.u.t.terfly, they would see it, they would say, 'Perhaps she doesn't like the b.u.t.terfly on her hat.' If what was the matter. Surely they would look at that b.u.t.terfly, they would see it, they would say, 'Perhaps she doesn't like the b.u.t.terfly on her hat.' If they they said it, it would be all right. But I couldn't said it, it would be all right. But I couldn't tell tell them. It was a terrible day. I refused to eat any lunch. I sat there and cried, and the b.u.t.terfly flapped. It stopped flapping in the end. That ought to have made me feel better. But by that time I had got into such a state of misery that nothing them. It was a terrible day. I refused to eat any lunch. I sat there and cried, and the b.u.t.terfly flapped. It stopped flapping in the end. That ought to have made me feel better. But by that time I had got into such a state of misery that nothing could could have made me feel better. have made me feel better.

We rode down again, my father definitely out of temper, my sister annoyed, the Guide still sweet, kindly and puzzled, Fortunately, he did not think of getting me a second b.u.t.terfly to cheer me up. We arrived back, a most woeful party, and went into our sitting-room where mother was.

'Oh dear,' she said, 'what's the matter? Has Agatha hurt herself?'

'I don't know,' said my father crossly. 'I don't know what's the matter with the child. I suppose she's got a pain or something. She's been crying ever since lunch-time, and she wouldn't eat a thing.'

'What is the matter, Agatha?' asked my mother.

I couldn't tell her. I only looked at her dumbly while tears still rolled down my cheeks. She looked at me thoughtfully for some minutes, then said, 'Who put that b.u.t.terfly in her hat?'

My sister explained that it had been the Guide.

'I see,' said mother. Then she said to me, 'You didn't like it, did you? It was alive and you thought it was being hurt?'

Oh, the glorious relief, the wonderful relief when somebody knows what's in your mind and tells it to you so that you are at last released from that long bondage of silence. I flung myself at her in a kind of frenzy, thrust my arms round her neck and said, 'Yes, yes, yes. It's been flapping. It's been flapping. flapping. But he was so kind and he meant to be kind. I couldn't But he was so kind and he meant to be kind. I couldn't say.' say.'

She understood it all and patted me gently. Suddenly the whole thing seemed to recede in the distance.

'I quite see what you felt,' she said. 'I know. But it's over now, and so we won't talk about it any more.'

It was about this time that I became aware that my sister had an extraordinary fascination for the young men in her vicinity. She was a most attractive young woman, pretty without being strictly beautiful, and she had inherited from my father a quick wit and was extremely amusing to talk to. She had, moreover, a great deal of s.e.xual magnetism. Young men went down before her like ninepins. It was not long before Marie and I had made what might in racing parlance be called a book on the various admirers. We discussed their chances.

'I think Mr Palmer. What do you think, Marie?'

'C'est possible. Mais il est trop jeune.'

I replied that he was about the same age as Madge, but Marie a.s.sured me that that was 'beaucoup trop jeune'. 'beaucoup trop jeune'.

'Me,' said Marie, 'I think the Sir Ambrose.'

I protested, 'He's years and years older than she is, Marie.' She said, perhaps, but it made for stability if a husband was older than his wife. She also added that Sir Ambrose would be a very good 'parti', 'parti', one of which any family would approve. one of which any family would approve.

'Yesterday,' I said, 'she put a flower as a b.u.t.tonhole in Bernard's coat.' But Marie did not think much of the young Bernard. She said he was not a 'garcon serieux'. a 'garcon serieux'.

I learnt a lot about Marie's family. I knew the habits of their cat and how it was able to walk about among the gla.s.ses in the cafe and curl down asleep in the middle of them without ever breaking one. I knew that her sister, Berthe, was older than her and a very serious girl, that her little sister Angele was the darling of the whole family. I knew all the tricks the two boys played and how they got into trouble. Marie also confided to me the proud secret of the family, that once their name had been s.h.i.+je instead of Sije. Though unable to see whence this pride came inand indeed I do not even nowI fully concurred with Marie and congratulated her on having this satisfactory ancestry.

Marie occasionally read me French books, as did my mother. But the happy day arrived when I picked up Memoires d'un ane Memoires d'un ane myself and found, on turning the pages, that I was able to read it alone just as well as anyone could have read it to me. Great congratulations followed, not least from my mother. At last, after many tribulations, I knew French. I could read it. Occasionally I needed explanations of the more difficult pa.s.sages, but on the whole I had arrived. myself and found, on turning the pages, that I was able to read it alone just as well as anyone could have read it to me. Great congratulations followed, not least from my mother. At last, after many tribulations, I knew French. I could read it. Occasionally I needed explanations of the more difficult pa.s.sages, but on the whole I had arrived.

At the end of August we left Cauterets for Paris. I remember it always as one of the happiest summers I have ever known. For a child of my age it had everything. The excitement of novelty. Treesa recurring factor of enjoyment all through my life. (Is it possibly symbolic that one of my first imaginary companions was called Tree?) A new and delightful companion, my dear snub-nosed Marie. Expeditions on mules. Exploring steep paths. Fun with the family. My American friend Marguerite. The exotic excitement of a foreign place. 'Something rare and strange...' How well Shakespeare knows. But it is not the items, grouped together and added up, that linger in my memory. It is Cauteretsthe place, the long valley, with its little railway and its wooded slopes, and the high hills.

I have never been back there. I am glad of that. A year or two ago, we contemplated taking a summer holiday there. I said, unthinkingly: I should like to go back.' I should like to go back.' It was true. But then it came to me that I could It was true. But then it came to me that I could not go back. not go back. One cannot, ever, go back to the place which exists in memory. You would not see it with the same eyeseven supposing that it should improbably have remained much the same. What you have had you have had. 'The happy highways where I went, And shall not come again...' One cannot, ever, go back to the place which exists in memory. You would not see it with the same eyeseven supposing that it should improbably have remained much the same. What you have had you have had. 'The happy highways where I went, And shall not come again...'

Never go back to a place where you have been happy. Until you do it remains alive for you. If you go back it will be destroyed.

There are other places I have resisted going back to. One is the shrine of Sheikh Adi in Northern Iraq. We went there on my first visit to Mosul. There was a certain difficulty of access then; you had to get a permit, and to stop at the police post at Ain Sifni under the rocks of the Jebl Maclub.

From there, accompanied by a policeman, we walked up a winding path. It was spring, fresh and green, with wild flowers all the way. There was a mountain stream. We pa.s.sed occasional goats and children. Then we reached the Yezidi shrine. The peacefulness of it comes backthe flagged courtyard, the black snake carved on the wall of the shrine. Then the step carefully over, over, not not on on the threshold, into the small dark sanctuary. There we sat in the courtyard under a gently rustling tree. One of the Yezidees brought us coffee, first carefully spreading a dirty table-cloth. (This, proudly, as showing that European needs were understood.) We sat there a long time. n.o.body forced information on us. I knew, vaguely, that the Yezidees were devil wors.h.i.+ppers, and the Peac.o.c.k Angel, Lucifer, is the object of their wors.h.i.+p. It always seems strange that the wors.h.i.+ppers of Satan should be the most peaceful of all the varying religious sects in that part of the world. When the sun began to get low, we left. It had been utter peace. the threshold, into the small dark sanctuary. There we sat in the courtyard under a gently rustling tree. One of the Yezidees brought us coffee, first carefully spreading a dirty table-cloth. (This, proudly, as showing that European needs were understood.) We sat there a long time. n.o.body forced information on us. I knew, vaguely, that the Yezidees were devil wors.h.i.+ppers, and the Peac.o.c.k Angel, Lucifer, is the object of their wors.h.i.+p. It always seems strange that the wors.h.i.+ppers of Satan should be the most peaceful of all the varying religious sects in that part of the world. When the sun began to get low, we left. It had been utter peace.

Now I believe, they run tours to it. The 'Spring Festival' is quite a tourist attraction. But I knew it in its day of innocence. I shall not forget it.

III