Day Gone By

Richard Adams

Description

Richard Adams, author of 'Watership Down' and described recently as a legend of literature, was born in Newbury in 1920 as the replacement for a baby brother who died in the great influenza epidemic of 1917-19. His mother was well over 40 at the time of his birth, and his was a solitary childhood spent in a large garden. Here he explains how his days spent watching bird, beetles and wild creatures around his home engendered in him a lifelong love of nature. His years at prep and public school, at Oxford and in the army are all vividly described, and their influence on the recurrent themes in his writing of battle, leadership, friendship, bullying, solitude and longing made plain.

Sujets

• Lettres et linguistique

Informations

• Publié par: Watership Down Enterprises
• Date de parution: 05 décembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783015702
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THE DAY GONE BY
Also by Richard Adams
Watership Down
Shardik
The Plague Dogs
The Girl in a Swing
The Iron Wolf and Other Stories
Maia
Traveller
Travel
Voyage Through the Antarctic (with R. M. Lockley)
Picture books in verse
The Tyger Voyage
The Ship s Cat
Nature
Nature Through the Seasons
Nature Day and Night (both with Max Hooper)
A Nature Diary
R ICHARD A DAMS
A N A UTOBIOGRAPHY
THE DAY GONE BY
2014 Richard Adams
Richard Adams has asserted his rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by Watership Down Enterprises
First published and printed in 1990
First published in eBook format in 2014
ISBN: 978-1-78301-570-2
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eBook Conversion by www.ebookpartnership.com
To my grand-daughters, Lucy Johnson and Sarah Mahony with love and best wishes for the years to come.
Contents
List of illustrations
Acknowledgements
All That s Past
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
List of illustrations
Letter home of 21 July 1929
South-West Oxford in 1939
Punch cartoon of 30 July 1924
Plan of Operation Market Garden
C Platoon, 250 Light Company R.A.S.C.(Airborne) in 1944
Acknowledgements
I am grateful to Miss A. Page, of the Oxford City Surveyor s department, who kindly supplied me with the map of old St Ebbe s which appears on page 219.
I am much indebted to Geoffrey Powell, formerly of Airborne Forces and author of The Devil s Birthday: The Bridges to Arnhem, for checking the accuracy of the chapters about Operation Market Garden and making valuable comments: and also for kindly giving consent for the reproduction of the map of the plan for Operation Market Garden on page 338.
I am most grateful to Richard and Hailz-Emily Osborne, of Bradfield, who gave invaluable help over the Bradfield photographs, and to Jimmy Stow, who was equally helpful over Horris Hill.
I thank warmly my secretary, Mrs Elizabeth Aydon, who not only typed the book most accurately and conscientiously, but also picked up for me those slips and inconsistencies to which most, if not all, authors are prone.
All That s Past
V ERY old are the woods;
And the buds that break
Out of the brier s boughs,
When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are-
Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
Roves back the rose.
Very old are the brooks;
And the rills that rise
Where snow sleeps cold beneath
The azure skies
Sing such a history
Of come and gone,
Their every drop is as wise
As Solomon.
Very old are we men;
Our dreams are tales
Told in dim Eden
By Eve s nightingales;
We wake and whisper awhile,
But, the day gone by,
Silence and sleep like fields
Of amaranth lie.
Walter de la Mare
Chapter I
My paternal grandfather, Joseph Dixon Adams, was born in 1837 - the year of Queen Victoria s accession. There is a story in the family that one night in 1854 he was awakened by the stir in the village caused by a horseman bringing news of the great British victory of the Alma, in the Crimea. The village was Martock, in Somerset, lying between Taunton and Yeovil.
People were poor enough in those days: the labourers lived largely on beans, and there was a saying that if you could shake a Martock man you could hear the beans rattle: if you could shake him. A few Martock men, poor devils, were caught up in Monmouth s rebellion of 1685 and duly appeared before Judge Jeffreys in the Bloody Assize. Martock has a beautiful church, with a magnificent interior roof. On the south wall, going on towards the east end, is a brass plaque in memory of my grandfather, extolling inter alia his running of the local fire brigade. They must all have been part-time volunteers, for my grandfather was not a fire officer but a doctor - a Victorian country doctor who paid visits on horseback and made up his own prescriptions. I have two of his pharmaceutical white-earthenware, lidded jars, each about ten inches high, handsomely decorated in blue and gold. One is lettered Tamarinds and the other Honey . (Tamarind pods were used as a laxative and also for allaying fever ; honey was for coughs.) There would have been a third jar for leeches, but this I have never seen.
In his maturity Joseph was well-to-do, with social standing in the locality and a fine house and garden (it s still there) called The Lawn . A lot must have been due to his wealthy marriage. At some time during the eighteen-sixties - and this is another family story - he rode alone to the county ball at Taunton, where he met and danced with Arabella, the daughter of Sir Cecil Beadon. Sir Cecil had recently retired as Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal. He was a grandson of Richard Beadon, Bishop of Bath and Wells (in reply to whom Hannah More wrote her famous letter defending Sunday schools. The latitudinarian bishop, who didn t like the notion of educating the poor, had told her to lay off, but she was up to him). Cecil, who was born in 1816, joined the Bengal civil service (through nepotism, of course) in 1836. He came to the notice of Lord Dalhousie and had an eminently successful career until about the last five years of his service, when - largely due to ill health - as lieutenant-governor he came badly unstuck over his handling of- or failure to handle - the terrible Orissa famine. A commission of inquiry reported unfavourably on him; the Governor-General, Sir John Lawrence, saw no reason to take a different view and Cecil, albeit with a knighthood of the Star of India, retired in 1866, with plenty of money but his brilliant reputation overshadowed. He was twice married. His first wife, Arabella s mother, was born Harriet Sneyd, daughter of a major in the Bengal cavalry.
Joseph Adams married Arabella Beadon, and George, their eldest son and my father, was born in 1870. He, too, became a doctor (he ultimately became an F.R.C.S.), and was a student at Bart s during the nineties. Then he returned to Martock and went into partnership with his own father. To distinguish between the two, the villagers used to refer to my grandfather as Dr Adams and my father as Dr Jarge . It must have been about 1962 when I last visited Martock, and in the church came upon a lady tidying and polishing. We chatted, and when I told her who my father had been she called her husband from the vestry, saying Ben, this is Doctor Jarge s son. Well, I never! said he. Doctor Jarge! I member im well - im and is motor-cars! (Long before the First World War, during the reign of Edward VII, my father had been one of the first Toad of Toad Hall motorists, with a De Dion Bouton. My mother used to tell me how one day, when he was driving along a country lane, he saw, to his gratification, two farm-hands in a field throw down their hoes and run to the hedge to watch him go by. As he passed, one said to the other Reckon that bloody fool won t live long. )
Joseph had three other children: Katharine (to whom my father was deeply attached), Ernest and Lilian. Ernest deserves a little notice here, both on account of his impulsive, extravagant, flamboyant character (which I believe to have been passed on to some extent to myself) and also because of his affinity with birds and animals, which amounted to a gift. As a medical student he was up to all manner of larks and used to play the banjo, with a black face, a straw hat, white trousers and scarlet blazer. He had a pet tawny owl which my father said used to blunder about, knocking ornaments off the mantelpiece and shitting all over everything . He had a marvellous dog, Esau, which he had trained himself. When Ernest took the bus from his digs to Bart s in the mornings, Esau would keep pace along the pavement and rejoin him when he got off. People used to say that Esau could do everything but talk (though he would bark when told to).
Ernest, with his pranks, his animals and birds, his unpredictable capers and his extravagance, must, I think, have been something of a worry, if not an actual embarrassment, to my grandfather, who took his social position in the county very seriously. In later life he was a formidable man. Once, Katharine and Lilian were persuaded by their partners to stay out late after a dance. That s all right. We ll see you home: we ll explain to your father. When they got home all was dark, locked, bolted and barred. They had to ring and knock. At length, through the hall window, a candle was seen approaching, bolt after bolt was drawn and the heavy door slowly opened. There stood my grandfather in his nightshirt. Such was the sight that the two young men turned tail and fled into the night. Katharine and Lilian had to do their own explaining.
When Ernest reached his early thirties he went out to East Africa as a doctor. I suspect that he may have been given a bit of impulsion in that direction, though both his temperament and his love of nature would have made him nothing loath. He duly arrived in Nairobi and, as Shakespeare s Be