young men with rimless glasses and open notebooks, and a group of Africans, talking in a strange language. There was a buzz of unintelligible conversation all around us.
‘What an interesting-looking lot of people,’ I said, ‘quite unlike anything I’m used to.’
‘You can understand people saying that it takes all sorts to make a world,’ said Rocky. ‘One wonders if quite so many sorts are necessary.’
‘It must be wonderful to have an interest in some learned subject,’ I said. ‘This seems to be a thing that old and young can enjoy equally.’
Rocky laughed. ‘I don’t think Helena or Everard would approve of that attitude. You make it sound like a game of golf. And remember, we aren’t here to enjoy ourselves. The paper will be long and the chairs hard. I think our ordeal is about to begin.’
The President had now risen to his feet and was introducing Helena and Everard in a vague little speech. It almost sounded as if he thought they were husband and wife, but he smiled so nicely through his wispy beard that nobody could possibly have taken offence. Everard and Helena sat to one side of him, while a stocky red-haired young man, who had been pointed out to us as the Secretary, took notes.
‘And now I will leave our young friends to tell their own tale,’ said the President. ‘Their paper is entitled …’ he fumbled with a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and then read in a clear deliberate voice some words which conveyed so little to me at the time that I am afraid I have now forgotten them. Doubtless the title is recorded somewhere in the archives or minutes of the Learned Society.
I looked hopefully towards the lantern which stood at the back of the room, but it did not seem as if there were going to be any slides. The Americans’ pencils were poised over their notebooks, the elderly lady put down her knitting for a moment. Helena Napier stood up and began to speak. I can only say that she ‘began to speak’ for I very soon lost the thread of what she was saying and found myself looking round the room, studying my surroundings and companions.
The room was very high with a lincrusta ceiling and an elaborate mantelpiece of brawn-like marble. Long windows opened on to a balcony and through them I could just see the tender green of a newly unfolded tree in the square gardens. It seemed strange that we should all be sitting indoors on such a lovely day. But I must not look out of the window; this was a great occasion and I was a privileged person. It was certainly a pity that my lack of higher education made it impossible for me to concentrate on anything more difficult than a fairly straightforward sermon or committee meeting. Helena’s voice sounded so clear and competent that I was sure that what she was saying was of great value. Rocky must be very proud of her. I noticed the Americans writing furiously in their books. It was a pity I had not thought of reading up the subject a little; that would have been far more to the point than buying a new hat. It was humiliating to realise that everybody in the room but me understood and was able to take an intelligent interest in what Helena was saying. I fixed my eyes on her with a fresh determination to concentrate, but then my attention was distracted by the old lady with her knitting. I saw that the knitting drooped slackly from her hands and that her head was bowed forward on her breast. Then I saw it suddenly jerk up. She had been asleep. This revelation gave me some comfort and I began looking round the room again, this time at the gold-lettered boards with the names of those who had won a particular medal or had been benefactors of the society in some way. I read down the list, fascinated. 1904—Herbert Franklin Crisp, 1905—Egfried Stummelbaum, 1906—Edward Ellis Darwin Rumble, 1907—Ethel Victoria Thorneycroft-Nollard … A woman, in 1907! What had she done to win this medal? What must she have been like? I imagined her in a long
‘What an interesting-looking lot of people,’ I said, ‘quite unlike anything I’m used to.’
‘You can understand people saying that it takes all sorts to make a world,’ said Rocky. ‘One wonders if quite so many sorts are necessary.’
‘It must be wonderful to have an interest in some learned subject,’ I said. ‘This seems to be a thing that old and young can enjoy equally.’
Rocky laughed. ‘I don’t think Helena or Everard would approve of that attitude. You make it sound like a game of golf. And remember, we aren’t here to enjoy ourselves. The paper will be long and the chairs hard. I think our ordeal is about to begin.’
The President had now risen to his feet and was introducing Helena and Everard in a vague little speech. It almost sounded as if he thought they were husband and wife, but he smiled so nicely through his wispy beard that nobody could possibly have taken offence. Everard and Helena sat to one side of him, while a stocky red-haired young man, who had been pointed out to us as the Secretary, took notes.
‘And now I will leave our young friends to tell their own tale,’ said the President. ‘Their paper is entitled …’ he fumbled with a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and then read in a clear deliberate voice some words which conveyed so little to me at the time that I am afraid I have now forgotten them. Doubtless the title is recorded somewhere in the archives or minutes of the Learned Society.
I looked hopefully towards the lantern which stood at the back of the room, but it did not seem as if there were going to be any slides. The Americans’ pencils were poised over their notebooks, the elderly lady put down her knitting for a moment. Helena Napier stood up and began to speak. I can only say that she ‘began to speak’ for I very soon lost the thread of what she was saying and found myself looking round the room, studying my surroundings and companions.
The room was very high with a lincrusta ceiling and an elaborate mantelpiece of brawn-like marble. Long windows opened on to a balcony and through them I could just see the tender green of a newly unfolded tree in the square gardens. It seemed strange that we should all be sitting indoors on such a lovely day. But I must not look out of the window; this was a great occasion and I was a privileged person. It was certainly a pity that my lack of higher education made it impossible for me to concentrate on anything more difficult than a fairly straightforward sermon or committee meeting. Helena’s voice sounded so clear and competent that I was sure that what she was saying was of great value. Rocky must be very proud of her. I noticed the Americans writing furiously in their books. It was a pity I had not thought of reading up the subject a little; that would have been far more to the point than buying a new hat. It was humiliating to realise that everybody in the room but me understood and was able to take an intelligent interest in what Helena was saying. I fixed my eyes on her with a fresh determination to concentrate, but then my attention was distracted by the old lady with her knitting. I saw that the knitting drooped slackly from her hands and that her head was bowed forward on her breast. Then I saw it suddenly jerk up. She had been asleep. This revelation gave me some comfort and I began looking round the room again, this time at the gold-lettered boards with the names of those who had won a particular medal or had been benefactors of the society in some way. I read down the list, fascinated. 1904—Herbert Franklin Crisp, 1905—Egfried Stummelbaum, 1906—Edward Ellis Darwin Rumble, 1907—Ethel Victoria Thorneycroft-Nollard … A woman, in 1907! What had she done to win this medal? What must she have been like? I imagined her in a long
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