musical.
He nodded, but he was gazing upwards again. 'It's the only thing in this goddam town I'd care to build and I'm too young ’ he said, with something of the picture house himself. 'Everything else is peanuts.'
'Yes ’ said Peggy.
Then he turned to her and blinked. 'So ’ he said. 'What are you up to now?'
'I'm leaving school this summer and I want to be something artistic. A window dresser or a dress designer or a photographer -something like that. Nothing common, anyway. I'm starting off at Orchard's . ..' She gave him a smile, waited, and then said casually, 'Are you still seeing Audrey?'
He ignored this but said, 'I'd have given them flying buttresses like they never knew they could have.'
‘I bet ’ she said. And wondered whether to approach the subject of the cinema again. Too late. He stood up.
'London's the place ’ he said.
'What?' she asked.
'London. The place.'
'Oh yes ’ she said.
'I'm going there next year.'
'Oh ’ she said.
'So I've got to concentrate. Exams.'
'Yes ’ she said, disappointed. 'Got a place in college.' 'Lovely.'
'Well, I might see you around.'
He nodded. Stood there awkwardly for a moment more and then said, 'Oh well - bye.'
'Bye ’ she said, giving him a beautiful, lipsticky smile.
He moved away and then returned. She felt triumphant. But it was only to say, 'Don't tell anyone about the college thing yet, will you? ‘ I haven't told my mother.'
He set off, wheeling his bike, turned back once and waved, and she waved back. She looked a picture sitting there on the bench with her ankles crossed and the bows of her shoes dangling. The workmen whistled her again. He wasn't surprised. Damn, he said to himself as he pushed his bicycle across the road and headed home. Damn, Damn, Damn. She had a lovely pair of tits from what he could see.
As he pedalled the dull streets homewards he felt dull himself. Why was it all so difficult? Why was he so afraid to give in to what his Headmaster called urges? Everything about his ambition felt so vulnerable. Like his hero, he had what he secretly called his sacred, creative flame and he must protect it. Isambard once wrote to some woman or other, and how Patrick understood it now, ' I want you to know that if I appear to be taking things coolly it is because I feel them so acutely that I am obliged to harden myself a little in order to bear them ...'
One day, he promised himself, pedalling like fury, one day he would be free of all these little-town constraints. One day he would take his place at the helm of the new world and be sure enough of himself not to worry about dilution, urges, or anything else. He could concentrate on designing great works, take his place in the Pantheon. And then he could kiss the girls. Once he was out of Coventry with its piddling canals, and its municipal geraniums, away from these flat Midland sounds and their flat Midland ideas, and off to London, he would become reborn. Blessed as Dick Whittington. To London, to London. But minus the cat. Which was all to the good. For as anyone who knows their pantomimes will tell you, The Cat is not only a companion to Dick, but His Conscience. His Heart.
6
In the Temple
I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god - sullen, untamed, intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities - ever, however, implacable,
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forge ...
‘T . S. Eliot, Four Quartets: "The Dry Salvages'
Patrick was one of the youngest students ever to be accepted for the London Academy's design course. He began remarkably well, something which did not surprise him and something which he was irritated to find surprised his tutors, by producing a critical essay in
He nodded, but he was gazing upwards again. 'It's the only thing in this goddam town I'd care to build and I'm too young ’ he said, with something of the picture house himself. 'Everything else is peanuts.'
'Yes ’ said Peggy.
Then he turned to her and blinked. 'So ’ he said. 'What are you up to now?'
'I'm leaving school this summer and I want to be something artistic. A window dresser or a dress designer or a photographer -something like that. Nothing common, anyway. I'm starting off at Orchard's . ..' She gave him a smile, waited, and then said casually, 'Are you still seeing Audrey?'
He ignored this but said, 'I'd have given them flying buttresses like they never knew they could have.'
‘I bet ’ she said. And wondered whether to approach the subject of the cinema again. Too late. He stood up.
'London's the place ’ he said.
'What?' she asked.
'London. The place.'
'Oh yes ’ she said.
'I'm going there next year.'
'Oh ’ she said.
'So I've got to concentrate. Exams.'
'Yes ’ she said, disappointed. 'Got a place in college.' 'Lovely.'
'Well, I might see you around.'
He nodded. Stood there awkwardly for a moment more and then said, 'Oh well - bye.'
'Bye ’ she said, giving him a beautiful, lipsticky smile.
He moved away and then returned. She felt triumphant. But it was only to say, 'Don't tell anyone about the college thing yet, will you? ‘ I haven't told my mother.'
He set off, wheeling his bike, turned back once and waved, and she waved back. She looked a picture sitting there on the bench with her ankles crossed and the bows of her shoes dangling. The workmen whistled her again. He wasn't surprised. Damn, he said to himself as he pushed his bicycle across the road and headed home. Damn, Damn, Damn. She had a lovely pair of tits from what he could see.
As he pedalled the dull streets homewards he felt dull himself. Why was it all so difficult? Why was he so afraid to give in to what his Headmaster called urges? Everything about his ambition felt so vulnerable. Like his hero, he had what he secretly called his sacred, creative flame and he must protect it. Isambard once wrote to some woman or other, and how Patrick understood it now, ' I want you to know that if I appear to be taking things coolly it is because I feel them so acutely that I am obliged to harden myself a little in order to bear them ...'
One day, he promised himself, pedalling like fury, one day he would be free of all these little-town constraints. One day he would take his place at the helm of the new world and be sure enough of himself not to worry about dilution, urges, or anything else. He could concentrate on designing great works, take his place in the Pantheon. And then he could kiss the girls. Once he was out of Coventry with its piddling canals, and its municipal geraniums, away from these flat Midland sounds and their flat Midland ideas, and off to London, he would become reborn. Blessed as Dick Whittington. To London, to London. But minus the cat. Which was all to the good. For as anyone who knows their pantomimes will tell you, The Cat is not only a companion to Dick, but His Conscience. His Heart.
6
In the Temple
I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god - sullen, untamed, intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities - ever, however, implacable,
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forge ...
‘T . S. Eliot, Four Quartets: "The Dry Salvages'
Patrick was one of the youngest students ever to be accepted for the London Academy's design course. He began remarkably well, something which did not surprise him and something which he was irritated to find surprised his tutors, by producing a critical essay in
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