I told you I didn’t like dogs. Well, that’s one of the reasons why. If that stupid mongrel hadn’t got in the way of things, I might have managed to keep hold of Mousey and push him in. But the stupid dog got in the way, and started to bite at my trouser leg, so that when Mousey started to fall, I went with him, and Mousey screamed—not just a little muffled scream, but a huge and terrified scream—and we both fell, with a giant splash, into the freezing water.

I remember hitting the water; how cold it was, and how dirty, with a film of oil on the surface and that stink of mud and rotting things. I went under—not a long way, just a foot or two, I guess, trying not to think about traps beneath the surface; rusty cars and shopping trolleys, and fridges with their jaws half open, like giant clams in adventure books about pearl diving in the South Seas.

Of course I could swim. We all could. We used to go down to the local baths and jump in in our pajamas. So I could swim pretty well, but the bank was slimy. I reached it in moments, but, try as I might, I couldn’t get enough of a grip. Next to me, Mousey was panicking; scrabbling against the clay; crying and screaming and sobbing. I thought that if I tried to stand on his shoulders, I could maybe climb out, but before I could try out my theory, I heard the sound of footsteps, and a face looked down over the bank at me.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.”

It was Piggy, Mousey’s fat brother. He must have been hiding away somewhere, not wanting to see what we’d do to the dog. I thought at the time that it was a bad sign that he’d invoked God that way. Of course I didn’t seriously think that, given a choice, God would favor Mousey’s pig brother over me, but you never know with God.

For a second he stared at us both, hair in his eyes and mouth open. Mousey screamed. The dog barked. It was like a nightmare.

Finally, Piggy managed to break his paralysis and move. “Ma’s going to kill me for this,” he wailed, and reached out to haul Mousey out of the pit. He looked completely terrified. Tears were running down his face, but he managed to grab hold of Mousey’s hand and pull him up the bank.

Mousey was screaming all the time. “He pushed me! He pushed me!” But I was screaming too, of course, and the dog was barking like crazy. I guess it was pretty funny, but I didn’t think so at the time. At the time, I was thinking: Is this what Bunny felt that day?—and: So much for those sixty years.