Back The Memorial
Chapters (26)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. Dedication
  5. Book One
  6. Chapter I
  7. Chapter II
  8. Chapter III
  9. Chapter IV
  10. Chapter V
  11. Book Two
  12. Chapter I
  13. Chapter II
  14. Chapter III
  15. Chapter IV
  16. Book Three
  17. Chapter I
  18. Chapter II
  19. Chapter III
  20. Book Four
  21. Chapter I
  22. Chapter II
  23. Chapter III
  24. Chapter IV
  25. Chapter V
  26. Also by Christopher Isherwood

He looked at his mother, to see that he had not offended her. But Lily’s eyes were fixed on the tree-tops, dreamily watching the rooks. He looked at his grandfather, and John smiled at him, widely, out of his bland, collapsed face. They were moving away from the church. The heavy line of Cobden rose above the trees. The white farms were sprinkled on its back like grains of salt. Eric began to think about the boy who had been killed in the War.

“I’ve asked Mary to come and lunch next Monday,” said Lily to John. “Will that be all right?”

John smiled at her. Then he nodded, with a little grunt.

Eric had never heard of the boy before. He felt that he would like to find out about him, and wondered whom he should ask. Kent would probably know. Kent knew almost everybody in Chapel Bridge. When they were out driving people often touched their hats or nodded: Good morning, Mr. Kent, who never took any notice of Grandad at all. Mother said that this was simply deliberate Socialistic rudeness. But it couldn’t be stopped. It wasn’t Kent’s fault.

That last spring of the War, in the Easter holidays, Maurice had said laughingly one day: “Suppose we join up, Eric?”

They had been alone together at the time, and though Maurice had laughed, he’d meant what he said, so Eric thought. Maurice had a way of half-jokingly suggesting doing a thing and then, if anyone agreed or dared him to do it, doing it at once—with so much decision that you felt he’d been meaning to, all the time. Only last spring, they’d been up in his bedroom one day and Gerald Ramsbotham had started talking about heights. Gerald said the bedroom was thirty feet from the ground. Maurice said: “No, not nearly that.” Gerald said: “Anyhow, I bet you wouldn’t like to jump out.” “Do you,” said Maurice, smiling. “How much?” Gerald said sixpence and Tommy said ninepence. Maurice had climbed out on to the sill and jumped. He landed in a flower-bed, the only one in the garden, and lay there shouting to them to chuck him down the money. His ankle was twisted a bit, but nothing serious.