by Henry Green
Oh being a King was really for when you were alone, for that was the only kind that lasted. You could promise, you could swear, but friends nearly always changed as the years went round. They married, or one might go to Africa to shoot big-game and then stay there drinking, or another was sent to Mexico, and there were convents. Everywhere you looked were graves for friendship, love, and tombstones on everyone’s tongue.
Of everyone you met was only you you would be with always and she thought that’s how it is, don’t let’s have any monkey business with other people, the issue ultimately is with ourselves. As my two eyes are coordinated so let me have myself as my friend, may I have that glory where I draw on no one, lean on nobody. May I learn to be alone.
TEST TRIAL AT LORDS
(Unpublished, c. 1927)
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This piece, and the three that follow, ‘Saturday’, ‘Fight’ and ‘Evening in Autumn’, are all fragments which survive in longhand only. A letter from Green to Neville Coghill suggests that they may have been intended as part of a series of ‘sketches’ which were to be compiled in a volume.
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Early, before the game started, people still coming in went out onto the field. A square part in the middle was roped off from them and as they came in all passed by and went along those ropes, looking inwards at the pitch. Two policemen stood at opposite sides of the square and these fat men collected some about them who stayed to talk but mostly the others went to find places on the other side of the ground, though many went to the players’ pavilion. Standing in a mass there these watched for favourite players. So there were two movements. One of those who came in and were attracted to the pitch and then in eddies went to their seats or to outside the pavilion. The other, a lateral movement where the stands all round the ground were filling up.
Above the green grass low cylindrical blue clouds rolled along the sky.
Gradually these movements of people were intensified and no longer now were so many crossing from one stand to another, no longer did there seem any purpose in where they were going, only more people stood by the policemen and more still at the pavilion.
Noise of talking went up, so many voices were raised, an aeroplane went by overhead and turned and circled, children began playing in twos with balls before where I was sitting and about. One would throw the ball, the other caught it and would throw it back. Neither stayed in the same place for people now were continually walking between the two of them, and this movement was repeated all over the field covered with people and with boys playing. Now the ball would bounce and he would misjudge the rising ball, missing when it bounced above his head he would have to run back behind him for it. As they played these boys cried out and I thought in a moment I shall be looking at a sea bird, this is so like the sea.
Now, as I was saying, every minute were more people on the ground. At opposite sides of square in the middle was now a thick line of them, three deep, and by where the professionals change a big crowd of people. All dark clothed. And those who walked in their dark-looking clothes walked in eddies, now and again large curves, they seemed to follow one another.
A bell rang and from opposite side to the pavilion twelve men pulled out a roller taller than they, eight of them pulled, the rest pushed at it, bent forward like the others only a little more upright. They went slowly through the scattered walkers who closed in again behind and the line of those standing three deep at our side of the square parted for them, reforming again as soon as roller was through the ropes. Then slowly the roller went up and down with those dozen of men, a sort of study for the Prix de Rome, and now stumps had been put up at the wickets. Now, generally, all over the field, people were converging on that square to watch the rolling, only those in that crowd that waited for their favourite players stayed where they had been, dark, still.
Then, a little late, England’s captain came in, walking onto the field he went like the others had done, coming to the square he put umbrella under the loose rope and threw it above his head as he walked under it with his friend. He walked up and down the pitch. His friend held away his umbrella in his hand that the point might not spoil the turf. When they went down again he made that throwing up of the rope, and the crowd parted for him. As he walked away all that side of the square he had gone through turned faces back to watch him go – so was another movement, three sides of square looking inwards at the pitch, one side their faces turned back from it to watch him go. Soon crowd at the pavilion hid him from my sight.
People on the stand by where I was sitting read newspapers, some of them talked, but when a loud bell rang they began to fold these away. Many got up and putting their newspapers on the seat they sat on them. Boys came round to sell cushions, more hurried than they were before now that the second bell had gone. And now those two policemen began moving up and down and the crowd, in slow centrifugal motion, drew back from the roped-off pitch, back round the outfield, to find seats. As they drew thus from centre of the field they left one groundsman at each corner of the square, these four went to take up the rope. And as the crowd thinned on the ground, except by the pavilion where many people stayed yet, so boys in pairs were left still playing ball. The four men began to roll up the ropes, the boys left off two by two and went to find their seats. The policemen also were walking in wider circles away from the pitch. Now, as each of the four groundsmen drew out the post he was by and made to go, were very few people left in the outfield, now there were one or two only, and these running. Third policeman was clearing away those who stood yet by the pavilion. Boy who sold match cards ran across and then a fat curate in black was running across a corner, and then, as the policemen came in to stand at gate where the crowd had first been coming in, and the sparrows flew low over our heads in the stands to take possession of the outfield again, then the whitecoated umpire came out from the pavilion by where the crowd had up to now been standing. The crowd, once seated, was a murmur. The game began.
SATURDAY
(Unpublished, 1927–8)
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‘I am still busy experimenting with the definite article – this sort of thing “lights of town danced on water as gnats do” – and I don’t know what it will come to’, Green wrote to Neville Coghill.
⎯
Morning.
Life was in her. Life was in her and beat there. Her bed was next theirs. Their beds took up the room. Her father and mother slept now in that bed. No blind was over window. Sun came by it. And she turned head over from sun towards them sleeping and did not see them. She smiled. Head on bolster was in sunshine.
Life was in her belly. Life beat there.
Morning. Thousands slept. Town was over miles round. Thousands of houses. In each they slept.
Under blanket hands were pressed to her belly. Her fingers stuck out round. With them she felt the beating there. She smiled. Sun came in over her. She was just out of sleep, just in sleep. All of her was under sunshine, in that life beating under her fingers stuck out round.
Thousands slept. Were thousands of houses. In each they slept.
Morning.
Her mother sighed in sleep.
And water dripped from tap on wall into basin and into water there. Sun. Water drops made rings in clear-coloured water. Sun in these shook on the walls and ceiling. As rings went out round trembling over the water shadows of light from sun in these trembled on walls. On the ceiling. She watched.
She got up then. She dressed. She passed comb through her short hair. She bent head to looking glass. She painted lips. Hair in shade then was yellow silky. She sat on bed. She rolled silk stockings on her legs and her legs shone. She put small red hat over the hair. And went away.
Thousands slept. She went away, through streets. Yet from houses came smoke from chimneys. Beginning. Thousands of houses. But those living in them were getting up, but slept early sunshine over town. She went through streets. Then she came to the garden of the people. Masses of flowers, heavy wild-headed, masses of them.
Man sat on bench there. Sparrows were in and out between his feet on ground. He threw bread to them and some perched on his hat. Fluttering on ground and another one rose up to his head in low curve up through air. Three were on brim of his hat. Sparrows were in and out between his feet on ground. He threw bread to them. And this one fluttered by the brim of his hat then perched there. He held bread up in fingers for them there.
She came. And sparrows like as in handful thrown into the air were off and came down and waited near. She sat down at other end of bench. She folded hands on lap.
He threw bread on ground. One sparrow came back. He threw bread. Another came. And a third. He threw bread and soon all were back and some on brim of his hat.
She sat there. Life beat in her belly under hands on her lap. She did not see.
He threw bread towards her. Sparrows were in and out between his feet on ground. He threw bread towards her. It fell near. One sparrow went towards her. He threw bread further. Another went. And a third sparrow. Soon all were by her. And one rose up to her head in low curve up through air and fluttered by the brim of her hat and there perched then. She did not see.
Soon the man went away. And all the sparrows were by her, in and out between her feet on ground, and three now were on brim of her hat. She did not see.
Masses of flowers, heavy wild-headed, masses of them.
He went out of garden for the people. He went through streets. Smoke came in plumes from chimneys of the houses by them.
They were getting up who lived in houses. And shouting children from streets came out and into the garden. They shouted. Sparrows flew away then from all about her. The children played. She did not see them. Child bowled round hoop along. Now sparrows were right away.
Sunny morning. Everywhere the children shouted. One little girl came then and sat on bench. She swung short legs. She sucked finger. Then she pointed hand at them playing and laughed. She swung legs. Little girl gathering pebbles shouted to her ‘Emmy, come on.’ ‘No’ she shouted. She looked then at other end of bench. She watched her sitting quiet. She watched her. She looked. She got off bench. She went away backwards, sucking finger, watching her quiet there.
Soon children went all of them away to breakfast. Soon none was left in the garden for the people. All were gone.
It was quiet then. She was quiet on bench. Noise came from streets but only murmuring. Sun shone on flowers. Dew was on some of them. She did not see. And sparrows came back near, one by one. They waited by her feet, in and out. They watched, leaning heads sideways.
She moved head and sparrows were gone. She got up and went away, head bent. She did not see. Child was in her womb. She left the garden for the people. She went along streets. They were very quiet. But people were about. She walked slowly.
And she came to square. Years back they had been richer who had lived in houses round. They were poor, now, those who lived round in houses. Two drains went across, making four quarters. On right was coffee stall drawn by white horse. Sun made shadow with block of stall, wheels, and the spokes, and horse bent kneed, and three men standing by door at back of stall. Children shouted and played opposite across square. Church steeple came up above houses in further corner.
She saw coffee stall. She yawned. Slowly she went towards it. She yawned. She went slower.
Man standing in door of coffee stall said: ‘Ough-to be goin’ – was making for ’ome – but seeing you wants tea – seeing it’s Tom ’ere – and the urn ’ot still – ough-to be going – but I’ll pour you some tea.’
She came towards them. Her face was white in sun and puffed. She came slowly to coffee stall.
He said: ‘ ’Ow do wench, ’ave a cup o’ tea – sleepy are yer, yawning – ’ere it is then – and yer welcome – ain’t yer got no use for it then?’
And another: ‘She’s agoing to drop – now sit yerself down my gel and I’ll fetch yer a drop o’ something.’
And he said: ‘Well, tea’s all I got – take a sip o’ this.’
She sat on step of coffee stall. She drank tea. Hot.
Another said: ‘She’s right as rain now – or will be.’
And each had cup of tea and the men talked of football. She sipped. She clasped hands round burning cup, then unclasped them, then again clasped them round. The men talked of football. She sipped. Sweat came out over her face. Each had cup of tea. The men did not look at her.
Then she looked up into sky. Pigeon were there. They flew together. They turned. They were rising higher. They wheeled in the sky. They turned all at the same time in sky, wheeling, wheeling higher. She watched them. Sun flashed on them.
Whistle came from railway station. Pigeons fell away from it and climbed quicker. The men looked up. One said it was racing pigeons. They talked of football. She watched pigeon.
She put down cup then. She tidied herself. She got up. Coffee-stall man, that had been talking over her head from inside stall to those outside, smiled at her then. He asked if she was all right. One of them outside said she needn’t hurry. She said she was all right. She asked how much tea was. He said ‘Penny.’ She took out purse. Pigeon flew off straight. She paid him. She went away. Another one of them outside said she was neat. Coffee-stall man said she was and getting near her time. He poured them more tea. They talked about football.
She left the square. She went along streets. Men were beginning to go to work. Their women leaned out of the windows, some of them. They called to each other. Town was awake now. Motor went by. She walked slowly.
And she came to where town ended. Factory was over beyond rubbish dump. Line of trees with bare branches, dead, were across it. Stream went between town and this. She stood on bridge where road leading to factory crossed the stream. Leaves. Leaves floated. Leave floated down it. Yellow. Houses along one side of this stream were very poor.
She leant against parapet of the bridge. Leaves. Few yellow leaves floated slowly down. And more pigeon were now in sky, in one flock. They turned. She saw them on the dark water and looked up. They wheeled, rising higher. Sun was behind cloud now. They were like white paper.
Across bridge came workers going to factory. One by one. Two by two. Three by three then. Pigeon flew straight suddenly and over great chimney of factory and were gone. After a time more and more workers crossed the bridge. Lines of them. Leaves. Yellow leaves floated. Leaves floated down the stream. They talked, few of those men, crossing the bridge.
‘Did you see the racers?’
‘Today’s the day.’
‘Look at them leaves on the water, it’s autumn cornin’.’
•
As she left house, who went to garden for the people, to the square, to bridge over stream, man came to window of floor above where she had been sleeping (in bed next to theirs, her father and mother). Skin was dark under eyes in his pale face. He pushed hair back from forehead where it dropped over down. Window was shut. He leant against it. She was walking slowly down street. But he did not look at her. Then he came back into the room.
Bed was in corner opposite to corner where sunlight jutted from window into. Child lay in it, his face grey on dirty pillow. He hardly breathed. Woman sat on chair by bed. She did not move, her face bent over thick hands resting on knees. Over her shoulders woollen shawl of mauve.
He went from window over to his coat hung on door. He took out evening paper and pencil. He sat on chair at foot of bed. In football coupon he wrote in names of teams. Soon the paper slipped. He was looking with mouth open at his ill son.
Pencil slipped. It fell. It clattered on floor. He stooped down and wife came in. Her eyes were dry, dry. That woman got up from chair and the women whispered to each other. Then she went away and mother sat on the chair.
Father went out of the room. He was barefoot. He made no noise. He came back again. He sat in chair again.
Next door.
Sun came touching Maggie’s head which was under window and waked her, and she turned over and slept again.
Later woke baby on floor above and howled for milk and away tried to push ellipse of day which came through hole in blind and fixed on bed. Man next door jumped up at the noise. He went out. Mother sitting by her ill son moved on chair. Father came back again. He looked at the wall, his mouth wide open. Baby howled till mother there lifted it from bed to breast and sighed half asleep in darkness. Gluttonously baby sucked and drinking choked for a moment. Then baby slept. Mrs Craik held baby and slept again.
Later Maggie beneath got up. She dressed. She leaned out of window at the sun smiling. The sun, the sun. Now the street was getting up and children came out into backyards and onto land beneath to play. Shouted the children.
Now sun was higher in sky. Now smoke was coming in plumes from chimneys of the houses.
Next door.
Jim Cripps standing before bit of looking glass oiled hair. He whistled. He made it stand up over forehead in high curl. He stroked it with brush, stroked again. He winked at himself in glass. His brother Alfred watched him and admired. Time passed and Jim was fixing curl still and now it was hard like celluloid. He began to make other curls, one over each ear. Albert said he looked fine. He whistled. His cheeks were round and red and shone. Over his head red hair in curls like celluloid glistened. He winked at himself in glass. He went off.
They ate breakfast all of them. The men went to work.
Her man gone then Mrs Green took chair from kitchen and came to back door with her youngest, Peggy. She put shoulder against the lintel, leaning there. Sun obliquely came down on the small yard and made shadows from washing on the line. Walls and the outhouse were between yards on each side with more washing. Land beyond went down to where more streets were again for miles; and shadows were blue. These – from the five bars of the gate in wall at the back and in pentagon from outhouse and those from shirt, drawers, two sheets, pants, socks, the vests, the washing – went back to the house. Shadow of tree outside was over the wall. Certain of these met in sharp masses joining. In sun brick was orange and shirts and things were like cream if they were white. She went by the washing then. She put chair outside the gate. She sat looking over town in sun. Peggy stood by her, thumb in mouth, holding fold of her skirt.