the children-第8章

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He　is　at　his　best　where；　under　the　welcome　stress　and　pressure　of
abundant　crops；　he　is　admitted　to　the　labours　of　men　and　women；
neither　in　mere　play　nor　in　the　earnest　of　the　hop…field　for　the
sake　of　his　little　gains。　　On　the　steep　farm　lands　of　the　Canton　de
Vaud；　where　maize　and　grapes　are　carried　in　the　botte；　so　usually
are　children　expected　in　the　field　that　bottes　are　made　to　the　shape
of　a　back　and　arms　of　five　years　old。　　Some；　made　for　harvesters　of
those　years；　can　hold　no　more　than　a　single　yellow　ear　of　maize　or
two　handfuls　of　beans。　　You　may　meet　the　same　little　boy　with　the
repetitions　of　this　load　a　score　of　times　in　the　morning。　　Moreover
the　Swiss　mother　has　always　a　fit　sense　of　what　is　due　to　that
labourer。　　When　the　plums　are　gathered；　for　instance；　she　bakes　in
the　general　village　oven　certain　round　open　tarts　across　which　her
arm　can　hardly　reach。　　No　plum　tarts　elsewhere　are　anything　but　dull
in　comparison　with　these。　　There　is；　besides；　the　first　loaf　from
the　new　flour；　brown　from　the　maize　and　white　from　the　wheat。　　Nor
can　a　day　of　potato…gathering　be　more　appropriately　ended　than　with
a　little　fire　built　afield　and　the　baking　of　some　of　the　harvest
under　the　wood　ashes。　　Vintaging　needs　no　praises；　nor　does　apple…
gathering；　even　when　the　apples　are　for　cider；　they　are　never　acrid
enough　to　baffle　a　child's　tooth。

Yet　even　those　children　who　are　so　unlucky　as　never　to　have　worked
in　a　real　field；　but　have　been　compelled　to　vary　their　education
with　nothing　but　play；　are　able　to　comfort　themselves　with　the
irregular　harvest　of　the　hedges。　　They　have　no　little　hand　in　the
realities　of　cultivation；　but　wild　growths　give　them　blackberries。
Pale　are　the　joys　of　nutting　beside　those　of　haymaking；　but　at　least
they　are　something。

Harvests　apart；　Spring；　not　Autumn；　should　make　a　childhood　of
memories　for　the　future。　　In　later　Autumn；　life　is　speeding　away；
ebbing；　taking　flight；　a　fugitive；　taking　disguises；　hiding　in　the
dry　seed；　retreating　into　the　dark。　　The　daily　progress　of　things　in
Spring　is　for　children；　who　look　close。　　They　know　the　way　of　moss
and　the　roots　of　ivy；　they　breathe　the　breath　of　earth　immediately；
direct。　　They　have　a　sense　of　place；　of　persons；　and　of　the　past
that　may　be　remembered　but　cannot　be　recaptured。　　Adult　accustomed
eyes　cannot　see　what　a　child's　eye　sees　of　the　personality　of　a
person；　to　the　child　the　accidents　of　voice　and　look　are　charged
with　separate　and　unique　character。　　Such　a　sense　of　place　as　he　got
in　a　day　within　some　forest；　or　in　a　week　by　some　lake；　so　that　a
sound　or　odour　can　bring　it　back　in　after　days；　with　a　shockeven
such　a　sense　of　single　personality　does　a　little　watchful　girl　get
from　the　accents；　the　turns　of　the　head；　the　habits　of　the　hands；
the　presence　of　a　woman。　　Not　all　places；　nor　all　persons；　are　so
quick　with　the　expression　of　themselves；　the　child　knows　the
difference。　　As　for　places　that　are　so　loaded；　and　that　breathe　so；
the　child　discerns　them　passionately。

A　travelled　child　multiplies　these　memories　and　has　them　in　their
variety。　　His　heart　has　room　for　many　places　that　have　the　spirit　of
place。　　The　glacier　may　be　forgotten；　but　some　little　tract　of
pasture　that　has　taken　wing　to　the　head　of　a　mountain　valley；　a
field　that　has　soared　up　a　pass　unnamed；　will　become　a　memory；　in
time；　sixty　years　old。　　That　is　a　fortunate　child　who　has　tasted
country　life　in　places　far　apart；　who　has　helped；　followed　the　wheat
to　the　threshing…floor　of　a　Swiss　village；　stumbled　after　a　plough
of　Virgil's　shape　in　remoter　Tuscan　hills；　and　gleaned　after　a
vintage。　　You　cannot　suggest　pleasanter　memories　than　those　of　the
vintage；　for　the　day　when　the　wine　will　be　old。



THE　BARREN　SHORE



It　may　be　a　disappointment　to　the　children　each　year　at　play　upon　so
many　beacheseven　if　they　are　but　dimly　aware　of　their　lackto
find　their　annual　plaything　to　be　not　a　real　annual；　an　annual
thing；　indeed；　to　them；　for　the　arbitrary　reason　that　they　go　down
to　it　once　a　year；　but　not　annual　in　the　vital　and　natural　sense　of
the　seasons；　not　waxing　and　waning；　not　bearing；　not　turning　that
circle　of　the　seasons　whereof　no　one　knows　which　is　the　highest
point　and　the　secret　and　the　ultimate　purpose；　not　recreated；　not
new；　and　not　yielding　to　the　child　anything　raw　and　irregular　to
eat。

Sand　castles　are　well　enough；　and　they　are　the　very　commonplace　of
the　recollections　of　elders；　of　their　rhetoric；　and　of　what　they
think　appropriate　for　their　young　ones。　　Shingle　and　sand　are　good
playthings；　but　absolute　play　is　not　necessarily　the　ideal　of　a
child；　he　would　rather　have　a　frolic　of　work。　　Of　all　the　early
autumn　things　to　be　done　in　holiday　time；　that　game　with　the　beach
and　the　wave　is　the　least　good　for　holiday…time。

Not　that　the　shore　is　everywhere　so　barren。　　The　coast　of　the
Londonersall　round　the　southern　and　eastern　borders　of　Englandis
indeed　the　dullest　of　all　sea…margins。　　But　away　in　the　gentle　bays
of　Jersey　the　summer　grows　a　crop　of　seaweed　which　the　long　ocean
wave　leaves　in　noble　curves　upon　the　beach；　for　under　sunny　water
the　storms　have　gathered　the　crops。　　The　Channel　Island　people　go
gleaning　after　the　sea；　and　store　the　seaweed　for　their　fields。
Thus　the　beaches　of　Jersey　bays　are　not　altogether　barren；　and　have
a　kind　of　dead　and　accessory　harvest　for　the　farmer。　　After　a　night
of　storm　these　crops　are　stacked　and　carted　and　carried；　the　sea…
wind　catching　away　loose　shreds　from　the　summits　of　the　loads。

Further　south；　if　the　growth　of　the　sea　is　not　so　put　to　use；　the
shore　has　yet　its　seasons。　　You　could　hardly　tell；　if　you　did　not
know　the　month；　whether　a　space　of　sea　or　a　series　of　waves；　at
Aldborough；　say；　or　at　Dover；　were　summer　or　winter　water；　but　in
those　fortunate　regions　which　are　southern；　yet　not　too　southern　for
winter；　and　have　thus　the　strongest　swing　of　change　and　the　fullest
pulse　of　the　year；　there　are　a　winter　sea　and　a　summer　sea；
brilliantly　different；　with　a　delicate　variety　between　the　hastening
blue　of　spring　and　the　lingering　blue　of　September。　　There　you　bathe
from　the　rocks；　untroubled　by　tides；　and　unhurried　by　chills；　and
with　no　incongruous　sun　beating　on　your　head　while　your　fingers　are
cold。　　You　bathe　when　the　sun　has　set；　and　the　vast　sea　has　not　a
whisper；　you　know　a　rock　in　the　distance　where　you　can　rest；　and
where　you　float；　there　float　also　by　you　opalescent　jelly…fish；　half
transparent　in　the　perfectly　transparent　water。　　An　hour　in　the　warm
sea　is　not　enough。　　Rock…bathing　is　done　on　lonely　shores。　　A　city
may　be　but　a　mile　away；　and　the　cultivated　vineyards　may　be　close
above　the　seaside　pine…trees；　but　the　place　is　perfectly　remote。
You　pitch　your　tent　on　any　little　hollow　of　beach。　　A　charming
Englishwoman　who　used　to　bathe　with　her　children　under　the　great
rocks　of　her　Mediterranean　villa　in　the　motionless　white　evenings　of
summer　put　white　roses　in　her　hair；　and　liked　to　sit　out　on　a　rock
at　sea　where　the　first　rays　of　the　moon　would　touch　her。

You　bathe　in　the　Channel　in　the　very　prose　of　the　day。　　Nothing　in
the　world　is　more　uninteresting　than　eleven　o'clock。　　It　is　the　hour
of　mediocrity　under　the　best　conditions；　but　eleven　o'clock　on　a
shingly　beach；　in　a　half…hearted　summer；　is　a　very　common　thing。
Twelve　has　a　dignity　always；　and　everywhere　its　name　is　great。　　The
noon　of　every　day　that　ever　dawned　is　in　its　place　heroic；　but
eleven　is　worldly。　　One　o'clock　has　an　honest　human　interest　to　the
hungry　child；　and　every　hour　of　the　summer　afternoon；　after　three；
has　the　grace　of　deepening　and　lingering　life。　　To　bathe　at　eleven
in　the　sun；　in　the　wind；　to　bathe　from　a　machine；　in　a　narrow　sea
that　is　certainly　not　clear　and　is　only　by　courtesy　clean；　to　bathe
in　obedience　to　a　tyrannical　tide　and　in　water　that　is　always　much
colder　than　yourself；　to　bathe　in　a　hurry　and　in　publicthis　is　to
know　nothing　rightly　of　one　of　the　greatest　of　all　the　pleasures
that　humanity　takes　with　nature。

By　the　way；　the　sea　of　Jersey　has　more　the　character　of　a　real　sea
than　of　mere　straits。　　These　temperate　islands　would　be　better
called　the　Ocean　Islands。