edition of Genesis, or the out-of-date atlas, and embarking on a detailed explanation of the eugenics of the ring-straked and spotted cattle, or the supposed location of the land of the anthropophagi whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders.
Punchâs rooms were at the top of the house in the Tudor wing of the building, and approached either by the old turret staircase, or from the passages which ran right round the top of the school. Off these passages lay twenty or twenty-five rooms, mostly very small. Some of them were allotted to the junior staff, two or three to the prefects for studies, while the larger ones were used as dormitories. They were bitterly cold in winter and insufferably hot in summer, but they had a magnificent view, and outside them was a stone parapet which was the delight of daring spirits. Punch was too indolent and too absorbed in her books to pay much attention to the children in these dormitories, technically under her care and in her âhouseâ. They were notoriously ill-behaved, and the lives of the prefects whose studies were near by were made a misery by their lawlessness.
Punchâs rooms were themselves of unbelievable squalor. In front of the small rusty grate lay a black and red rag hearth-rug, thick with crumbs and hair and coal-dust. In my early days, a dog repellent with age, rheumy of eye and for the most part hairless, lived on this mat. Later he was replaced by a corpulent dachshund whom Punch took everywhere with her at the end of a lead at least ten feet long, fixed to her waistband. With this creature she could be seen from afar off in park and pleasure gardens, a vast rolling barrel of awoman, with a small, fourlegged bottle-shaped dog panting along at a distance of ten feet, the two joined by what appeared to be an umbilical cord.
On the far side of her rooms were the domestic quarters, which ran along one side of the house and were sealed off from the studies and upper dormitories by a locked door. Men and maid servants slept in these tiny attic rooms, an arrangement which the presence of Punch was supposed to regularize. Once, I saw the rooms, I have no idea why. Perhaps it was after the end of term when I had stayed on for a few days. I remember I walked the length of that corridor from the prefectsâ studies to Punchâs quarters. Below me were the noble wrought-iron gates of Chiefâs private garden, the green turf, the flower-beds a blaze of colour, and the dark yew hedges bordering its brightness. I turned from these windows to look into the rooms, for the doors were open, and I was so sickened that I could hardly refrain from running down that corridor. In those little airless garrets was the most piggish squalor I had ever seen. Beds were unmade, chamber-pots unemptied, chests of drawers lurched sideways, lacking a leg, or hung half open to reveal a few discoloured clothes, and there emanated from those wretched cells, and from the unspeakable lavatory, a smell I shall never forget. Who knew of it? No one. Not even Punch, living within a few yards of that smell, thought it worth while to make those rooms more habitable.
The servants at Bampfield frightened me. They were brutish, but I did not at the time draw the necessary conclusions from what I saw that afternoon. I was only the more disgusted and fearful. One of the servants was an old woman called Bessie who was often to be found lurking in dark corners of the back stairs, and who was, I think, anatural. She spoke an unintelligible Somerset, in which the elisions âchâillâ and âchâaveâ were common and almost the only distinguishable features of her barbaric speech. The servants were no oneâs responsibility. Their squalor was part of the corruption which festered underneath the smooth Palladian skin of Bampfield. It was one of the many contradictions of the place that Punch, who certainly must have known of that evil corridor, remained indifferent to it, and
Punchâs rooms were at the top of the house in the Tudor wing of the building, and approached either by the old turret staircase, or from the passages which ran right round the top of the school. Off these passages lay twenty or twenty-five rooms, mostly very small. Some of them were allotted to the junior staff, two or three to the prefects for studies, while the larger ones were used as dormitories. They were bitterly cold in winter and insufferably hot in summer, but they had a magnificent view, and outside them was a stone parapet which was the delight of daring spirits. Punch was too indolent and too absorbed in her books to pay much attention to the children in these dormitories, technically under her care and in her âhouseâ. They were notoriously ill-behaved, and the lives of the prefects whose studies were near by were made a misery by their lawlessness.
Punchâs rooms were themselves of unbelievable squalor. In front of the small rusty grate lay a black and red rag hearth-rug, thick with crumbs and hair and coal-dust. In my early days, a dog repellent with age, rheumy of eye and for the most part hairless, lived on this mat. Later he was replaced by a corpulent dachshund whom Punch took everywhere with her at the end of a lead at least ten feet long, fixed to her waistband. With this creature she could be seen from afar off in park and pleasure gardens, a vast rolling barrel of awoman, with a small, fourlegged bottle-shaped dog panting along at a distance of ten feet, the two joined by what appeared to be an umbilical cord.
On the far side of her rooms were the domestic quarters, which ran along one side of the house and were sealed off from the studies and upper dormitories by a locked door. Men and maid servants slept in these tiny attic rooms, an arrangement which the presence of Punch was supposed to regularize. Once, I saw the rooms, I have no idea why. Perhaps it was after the end of term when I had stayed on for a few days. I remember I walked the length of that corridor from the prefectsâ studies to Punchâs quarters. Below me were the noble wrought-iron gates of Chiefâs private garden, the green turf, the flower-beds a blaze of colour, and the dark yew hedges bordering its brightness. I turned from these windows to look into the rooms, for the doors were open, and I was so sickened that I could hardly refrain from running down that corridor. In those little airless garrets was the most piggish squalor I had ever seen. Beds were unmade, chamber-pots unemptied, chests of drawers lurched sideways, lacking a leg, or hung half open to reveal a few discoloured clothes, and there emanated from those wretched cells, and from the unspeakable lavatory, a smell I shall never forget. Who knew of it? No one. Not even Punch, living within a few yards of that smell, thought it worth while to make those rooms more habitable.
The servants at Bampfield frightened me. They were brutish, but I did not at the time draw the necessary conclusions from what I saw that afternoon. I was only the more disgusted and fearful. One of the servants was an old woman called Bessie who was often to be found lurking in dark corners of the back stairs, and who was, I think, anatural. She spoke an unintelligible Somerset, in which the elisions âchâillâ and âchâaveâ were common and almost the only distinguishable features of her barbaric speech. The servants were no oneâs responsibility. Their squalor was part of the corruption which festered underneath the smooth Palladian skin of Bampfield. It was one of the many contradictions of the place that Punch, who certainly must have known of that evil corridor, remained indifferent to it, and
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