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1910； 1911。 king edward died and the papers came out with a black border round the edge。 two cinemas opened in walton。 the cars got moner on the roads and cross…country motor…buses began to run。 an aeroplane—a flimsy； rickety…looking thing with a chap sitting in the middle on a kind of chair—flew over lower binfield and the whole town rushed out of their houses to yell at it。 people began to say rather vaguely that this here german emperor was getting too big for his boots and ‘it’ （meaning war with germany） was ‘ing some time’。 my wages went gradually up； until finally； just before the war； they were twenty…eight shillings a week。 i paid mother ten shillings a week for my board； and later； when times got worse； fifteen shillings； and even that left me feeling richer than i’ve felt since。 i grew another inch； my moustache began to sprout； i wore button boots and collars three inches high。 in church on sundays； in my natty dark grey suit； with my bowler hat and black dogskin gloves on the pew beside me； i looked the perfect gent； so that mother could hardly contain her pride in me。 in between work and ‘walking out’ on thursdays； and thinking about clothes and girls； i had fits of ambition and saw myself developing into a big business man like lever or william whiteley。 between sixteen and eighteen i made serious efforts to ‘improve my mind’ and train myself for a business career。 i cured myself of dropping aitches and got rid of most of my cockney accent。 （in the thames valley the country accents were going out。 except for the farm lads； nearly everyone who was born later than 1890 talked cockney。） i did a correspondence course with littleburns’ mercial academy； learnt bookkeeping and business english； read solemnly through a book of frightful blah called the art of salesmanship； and improved my arithmetic and even my handwriting。 when i was as old as seventeen i’ve sat up late at night with my tongue hanging out of my mouth； practising copperplate by the little oil…lamp on the bedroom table。 at times i read enormously； generally crime and adventure stories； and sometimes paper…covered books which were furtively passed round by the chaps at the shop and described as ‘hot’。 （they were translations of maupassant and paul de kock。） but when i was eighteen i suddenly turned highbrow； got a ticket for the county library； and began to stodge through books by marie corelli and hall caine and anthony hope。 it was at about that time that i joined the lower binfield reading circle； which was run by the vicar and met one evening a week all through the winter for what was called ‘literary discussion’。 under pressure from the vicar i read bits of sesame and lilies and even had a go at browning。
and time was slipping away。 1910； 1911； 1912。 and father’s business was going down—not slumping suddenly into the gutter； but it was going down。 neither father nor mother was ever quite the same after joe ran away from home。 this happened not long after i went to work at grimmett’s。
joe； at eighteen； had grown into an ugly ruffian。 he was a hefty chap； much bigger than the rest of the family； with tremendous shoulders； a big head； and a sulky； lowering kind of face on which he already had a respectable moustache。 when he wasn’t in the tap… room of the george he was loafing in the shop doorway； with his hands dug deep into his pockets； scowling at the people who passed； except when they happened to be girls； as though he’d like to knock them down。 if anyone came into the shop he’d move aside just enough to let them pass； and； without taking his hands out of his pockets； yell over his shoulders ‘da…ad！ shop！’ this was as near as he ever got to helping。 father and mother said despairingly that they ‘didn’t know what to do with him’； and he was costing the devil of a lot with his drinking and endless smoking。 late one night he walked out of the house and was never heard of again。 he’d prised open the till and taken all the money that was in it； luckily not much； about eight pounds。 that was enough to get him a steerage passage to america。 he’d always wanted to go to america； and i think he probably did so； though we never knew for certain。 it made a bit of a scandal in the town。 the official theory was that joe had bolted because he’d put a girl in the family way。 there was a girl named sally chivers who lived in the same street as the simmonses and was going to have a baby； and joe had certainly been with her； but so had about a dozen others； and nobody knew whose baby it was。 mother and father accepted the baby theory and even； in private； used it to excuse their ‘poor boy’ for stealing the eight pounds and running away。 they weren’t capable of grasping that joe had cleared out because he couldn’t stand a decent respectable life in a little country town and wanted a life of loafing； fights； and women。 we never heard of him again。 perhaps he went utterly to the bad； perhaps he was killed in the war； perhaps he merely didn’t bother to write。 luckily the baby was born dead； so there were no plications。 as for the fact that joe had stolen the eight pounds； mother and father managed to keep it a secret till they died。 in their eyes it was a much worse disgrace than sally chivers’s baby。
the trouble over joe aged father a great deal。 to lose joe was merely to cut a loss； but it hurt him and made him ashamed。 from that time forward his moustache was much greyer and he seemed to have grown a lot smaller。 perhaps my memory of him as a little grey man； with a round； lined； anxious face and dusty spectacles； really dates from that time。 by slow degrees he was getting more and more involved in money worries and less and less interested in other things。 he talked less about politics and the sunday papers； and more about the badness of trade。 mother seemed to have shrunk a little； too。 in my childhood i’d known her as something vast and overflowing； with her yellow hair and her beaming face and her enormous bosom； a sort of great opulent creature like the figure… head of a battleship。 now she’d got smaller and more anxious and older than her years。 she was less lordly in the kitchen； went in more for neck of mutton； w