CROSSROADS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVII, Issue 23761, 14 September 1940, Page 6 (Supplement)

CROSSROADS

SUDDENLY I stopped at one of our English country inns for refreshment. 1 didn't know where. I didn't know at which inn. It might have been three miles to Bishop's Christmas. It might have been four and a-half ! miles from Bishop's Christmas. It might have been Bishop's Christmas itself. Or Hogwash Magna. Or Bunghole Parva. Since the authorities in Britain took all the signposts and milestones and whatnots away you "dunno whore you are." You don't like to ask. It only shows your ignorance. Besides, you might get an icy stare. Or even a sock 011 the jaw. 1 mean, fancy asking in Hove if you're in Brighton. So that I might have been in Watercress Cross or Stalemate Junction for all I knew. Same with the inn. It might have been The Horseshoe. Or The lied Lion. Or The Three Horseshoes. Or The Blue Duck and Creditor. Or The Five Horseshoes. Or The Insolvent Highlander. Or The Seven Horseshoes. Proper muddle it was. Still, they sold ale, so suddenly I stopped to "havo one." There was a chap sitting outside on a green bench. He'd got his head in his hands, and if his name was Smith he looked as if he'd like to be the late Mr. Smith. "Nice day," said I. Ho moaned. "Bit of a fresh wind," said I. He groaned. "Still, for this time of the year., very pleasant," said I. He burst into tears. "Worrying about the Avar or something?" said I. He sobbed. Well, it wasn't anything to do with me. He didn't seem to want to sneak. So I just loft fiim and went inside to "have one." There didn't appear to be anyone behind the bar for the moment, but a fat woman was sitting in front of it with .a glass of stout in her hand. She was laughing fit to split. "Nice day," said I. She shook. "Bit of a fresh wind," said I. She wobbled. "Still, for the time of the year, very pleasant," said I. She roared until she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. I had never seen a woman laugh so "hearty." "I don't want to spoil your fun," said I, "but could you toll me where I am? Since they took all the signs and milestones away you never know where you are in the country." "That's just the point." she said, screaming with laughter all over again. I saw I'd havo to be firm. "Excuse me," said I, "but am I in Lesser Penwine or Mutch Colney?" "You're in Haddock St. Alfred's,"' she answered between titters.

By WILL SCOTT, Illustrated by MINHINNICK

"Oil. T see." 6aid I. "Then I suppose this inn is The Swcetpea and Buttonhole?" "Jt's The Horseshoes," said the woman. "'Three or Five?" said I. "Three or five what?" said she. "Horseshoes," said I. "How do you moan?" said she. "How many Horseshoes?" said I, "No many," said she. "Just Horseshoes." • "Things are very puzzling," said I. "No signs anywhere. No milestones. You come to a crossroads and you're absolutely at sea." , "That's just the point," said thQ woman, going into a fresh attack of the giggles. "Point of what?" said I. "You don't know my old man?" said she. "I'm a stranger in these parts, wherever the parts are," said I. "I'm afraid I haven't the pleasure." _ "No pleasure about it," said the woman. "You'd hate the sight of him. Everybody does." "You surprise me," said I. "I've had him round my collar for twenty years." she said. "I've tried time and time again to get rid of him but it never came off. 1 put him out six times, but he never went farther than the doorstep and he crawled back every time I opened the door. Hopeless." "I see." said I. ... "But I got him fixed now," said she. "You have?" said I. "You beteha," said she. "Tell a lonely stranger," said I. . "Well," said she, "I've sent him with an urgent message to my sister who has lately removed to Wenrily-in-the-Wold." "So?" said I. "So," said she, "now they're moved all the signs and posts and milestones lie won't half get lost, he won't. Get lost in a whole lot of counties, he will, and won't be likely to turn up ever again, which will be soon enough for mo." "But what if he reaches your sister? I asked.

"Can't." said the woman. "She doesn't live at Wearily-in-the-Wold." "Which," said I, "he'll find out if he reaches there." "Can't," said the woman. "No such place." I sighed. "Does 'can't' apply to ale here?" I asked.

"You thump the counter," said the woman.

I thumped the counter. The landlady appeared. "Pint, please," said I. "And there's a man outside, crying his oves out." "My husband." the landlady explained. "It's owing to moving all these signs and milestones. Got absolutely lost, 'e 'as. and found 'is way back to mo after twenty-five years. And is 'e sick about it!"